by Lynne Shelby
‘I thought they’d search the classroom,’ I say.
‘For a moment so did I, but they had other things on their minds.’ Alexandre puts his hand over his heart. ‘Oh, ma chérie …’
‘Ooh, Alain … What was that last thing he said to her?’
‘“Tu me rends fou”? That means “you drive me crazy”.’
I start giggling, and suddenly both of us are doubled up with laughter. I laugh so hard that it hurts. It occurs to me that I’ve not been very kind to Alexandre this week he’s been in England. It’s not that I’ve been mean to him, not exactly. But I’ve been trying so hard to get Gérard to like me that for most of the time, Alexandre has been ignored.
‘Merci, Alexandre,’ I start speaking in French, but it’s too much of an effort, so I switch to English. ‘Thank you for coming to the library to warn us …’
Alexandre shrugs. ‘That’s OK. You were all making such a racket you were easy enough to find.’
‘If we’d been caught with the wine, we’d have been suspended for sure. My parents would have gone ballistic.’
‘My parents allow me to drink wine with meals – but they too would be angry if I drank it in school.’
I think how much nicer a boy he is than Gérard, who is very good-looking, but so up himself. And who ran off and left me to get caught.
‘Alexandre,’ I say, ‘Miss Crawford said that after this year, we won’t be writing letters to our penfriends in lessons any more. Can you and I still write to each other anyway?’
‘Mais, oui,’ Alexandre says. ‘Bien sûr. Of course. Shall we go back to the disco now?
‘Anna?’ Alex’s voice jerked me back to the present.
‘I’m in here,’ I called out.
He came into the kitchen.
‘I was just thinking about your first visit to London,’ I said. ‘Do you remember the disco?’
‘I remember hiding with you under the desk. And that we were the only kids that didn’t get caught.’
Having fled the crime-scene, Gérard and the others had been apprehended climbing out of a downstairs window by Madame Lefevre (another of the French teachers, and a very scary woman), and my school’s headmaster, Mr Walsh (whose sole mission in life was to catch students red-handed doing something they shouldn’t). Gérard had still had the half-empty wine-bottle, Beth was clutching a can of beer, and Sean was more than a little drunk. There followed much furious shouting in French (Mme Lefevre) telephone calls to parents (Mr Walsh), and a thorough search of the whole school building which discovered the empty beer cans in the library and three boys drinking vodka in the science lab. As one of the teachers thought that they’d seen me leave the hall with Beth, I was hauled into the headmaster’s office and interrogated as to my part in ‘this disgraceful incident’, but Alex (his dark brown eyes wide and innocent) had insisted that I’d been with him the whole evening, so I was allowed back into the disco. Beth’s parents had grounded her for a month.
‘You were my hero that night,’ I said.
Alex laughed. ‘I thought you liked Gérard.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I had a huge crush on him, but my excuse is that I was only thirteen.’
‘I hated being thirteen,’ Alexandre said. ‘I was such a little runt.’
‘No you weren’t.’ He was, but he certainly isn’t now, I thought. ‘When I was younger, I hated being tall. I was convinced that I would never ever find a boyfriend.’
‘Who’d be a teenager?’
‘Not me.’ I checked the oven. ‘The pizzas are ready.’
Alex helped me carry everything through into the living room. When I ate on my own, I just balanced a plate on my knees in front of the TV, but as it was Alex’s first night in London, we sat at the dining table. He told me some more about his new job as a staff photographer for The Edge magazine, how it would still leave him time for freelance work, and how he was hoping to explore (and photograph) England while he was here. I knew so many intimate details about his life, and I’d told him things in my letters that I’d told no one else, not even Beth or Nick, but it still felt strange to be chatting to him over the dinner table. He was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
‘I suppose you’ll be going back and forth between London and Paris quite often,’ I said. ‘It’s so easy to get to the continent with the Eurostar.’
Alex shook his head. ‘No, I’ve no plans to visit France in the next six months.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘And what does your girlfriend think about that?’
‘I’ve no idea. Cécile and I split up three weeks ago.’
