Chapter 30
NOW
What she’d want to do ordinarily was go home and let Henri wrap his arms around her, make all the worry and stress go away. Only after this morning she would be going home to either his confessing and breaking up with her, or her accusing him of having an affair.
She stayed late at the office in the hope that he’d be out and she could put things off until tomorrow. This morning she’d been fizzing with anger, but now she was simply exhausted.
But when she arrived home, she pushed open the front door only to find him inside, waiting for her. ‘My love!’ he said, opening his arms. ‘I did not see you since last night. I hope that you got home OK?’
It was so, so tempting to just fall into those arms, just for now. But she held firm. ‘You didn’t seem too concerned this morning,’ she said in a tone she hoped sounded icy.
He looked confused. ‘We spoke this morning?’
‘No. But I came in to see you. And I saw that you weren’t alone.’
He nodded now, his face uncertain. ‘You saw—?’
‘I saw… her. In bed. With you.’
He flinched. ‘Oh. But Bella, she meant nothing. I was drunk. She was from the club. I was going to tell you of course.’
‘Were you?’
‘You should have woken me! Spoken to me! I could have explained!’
‘Henri, there was another woman in your bed.’
He nodded as if waiting for her to finish the sentence.
‘Naked!’
Another nod.
‘I caught you. In the act! Well, not in the act itself but you know what I mean. After the act. The act was definitely involved at some point.’
He looked confused. ‘The act?’
She felt her temperature begin to rise. Was he actually serious? ‘You had sex with another woman. How could you have explained that?’
He reached for her, but she flinched. ‘Bella, please. It was a mistake of course. I was very drunk. It was a moment of madness!’
‘How could you do that to me?’ she asked, her voice suddenly small.
‘Ma chérie, I didn’t realise you would be so hurt,’ he said. ‘Please, let me make it up to you.’
‘I’m not sure you—’
But he bent down and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I have to go. But I will make things right, I promise.’ He kissed her again softly before opening the door and disappearing into the bright evening air.
‘But—’ she was left saying. ‘But—’ Then, ‘Aaargh.’ She stamped her foot and let out a cry of frustration. Had he really been so blasé about it? And why had she let him kiss her after what he’d done?
Odette’s door opened and her friend poked her head through the gap. She looked at Bella, her brow furrowed. ‘Did you scream?’ Her voice sounded concerned, but there was a flatness to it, a remnant of this morning’s anger.
‘No, it’s just—’ She paused. ‘Well, this morning Henri was in bed with a woman.’
‘Oh!’
‘Naked!’
‘Ah, he is thoughtless. I am sorry.’
‘More than thoughtless. He cheated on me.’ Bella felt unexpected tears well.
Odette tilted her head. ‘I am sorry, you seem very upset. I didn’t realise that you and Henri were serious?’
‘Well, we’re not… but…’
‘So you didn’t agree to be faithful just to each other?’ Odette looked confused. ‘Perhaps it is an English thing,’ Odette said. ‘But to me, this does not sound too serious. Not when you are so newly together.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Maybe the English are more old-fashioned. Like the old days when the woman and man must be faithful to each other and do not sleep with other people from the beginning.’
In Bella’s mind, the words ‘old days’ meant last century, or the 1800s where the most sex people seemed to indulge in – if you believed Jane Austen – was rubbing up against each other at an organised dance. Not— Was Odette calling the noughties ‘the old days’?
‘Perhaps it was a misunderstanding.’
‘He is still a shit for bringing her here,’ Odette offered.
Bella found herself smiling, momentarily. ‘I feel so lost sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose I made assumptions. I’ll talk to him.’
Odette looked at her strangely. ‘So you are all right?’
Bella nodded.
Odette withdrew her head from the gap, shutting the door with a click, leaving Bella more confused than she had been before.
She hated the idea of anyone she was dating seeing other people too – and couldn’t imagine ever having the energy to do so herself. But maybe if she was going to start seeing people again, she’d have to get up to speed with modern dating norms in France.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a sandwich and a cup of almost ridiculously strong tea, then took them upstairs. She was exhausted and some time alone, followed by an early night, would be exactly what the doctor ordered.
* * *
She couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of Henri, and naked women, and Odette, and Madame Roux, and the Hotel Club representatives, and Claudine had been buzzing around her head since she laid it on the pillow.
1.45 a.m. In five hours, she’d be up again, getting ready for another day at work. And rather than the buzz she’d started to feel at the prospect of going in, she felt a vague sense of dread.
