Chapter Seven
Her cool-down strategy worked far too well. Like a bucket of cold water, in fact. The laughter – and the heat – in Joel’s eyes died.
‘I just bought that house,’ he said, dropping her hand. ‘Gonna be a while before I have the readies for kids.’
A suspicion had taken root in Chloe’s mind, ever since he’d mentioned doing the right thing . But having to get married? Surely that wasn’t a thing anymore. They were well past the nineteen-fifties (even in Sheffield).
‘What does Zara do for a job?’ Maybe an oblique approach would get her some answers.
‘She works for the family business. Shipping. They’re clients of my company.’
‘Your eyes met over a spread sheet?’
‘Something like that.’ He held up the key. ‘Where do we start looking?’
Okay. So their ‘understanding’ was now muddied, and right now he didn’t want to talk about it. Chloe’s updated take: Joel and Zara got it on while they were working late, maybe she got pregnant (would Joel really be so careless?). Or they were in a relationship and had a contraceptive fail. When Zara found out she was pregnant, she put the pressure on. Perhaps she wanted to tie the knot anyway.
And who could blame her? thought Chloe, wistfully, as she looked into his beautiful eyes.
If you didn’t know about his gay side. The love that dare not speak its name. Even in the twenty-first century.
Or perhaps Zara did know; perhaps he made a deal. He’d marry her if she turned a blind eye. Then he wouldn’t have to live a lie. Or only half a lie, anyway.
Or maybe she was the liberal type. Open marriages weren’t that unusual?
Why would they need to get married, though? Couldn’t he just support her financially and leave it at that?
Then she remembered Rohan, the brother-in-law-to-be. His snake eyes; his comment about Chloe needing to learn some respect. Respect for men , had been his unspoken implication. Perhaps Zara’s family were deeply conservative. An unmarried mother might bring shame on them. And an openly bi-sexual husband – how would that go down?
But surely Joel wouldn’t make that sacrifice – it didn’t get much bigger – unless there was something in it for him? Or had he fallen in love with Zara? Maybe he really wanted kids? Or both?
Her head was spinning with all the different permutations. And in spite of all her mulling, her guesses still felt off. Joel remained a conundrum.
Just ask him!
Not yet. She was taking her cues from Joel, and he wasn’t stepping up. Plus, if she pushed too hard, there was the risk that she’d destroy their growing closeness. For now, she’d rather Joel remained a puzzle.
A hand waved in front of her face. ‘Earth to Chloe?’ It was holding a key. ‘Have key, find door?’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Look,’ he said, shining the torch onto the key. In the beam she saw the word Repos engraved on the shaft. ‘Another clue? What does repos mean? Rest?’
‘Yes, rest.’ She attempted to focus on the matter at hand. ‘But it’s also the name of a road that skirts the cemetery. Rue de Repos. I pass it on my way home; there’s a nice restaurant on the corner.’
‘Cool, we can pop in for a bite to eat.’
‘Um …’ said Chloe, eyeing their shackles.
‘Oh, I’m sure the locals won’t bat an eyelid at our kinky games,’ he said. ‘In fact, we might inspire them to go home and give it a try. We’d be improving their sex lives, like Monsieur Noir.’
Chloe laughed, then pictured the pair of them sitting in a candlelit window, sharing a one-handed meal and a bottle of vin rouge , and more about their lives. It seemed like the loveliest thing in the world.
‘I’m pretty sure there are gates to the cemetery at the end of that road,’ she said. ‘Private ones, not public ones. I reckon this must be the key to those gates.’
‘Let’s go, then.’
‘Anyone else you want to visit first?’ She meant the question as a joke, but a part of her hoped he might say yes. She wasn’t yet ready to call time on their brief encounter. ‘Isadora Duncan? Balzac?’
‘Ballsack?’
Chloe spluttered with laughter. ‘ Tsk . Or Marcel Proust? Another great writer.’
‘I’ve heard of him. What did he write?’
‘ Remembrance of Things Past . I haven’t read it; I just know he’s buried here because it’s on my route home.’
‘Your commute certainly beats the Sheffield ring road.’
‘Yes, but it’s never taken me quite this long before.’