I gaped at him. ‘Oh, no, Alex, I’m so sorry. What happened?’
‘She finished with me.’
‘But why? I mean, the last time you wrote, you said your relationship was going so well. Was it because you took this job in England?’
‘No, I took the job because I’d broken up with Cécile. I wanted a fresh start away from Paris – and her.’ He drank some wine and poured himself another glass. ‘We were together almost a year, and then she … met someone else. I since found out that she was sleeping with him while she was still with me.’
She sounds like a right slut, I thought. Aloud, I said, ‘I really am sorry, Alex. That’s awful.’
‘When she told me we were over, I was devastated, but now … It still hurts, but I’m getting there, you know?’
‘Yeah, I know. When Daniel dumped me, I cried for a fortnight, but then I just didn’t feel like crying any more.’
‘Remind me which one was Daniel?’
‘The boy I dated in my first term at uni.’
‘Oh, yeah. The jerk.’ Unexpectedly, Alex smiled. ‘It’s odd talking to you like this. We’ve written so many letters to each other, and I know so much about your life, and yet, I keep getting the feeling that you’re someone I’ve just met. Does that sound crazy?’
‘No, it’s the same for me.’
Alex was studying my face. ‘Can I photograph you?’
‘What, now?’
‘No, not right now.’ Alex leant across the table, and tucked my dark blonde hair behind my ears. Then he put a finger under my chin, and turned my head from side to side, so that he could see my profile. ‘I’d like to photograph you in a studio, with proper lighting. Some of my best pictures have been of beautiful women.’
Did he just say I was beautiful? Absurdly, my face grew hot.
To cover my confusion, I said, ‘I’m not a model.’
‘No, but you have very good bone structure.’ He gave me a quizzical look. ‘It’s fine if you’d rather I didn’t photograph you. Some people get very self-conscious when they’re in front of a camera.’
‘It’s not that I mind having my picture taken, but I never look great in photos. You might be wasting your time.’
‘A photoshoot with a professional photographer is a little different to having your most embarrassing moments preserved for posterity on a friend’s iPhone.’
I laughed. ‘OK, Alex, I’ll pose for you. Now, how about coffee?’
We drank our coffee in a companionable silence, listening to the rain pattering against the living-room windows.
Eventually, Alex said, ‘I thought I’d go into central London tomorrow, maybe do a bit of sightseeing – if the weather improves.’
‘Would you like some company?’
‘I would – if you’re free. I don’t want you altering your plans because of me.’
‘Oh, I’m not doing anything tomorrow. Not during the day. In the evening Nick and I are going to a fortieth birthday party – to which you’re invited, by the way.’
‘I’m invited?’
‘When I told Natalie – the birthday girl – Nova Graphics’ Creative Director – that you were arriving in England today, she said to bring you along. Will you come?’
‘Are you sure you want me there.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Anna, just because I’m staying in your home, please don’t
feel that you have to entertain me.’ His dark eyes glinted with amusement. ‘I’m no longer that puny teenage boy who got lost on the London underground. These days, I’m pretty good at finding my way around a foreign city.’
‘We’ve both changed since we were thirteen,’ I said. ‘But we’re still friends. And I would very much like it, mon ami, if you would come with me and Nick to Natalie’s party. Besides, Natalie needs you there. Her guest list is short on good-looking men.’
Alex’s mouth lifted in a lop-sided grin. ‘In that case, how can I refuse the invitation?’
Three
The doorbell rang. That would be Nick. Stopping to put on a bathrobe before I left my bedroom (Alex knew a lot about me, but he didn’t need to know the colour of my underwear), I went and opened the front door.
‘Hey, Nick.’ I tilted my face up and he dropped a perfunctory kiss on my lips. ‘I’m not nearly ready – I still have to do my make-up.’
‘That’s OK, Anna. I’m early.’ Nick stepped past me into the hall. ‘So where’s this French house-guest of yours? Do I get to meet him tonight?’
‘You’ll get to meet him when he’s finished taking a shower. He’s coming with us to Natalie’s.’
