Nell （Present）
NELL
PRESENT
“Well, look at you, all dolled up,” Sadie says, looking up from her computer. “Where are you off to?”
“Alex’s sister has invited me for dinner so I thought I should smarten up a bit,” I explain, smoothing down the emerald green dress I’d just changed into. “Béatrice is very chic and so is her husband.”
“The French always are,” Sadie remarks.
“Hmm.” I stuff my work clothes into my bag and release my hair from its clip so that it falls around my shoulders. “Are you sure you don’t mind locking up tonight?”
“I don’t mind at all. Simon is meeting me here. He isn’t working tomorrow so we’re going to the cinema and for something to eat.”
“Nice. What are you going to see?”
Sadie’s eyes are back on her computer screen. “We haven’t decided yet but it will be some sort of action film otherwise we’ll both fall asleep.”
I laugh. “Well, have fun.”
“Thanks, you too.” Sadie, still engrossed, lifts her hand in a wave. “See you tomorrow.”
I clutch the collar of my coat, keeping the wind off my neck as I hurry to the bus stop.
The weather has turned cold and a light drizzle permeates the air.
The glare from car headlights stuck in the usual evening traffic jam seem more intrusive than usual but it’s because I’m on high alert.
I’m about to make a journey I haven’t made before and it’s made me anxious.
Béatrice and Victor live in South Kensington, which means taking a different bus from a different stop. It would be quicker to take the underground but I can’t bring myself to take the tube.
I arrive at the bus stop and scan the faces of the people in the queue, looking for the man I saw last Friday.
I hadn’t seen him on Monday, or yesterday, but if he’s here now, at this different stop, it will prove that he’s following me.
There’s no sign of him but it doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t mean that he’s not who I think he is.
A bus comes along and I take a quick step back as it slews rainwater onto the pavement before coming to a stop.
It takes me nearly an hour to reach South Kensington but I know from previous dinners with Béatrice and Victor that they never eat until eight thirty.
They might have lived in London for years and have adopted many British customs but French dining habits remain ingrained in their psyches.
Their flat is on the top floor of a beautiful Georgian building.
The elevator is to the right of a black-and-white entrance hall, with a reception desk where I have to sign in.
I don’t like being in enclosed spaces so I take the carpeted staircase to the fourth floor and pause on the landing to catch my breath.
Laughter rings out from the other side of the door on the left of the hallway, followed by chatter in French, and I guess that Inès has already arrived.
I press the brass bell and the sound of heels clattering on the wooden floor is quickly followed by the heavy door being pulled open.
“Nell, lovely to see you,” Béatrice exclaims, drawing me into the flat and kissing me on each cheek. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“It’s lovely of you to invite me.” I dig into my bag and bring out a box of exquisitely wrapped chocolates. “I hope these are the ones you like.”
“They are.” She gives me a hug. “There was no need but thank you. I’m touched you remembered.” Like Alex’s, Béatrice’s English is perfect. “Come through. Inès is here too and Victor is pouring champagne.”
It doesn’t take long for me to relax, and not only because of the glass of champagne that Victor has given me.
He and Béatrice have the knack of making me feel that I’m already part of their inner circle despite only having known me for a few months.
It’s the same with Inès; she’d greeted me with a kiss on each cheek and seemed genuinely delighted to see me again, drawing me to the sofa and insisting that I sat next to her.
They’ve switched to speaking English now that I’ve joined them and I’m amazed at the way they chat easily together in a language that isn’t their own.
I’m tempted to ask if they’d mind switching to French so that I can put what I’ve been learning into practice but I’m worried I’m not fluent enough yet to keep up.
Besides, I want it to be a surprise for Alex.
I take another sip of champagne and sink into the sofa, marveling at how impossibly elegant the three of them are.
Béatrice, slim in the way that French women often are, with narrow shoulders and equally narrow hips, is wearing a simple black sheath dress over her neat little bump.
Her glossy dark hair is held back from her face with a thin velvet band and delicate pearls hang from her ears.
Victor, slightly taller than Béatrice, is as stylish as his wife.
Although he’s wearing jeans, he’s paired them with a blue-and-white striped shirt open at the neck and a navy jacket.
Inès, Béatrice’s friend, is even more striking than Béatrice.
Taller than all of us, her jet-black hair is cropped short at the back but left longer at the front, with a fringe that sweeps across her forehead, accentuating her perfectly oval face.
Impossibly long lashes fan from her charcoal eyes, and her lips, with their prominent Cupid’s bow, are painted a vibrant red.
Crimson lipstick must be Inès’s trademark as she had worn it the last time we met.
Dressed in tailored black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and wearing four-inch heels, she looks as if she’s stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine.