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ he said. ‘That meal in a restaurant, maybe. It can’t be later than eight thirty, nine o’clock? And they eat late here?’
She raised her eyebrows.
‘Okay, I guess I would look a bit dodgy with a girl chained to my wrist. If we can get ourselves freed first, then?’
‘I’m not sure vomit-splattered trainers and matching bag meet Parisian dress standards,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘And how do we get this off?’ She peered down at the padlock, a super-sturdy gold-coloured thing with a tiny keyhole.
‘Search me.’
She pictured them trying to explain their situation to a gendarme, if they even found one.
He grinned. ‘What’s French for Not bondage gone wrong, just a stag do ?’
‘I’m sure they’ll give a Gallic shrug and cut us free,’ she said, ‘and it’ll confirm their view that the English are all kinky.’
They set off, Joel lighting their path with the torch.
‘Proust’s over there,’ she said, pointing vaguely. ‘He too was gay. And denied it. Lived a lie.’ She looked sideways at Joel.
‘I’m done with the tomb visits,’ he said, either oblivious to her implication or purposely and annoyingly ignoring it. ‘To be honest, I’m starting to feel depressed by all these graves. It’s like they’re reminding me how short our time on Earth is and judging me for not making the most of it.’
‘Oscar’s whole living life, not just existing thing?’
‘Yup.’
They went quiet. She looked over at him again. His shoulders were hunched and his gaze was fixed on the cobbles in front of him. Even in the darkness she could see the furrows in his brow.
He was brooding. She mentally applauded their dead audience for forcing him to think before plunging into a fake life.
‘What’s your favourite movie?’ he said abruptly, taking her by surprise.
‘What? Why?’ No way had he been thinking about movies.
‘It’s just … let’s talk about something that won’t depress us.’
She laughed. ‘Okay. Do I have to be honest, or do I need to impress you?’
‘I’m already impressed, so you can tell me the truth.’
‘ Love Actually , then. I know, I know,’ she said, as he pulled a face. ‘But it’s so feel-good. Except for the part where Alan Rickman buys the office slag a necklace and makes Emma Thompson cry. I hate that part.’
‘But he resists in the end,’ said Joel.
‘True. Would you have?’
‘I would never betray Emma,’ he said. ‘She’s a national treasure.’
‘But Christmas at the office can be the ultimate test, right?’ said Chloe, spotting an opening. ‘Months of ignoring the person you really fancy because shagging them would be ill-advised, possibly a sackable offence, then boom, all that self-control goes out of the window thanks to a few too many glasses of cheap warm wine and the Christmas spirit?’
‘Yep. One minute you’re discussing whether the trains will be running properly on Christmas Eve, the next you’re being hauled into the stationery room for a snog and a naked butt photocopier pic. And then someone important walks in and there goes your career.’
This was a promising revelation, but she was still reluctant to risk pushing him further. Softly softly catchee monkey.
‘I stayed here in Paris last year,’ she said instead. ‘Spent the break with Aunt Daisy, avoided the whole Christmas drama back home scenario. The thought of bumping into Dan in the pub, and all the others who’d have been whispering about me behind their hands was too horrible. And Mum would’ve been carping on about how I should’ve been having my first married Christmas, lamenting the loss of her beloved Dan and his excellent prospects .’
‘Good call. I haven’t been a fan of Christmas for a good few years now.’ He paused, and the briefest suggestion of pain flickered across his face. ‘My mum always gets flustered and grumpy in the kitchen, and the aunts and uncles get pissed and every simmering family resentment resurfaces with a vengeance. And believe me, in our family those are many and deep.’ He frowned. ‘Fuckin’ deep.’
All in all, Chloe thought, that had been a fairly intense reaction to the mere mention of Christmas.
‘My dad always gets really loud and hearty after too many beers,’ she said, mentally picking over that reaction. ‘It’s absolutely cringe.’
He laughed. ‘My parents don’t drink, they’re teetotal.’ He paused. ‘Which is actually worse? Pissed parents or teetotal parents?’
‘Mine usually drink in moderation,’ Chloe replied. ‘They do everything in moderation. Especially life.’