‘You spent the entire day with him, and now you’re taking him to your boss’s party?’ Nick frowned. ‘You’re not planning to cart him about with you all weekend, are you? Because I was hoping you and I could spend some time together tomorrow. Just the two of us.’
‘Tomorrow, I’m all yours,’ I said. ‘But Alex is only going to be staying with me a few weeks, and I would like to spend some time with him while he’s here.’
‘A few weeks? I thought you said he’d only be staying a few days?’
‘It’s however long it takes for him to find a place of his own. Don’t sulk, Nick, we can always go to your place if we want some time alone.’
I put my arms up around my boyfriend’s neck, intending to draw down his head and kiss away his bad mood, but at that moment, Alex, naked except for the towel around his waist, came out of the bathroom. His hair was still wet from his shower, and rivulets of water ran over the smooth planes of his chest and the hard ridges of his superbly toned abs, to vanish amongst the dark hair on his stomach. My gaze travelled over his gleaming torso, past the towel hanging low on his hips, to his muscular legs, and back up to his face, and I thought: his body is amazing.
Removing my arms from Nick’s neck, I said, ‘Alex, this is my boyfriend, Nicholas Cooper. Nick, this is Alexandre Tourville. The guy I’ve been writing to all these years.’
‘Hello, Nicholas,’ Alex said.
Nick said, ‘Bong-joo-er, Alexandreh. Common ally voo?’
I smothered a smile. Nick remembered very few French phrases from his schooldays, and his pronunciation was appalling.
‘Je vais bien, merci …’ Alex said, once he’d worked out that Nick was asking how he was doing. ‘Je ne sais pas … I didn’t know you spoke French, Nicholas.’
‘Il ne fait pas,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t.’
‘Then tonight we must speak in English,’ Alex said. He added, ‘I should go and put some clothes on.’
Must you? Really? I thought.
Alex went off to his bedroom. Nick followed me into mine, shut the door, and sat down on my bed.
‘That was kind of you to speak to Alex in French,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he appreciated it.’
‘I was just being polite,’ Nick said. ‘Though I needn’t have bothered. He obviously speaks excellent English.’
‘He does. He’s totally fluent.’ Like I told you. Many times. When Nick made no further comment about Alex’s linguistic abilities, I said, ‘Alex and I had a really good time today. He wanted to go sightseeing, so we started out at Buckingham Palace. Then we cut through St James’ Park –’
‘Rather a cold day for a stroll in a park, I’d have thought.’
‘It was freezing, but it was beautiful by the lake – the air was so clear and crisp. After we left the park, we went down to the river, and walked along the Embankment to Waterloo Bridge. Alex loved the view from the centre of the bridge as much as I do. He took some great photos.’
‘What’s so wonderful about the view from Waterloo Bridge?’
‘You can see so many famous landmarks – St Paul’s Cathedral, the Shard, the Houses of Parliament, the London Eye … You get a real sense of history …’
Nick raised one eyebrow. ‘You sound like a tourist guide. Did you and Alex spend all day trekking round London?’
‘Pretty much. Apart from when we had a very late lunch in Covent Garden, listening to the buskers singing opera. After that, we went to Trafalgar Square.’ The memory of Alex talking me into climbing on the lions, an activity he’d missed out on the first time he’d visited London, made me smile. I tried to imagine Nick sitting on a lion, and failed.
‘You must have walked miles,’ Nick said.
‘It was fun. You and I should have a day out in London.’
‘I commute into central London Monday to Friday. I don’t feel the need to go there on a Saturday.’
‘Oh. Well, we don’t have to.’ I took a sequinned dress out of my wardrobe and held it up against me. ‘Is this too formal for Natalie’s party, do you think?’
‘How would I know?’ Nick said. ‘She’s your boss not mine.’
I gave him a long look. ‘Nick, is something wrong?’
‘You told me Alex was shorter than you.’
‘He was the last time I saw him, but naturally he’s grown since then.’
Nick’s face flushed. ‘I don’t know that I’m entirely comfortable with your sharing your flat with him.’
‘What?’ Where was this coming from, I wondered.