Sick of trying, she got up and went downstairs. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, she made her way to the cupboard and took out a tall glass, then walking over to the sink she ran the tap until the water ran cold and filled it up.
It was only when she turned, glass half drunk, that she realised she was not alone. Sitting at the table in the near darkness was a man, his face in shadow. In front of him, a bottle of what looked to be whisky and a half-empty glass.
She screamed, dropping her glass which shattered spectacularly on the terracotta tiles, sending shards of itself as far as each of the walls.
‘Crap!’ the man said, standing up. ‘What in God’s name—?’ Brad.
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ She dropped into a crouch and began sweeping the glass into a pile with her hands.
‘Stop!’ he said, and his voice was so loud, so forceful that she froze. ‘You’ll cut yourself. Here.’ He slid his hands gently under her arms and helped her into a standing position, then pulled another of the chairs out and guided her into it. Then, ‘Right!’ he said, and flicked on the light.
They both blinked like nocturnal creatures in an artificial environment.
Then he took her hand in his and for a moment she thought he was going to lift it to his mouth in an old-fashioned greeting.
But no, he was inspecting it for glass. Brushing off a couple of tiny pieces, he dropped it, satisfied. ‘No damage done.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, her words feeling thick in her mouth. Her heart was still thundering from the shock of seeing someone sitting in the dark kitchen, the sound of her own scream and the crash of glass on tile. She started to stand. ‘I’ll get the dustpan and brush.’
‘No. You stay there,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re barefoot.
’ He reached into the cupboard under the sink and extracted the rather worn plastic ensemble, then, crouching, swept the glass shards into it, the brush becoming wet with water residue.
Tipping it into the bin, he reached for a cloth and wiped the remaining water from the floor. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Better.’
‘You didn’t have to do that, you know. It was my mess.’
He laughed. ‘Feels more like it was my fault, scaring you like that. Again! Although,’ he touched his chest, ‘that scream scared the hell out of me!’
She made a face. ‘Sorry.’
‘Honestly, no need.’ He slid back into a chair and looked at her, his blue eyes kind. ‘It’s probably the first time I’ve been up past eleven since I arrived.’
‘Pretty much.’ She smiled weakly.
‘Can’t sleep?’
She let out a short laugh. ‘Not exactly.’
He poured a small measure of whisky into a glass and slid it towards her. ‘Need one of these?’
She didn’t, actually, but politeness forced her to thank him and take a small sip. Looking at her face, he chuckled softly.
‘What?’
‘Not a whisky fan, huh?’
‘Oh.’ She felt her skin prickle with embarrassment. ‘Well, no. Not exactly.’
He took the glass back from where she’d set it on the table. ‘Yeah, I figured when I saw your face.’ He screwed up his eyes and turned down his mouth in imitation. She should probably have been insulted, but there was something so open, so non-judgemental about the way he was teasing her.
‘Hey!’ she said with mock indignation.
He shrugged and took a sip from the glass he’d given her. ‘I’d do the same with Prosecco, if that helps. So what’s up?’
‘Ah nothing. Just stressed, I think.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘It’s just,’ he touched his own face below the eyes, and ran a finger down his cheek, tracing an imaginary tear. ‘You got that panda thing going on,’ he explained.
‘Oh!’ She stood up and glanced in the glass of the door. Her reflection wavered, but she could make out the darkness around her eyes. ‘You got me,’ she said.
He laughed, but there was sympathy in the sound. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’ She sighed. ‘I’m shattered from work, I think. Just… hard not to think about it.’
‘Amen to that,’ he tilted the whisky glass slightly as if giving cheers then took another sip. ‘These students don’t know what’s going to hit them in a few years, am I right?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Ah, can’t help envying them that.’
‘So, you’re here for work?’ she asked, changing the subject.
He made a face. ‘Kinda taking a bit of time to think strategy.’ He took another sip.
‘God, I wish I had a strategy. If I’m honest, it’s more like I’m drowning!’ She grinned, but almost instantly felt the corners of her mouth waver. Don’t cry. Do Not Cry.
‘Yeah? How so? You’re like an intern, right? You’re not meant to know everything,’ he said kindly.
She wanted to nod. Tell him she was being stupid. Play the ‘I must just be hormonal’ card to get him to back off. But she was so, so tired. And so, so sad. ‘Not exactly,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ he said, shifting his chair a little closer. ‘You can tell me anything. Honestly. I can keep a secret.’