‘Like me. I’m looking down the barrel of a life of moderation. We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell .’
‘Oscar again?’
‘Yep.’
Was he reaching out? Could she finally risk more questions?
Chloe bit the bullet. ‘What you said before, about being discovered in the stationery room. Did that happen to you?’
‘Jeez, Chloe. There’s no getting past you, is there?’ He smiled, then grimaced. ‘Okay, let’s just say, when the naked butt belongs to an important client, and that client’s brother, who’s pretty high up in that company, walks in on you, and your hands are in close proximity to that naked butt …’
‘Oh my god, Joel. That’s disgraceful.’
‘I was just lifting her up,’ he said, ‘onto the photocopier. Really, I was.’
She couldn’t help laughing. ‘You mean hoisting her? Fuck’s sake, Joel.’
‘It sounds bad, I know. And it looked … well. All I can say in my defence is that I’d had a few too many. As we have seen, I don’t respond well to alcohol. Also in my defence, I’m going to claim I was pretty much, um …’
‘Seduced?’
‘More coerced . Still sounds lame, I know.’
‘Well, we have also established you have trouble saying no.’
They went quiet again. The moon had retreated behind a cloud, and the cool breeze had picked up. They were nearing the perimeter of the cemetery, and the glow from the street was illuminating Joel’s pained expression.
Chloe tossed the latest intel into her mix. He hadn’t mentioned her name, but Zara was surely the client. She held the cards in that professional relationship. Some men found power sexy, right?
Chloe couldn’t help picturing her. Sleek . Long, sleek, shiny black hair; sleek, toned body in a dress that forgave nothing , eyes like a cat’s; long, beautifully manicured nails, one gracing the index finger beckoning Joel towards the stationery room, another on the ring finger awaiting its prize.
In Chloe’s mind, sleek Zara had plied Joel with drink, sent him all the lingering looks, the softly spoken words – only one thing I want for Christmas [wink] – all the while fully aware her brother was close by. He discovered them, and bingo. Joel was compromised, at risk of losing a client, maybe an important one. And probably at risk of being punched, too. Very hard.
What to do? Persuade Rohan that his intentions were honourable, for both their sakes. Convince him that Joel was serious about–
Another lightbulb moment. Perhaps Zara had been trying to avoid an arranged marriage? A nifty double-trick of snagging the guy she fancied, and branding herself as damaged goods?
Chloe let her imagination go wild. Zara was probably pregnant, too. If she had to avoid an arranged marriage, then surely that would be the finishing touch, the master stroke. No question that her family would agree to her marrying Joel. And quickly, before the pregnancy became obvious.
‘Was that the first time you got together with Zara?’ she asked.
‘Did I say it was Zara?’
‘Inspired guess.’
‘Well, yes. It was. And she was scared to death about what her brother would do. He’s an effing psycho, obsessed with family honour.’
But Zara couldn’t have been that afraid of her brother if she’d got it on with Joel when Rohan was close by. Zara was definitely pulling the strings, Chloe decided.
‘She begged him not to hurt me; told him we’d been secretly dating, that we were in love,’ he said, ‘and I went along with it. I didn’t especially want to spend Christmas in hospital.’
‘I see. How incredibly noble of you.’
‘Well – I was actually okay with that. I did like her, and I didn’t want her to get into serious trouble. See, her family had other plans for her.’
I was right!
‘We persuaded Rohan we’d just got carried away, and I promised to treat her with more respect.’
‘So the pressure was on?’ Though presumably Zara had encouraged him to put aside that respect long enough for the deal-sealing part of her plan – the getting pregnant part – to be actioned. Men just can’t help themselves.
‘I was on the back foot from the start of it. But like I said before, it’s complicated.’
Zara was one clever girl. I hate you, Zara.
Could Joel not see he’d been played? That the stationery room incident had been Step One of a cunning plan?
She sensed his unwillingness to move on to the next part of the story – the getting her pregnant part – probably because he knew she’d probe him about the whole gay side of things, too. And if he was still in denial about that, he’d be unlikely to reveal any other complicated sexual information to her.
Chloe stared hard at him, willing him to talk some more, but he’d shut down. He looked so dejected, as if what he was about to do with his life had only just hit home.