“Congratulations, Nell,” Béatrice says, raising her glass of tomato juice in my direction. “I saw the article in The Guardian about Drop In. Alex told me it’s worked wonders in terms of new sponsorships.”
I smile. “Yes, it has. It’s amazing how much publicity we got from that one article.”
“I have contacts within the British press,” Béatrice continues.
“I’d be happy to try and get you another interview opportunity, maybe nearer Christmas when people feel guilty about the money they’re about to spend on family and friends and look to relieve some of that guilt by helping those in need. ”
“Gosh, that would be wonderful! Thank you, Béatrice, I really appreciate the offer.”
Inès offers me a bowl of olives. “So, are you missing Alex?” she teases.
“Yes, more than I thought I would,” I say. “I mean, I lived on my own for ages and it didn’t bother me. But now, when he’s not around, everything seems a bit flat.” I smile at Inès. “How did you all meet?” I ask. “Did you know Béatrice and Victor before coming to London?”
Inès shakes her head. “No, I met Béatrice when she beat me at tennis, here in London, not long after I arrived in 2021.”
Béatrice laughs. “There’s a tennis club in Hyde Park,” she explains. “It’s a great way to meet other expats and for networking. Inès and I hit it off straightaway and found we shared a love of skiing so I invited her to join us on our next trip to Verbier.”
“They have this amazing group of friends who go skiing together every year,” Inès says, reaching for her glass. “I thought I was a good skier until I met them. You should see Alex and Victor ski.”
“Don’t listen to her, Nell,” Béatrice says. “Inès is a brilliant skier.”
“So who’s the best?” I ask, hoping to hear that it’s Alex.
Béatrice looks over at her husband and smiles. “I think we all agree that Victor wins hands down in the skiing stakes.”
“Only because I could ski before I could walk,” Victor says, leaning forward and pouring more champagne into our glasses.
“You know that sequence at the beginning of Succession, the flashbacks to when the children were young, and there’s a very young child, no more than a toddler really, slaloming down a ski slope?
Well, that was me—not literally, of course, but I was like that. ”
“Wow.” I gaze at him in awe. “I’ve never been skiing.”
“Then you must come with us in January.”
“I couldn’t. Even with a million lessons, I’d never be able to get up to your standard. I bet you all ski off-piste.”
“Not anymore, not since Caitlin,” Inès says. “We’re so aware of the danger now.”
“What do you mean?”
Inès’s eyes fly to Béatrice’s face, who gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
“Why don’t we start dinner?” Victor suggests, pushing to his feet. “We can finish our drinks at the table.”
“No, wait.” I feel my cheeks reddening. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but I’m curious about what Inès said. Is there something I should know?”
Béatrice finds a smile. “I’m sorry, Nell, but if Alex hasn’t mentioned it to you, it’s not our place to do so.”
“Mentioned what to me? I know about Ariane, if it’s that.” The silence tells me that it isn’t about Ariane. I turn to Inès. “You said Caitlin. Who’s Caitlin?”
Inès hesitates and after another glance at Béatrice, who nods, she takes a breath. “She was Alex’s girlfriend.”
“Before Ariane?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I take a moment, aware of being gripped by the same sensation that had taken hold of me when I first asked Alex about Ariane—that I’m about to find out something I’m not going to like. “So, what happened?”
Béatrice exchanges a glance with Victor, still standing behind the sofa.
“I don’t think Alex will mind us talking about it,” she says.
“It was in the news at the time, so it’s not exactly a secret.
” She shifts on the sofa, angling her body toward me.
“We were skiing off-piste and Caitlin became separated from us. It was our final ski of the day and we didn’t know anything bad had happened until she failed to turn up where we’d all agreed to meet, outside a café near the bottom of the slope.
It was getting dark so Alex went to look for her.
When he couldn’t find her, he called the emergency services.
” Béatrice pauses. “She was found the next day, at the bottom of a ravine. She wasn’t as experienced as us and had lost her way and skied off the edge. ”
“Oh.” I clutch my throat. “How absolutely awful. I can’t imagine—it must have been terrible.”
“It was. We all blamed ourselves.” Béatrice’s eyes, focused on the past, fill with sadness. “It was especially hard for Alex. He felt he should have stayed with her as she wasn’t as strong a skier as us. But she’d seemed to be coping well and had told him to go on ahead.”
“How long ago did it happen?”
“It will be four years in January. Alex was devastated. He had this tremendous guilt. It was only when he met Ariane that he began to smile again.”
“And then she was murdered,” I say, my voice hollow.
The silence that follows is acute.
“Shall we have dinner?” Victor says into the void. Béatrice and Inès get quickly to their feet and I follow slowly, horribly destabilized by the death of another of Alex’s girlfriends.