‘You know what I’m getting at. You and I don’t spend every night together. There’ll be times when you’re alone here with him …’
Seriously? ‘Nick, we’ve been together over a year now. Are you telling me that you don’t trust me?’
‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, not exactly, but Alex is …’ Nick’s voice trailed off.
‘Alex is what?’
‘He’s the sort of man that girls find attractive.’
‘And you think I’m going to jump into bed with him, just because he’s sleeping down the hall?’
‘When you put it like that … I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?’
‘You are, actually.’
‘There really is no need for me to worry?’
‘Absolutely not.’ I stepped into my dress and turned around so that Nick could zip me up. ‘I like Alex, but I don’t like him in that way. And you’ll like him, once you get to know him. I’m sure you will.’
Looking far from enthralled at the prospect of getting to know Alex, Nick got out his phone and scrolled through his messages. I sat at my dressing table and began applying eyeliner.
My boyfriend was jealous of my friendship with another man. However ludicrous it was, there was a part of me that was just a little pleased by his outburst of possessiveness. At least it showed he cared. There had been times lately, when Nick’s assumption that I would always fall in with his plans, his routines, and his ghastly mother’s demands for our attendance at family gatherings had made me feel rather taken for granted.
The journey across London to Natalie and Oliver’s tastefully renovated Victorian house in Fulham took over an hour on the tube. Alex and I talked non-stop the entire time. A sullen Nick, who had evidently not changed his opinion of Alex as a potential rival for my affections, barely said a word. Alex telling me how lovely I looked when he first saw me in my sequinned splendour hadn’t helped. After standing the whole way, wedged between them in the unbearably hot, crowded carriage, I was very glad to come up out of the underground, even though it was a bitterly cold night.
‘The pavement’s icy,’ Alex said, as we started walking. ‘Are you going to be OK in those high-heels, Anna?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.
We’d onl
y gone a few paces when I slipped on a patch of ice, and would have fallen if Alex hadn’t caught me. I righted myself, smiling my thanks. Alex offered me his arm. Without thinking, I slid my arm through his, and then, when I saw the glowering expression on Nick’s face, I clutched his arm as well. The three of us resumed walking. Fortunately, Natalie and Oliver’s place was only a few minutes from the station.
It was Oliver who answered the door when I knocked, welcoming me to his home with his habitual warm smile.
‘Anna. Come on in. Natalie’s around somewhere …’
We all trooped into the hall. From further inside the house, I could hear music, laughter, and the clink of glasses.
‘Hi, Oliver,’ I said. ‘You’ve met Nick, my boyfriend …’
‘At the office Christmas party,’ Oliver said. ‘Hello, Nick.’
‘And this is Alexandre Tourville.’
‘Welcome – to – England – Alexandre,’ Oliver said, shaking hands with Alex. He spoke with exaggerated slowness and his voice was extremely loud, almost a shout. ‘I – am – Oliver – Heywood. Natalie’s – husband. Am – I – Speaking – Too – Fast – For – You?’
‘No, not at all,’ Alex said. ‘It’s good to meet you, Oliver. And I must thank you for including me in the invitation to your wife’s birthday celebrations. Anna often writes to me about her work, and I’m very glad to have the opportunity to meet her colleagues.’
‘You speak such good English,’ Oliver said, impressed. As Nova Graphic’s Accounts Director, dealing with clients on a daily basis, he was necessarily a good communicator, but like so many Brits, he’d never learnt a foreign language. My ability to speak French amazed him almost as much as my talent for chasing up printers and invoices.
Natalie came into the hall, holding a glass of wine. At work, like the rest of the creative team, she usually wore jeans and a T-shirt, but tonight she was wearing a red maxi-dress with spaghetti straps which clung to her in all the right places, and looked absolutely stunning.
‘Happy birthday, Natalie,’ I said.
‘Anna! Nick!’ Natalie hugged me and Nick, and then turned to Alex. ‘And you must be Anna’s Frenchman.’
Inwardly, I groaned. Nick wouldn’t like her calling him that. I glanced at my boyfriend, but his face was expressionless.