She didn’t want him to be sad during their last minutes in the cemetery, so she attempted to lighten things up again. ‘What’s your favourite movie, then?’
He smiled, and his shoulders de-hunched. ‘If we’re talking feel-good, you can’t go past The Sound of Music , am-I-right?’
Hm . He probably loved musical theatre too.
‘You are indeed correct,’ said Chloe. ‘I was thinking earlier, when we were hiding behind the graves, it was–
‘– like the bit when the Nazis are searching for the family in the abbey.’
They smiled goofily at each other.
‘Watch it together one day?’ said Chloe.
‘It’s a date.’
‘Dressed as nuns?’
‘No. And also … Saving Private Ryan ,’ he said. ‘Gets me every time.’
‘Me too. I was in bits by the end of that. I have a love-hate relationship with war movies.’
‘My father was in the army,’ he said. ‘He’s a retired colonel.’
‘Oh? Were you one of those kids who moved around a lot?’
‘Nah. He mostly sat at a desk. When he went away, we stayed behind.’
‘A colonel? That sounds quite terrifying.’
‘He is.’
Maybe Joel was getting the ‘do the right thing’ message from both sides? And a colonel-dad would be pretty intimidating.
‘Like Captain von Trapp?’
‘Far scarier. What’s your favourite book?’
‘Oh, right. Are we allowed a children’s book?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘That’s easy, then,’ she said. ‘ The Secret Garden . I read it over and over, and I promised myself a secret garden one day. With high red brick walls and an ancient wooden door, and rambling roses and all of it.’ She sighed. ‘I think it’s why I love this place so much. It’s like a giant, walled, secret garden.’
‘But with corpses,’ he said. ‘I loved that book too. I think you must be my sister from another mother.’
Sister?
‘I didn’t read much, though, when I was a kid,’ he said. ‘My mum chose our books for us and I wasn’t really into the classics. She didn’t approve of Harry Potter or Roald Dahl. Thank god for the school library. At least I usually had something readable hidden in my bag.’
A strict upbringing with maybe cold, controlling (and teetotal) parents. Chloe would take a guess such parents wouldn’t be easy to come out to.
She added yet more layers to her Joel/Zara theory. Which was: Joel liked Zara; she was desperate not to be married off to some suitable boy; he needed a cover for his secret gay life. And he related to her situation because he was scared of his strict father, too. It was a neat solution – he and Zara could be like flatmates-with-benefits. And if at some point in the future one or the other wanted to move on, they could get an amicable divorce. The ‘complicated’ part, presumably, was the baby. Still a guess on Chloe’s part, but given the above, it made sense.
Just ask him!!
Not yet. Joel was slowly starting to talk, and she didn’t want to spook him.
‘Did you go to uni?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Bristol.’
‘What did you study?’
‘Business and finance. And yes, that too was as boring as it sounds.’
‘Why, Joel?’ She kept her eyes on the path ahead, hoping that would make it easier for him to share something more. ‘Why didn’t you do something you loved, that turned you on? And why did you then decide to … analyse data?’
He shrugged. ‘Conventional upbringing, I guess. Parental expectations. You do what’s necessary for a “good” profession, and the stuff you actually enjoy, like, say, acting–
Acting?
‘– is for your spare time. And if you’re like my dad, that should be fishing and golf.’
‘You don’t like fishing or golf?’
‘I’m twenty-eight.’
‘No wonder you ran away to Sheffield.’
‘Yep … well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘But not now?’
‘Chloe – just give the psychiatrist’s couch a rest, eh? Favourite food?’
OK, I’ll drop it. Softly, softly…
‘Cake, what else?’
‘Good call.’
‘I know a great late-night patisserie,’ she said. ‘I’ll buy you cake when we make it out of here. And when people ask what wicked depravities you got up to on your stag, you can say, “I ate cake handcuffed to a Parisian girl in a black beret who sexually abused a statue.”’
He grinned. ‘And did I lick the cream off her beautiful body?’
Heat crept up Chloe’s neck – and through her body, pooling between her legs. ‘ Oh la la! ’ She winked. ‘Well, maybe you did. If you were a good garcon .’