Harm's Way by Celia Walden Read Free Book Online Page B

impassively, ‘I just hope it won’t ruin her entire evening if he doesn’t. She gets like this: sort of …’ I sensed he wanted to say ‘desperate’, but was trying to find something less harsh, ‘… over-excited.’ Then he brightened. ‘But the ukulele player who lives opposite and cooks naked said he’d come.’
    The doorbell rang and more guests appeared, the last of them the ukulele player, dressed in printed Indian trousers which tapered at the ankles. No sooner was the door closed than the bell rang again. It continued to do so for the next hour, each peal promising the excitement of a new arrival. As there were no chairs left I lowered myself on to the floor, next to Nathalie, a work friend of Beth’s about whom I only knew one fact (gleaned from Stephen): that she smoked in the bath.
    Beth had sprung up animatedly from her position on the couch and was guiding someone proprietorially by the arm through the room. His features were hidden by a mass of other, already less important faces, and I found myself craning my neck to catch sight of the man I knew must be Christian. He was standing in front of me now, smiling politely atStephen, and I worked my way up from the battered trainers to a flash of jawbone, catching a snippet of strongly accented English. Then a voice said: ‘Anna,
je te présente Christian.’
    I struggled up, pulling my dress down clumsily, conscious of how much I despised that gesture in other women, and gave him the automatic kiss on the cheek. Still the intimacy of that act did not come naturally, and I felt that he must sense my awkwardness.
    An hour, several bottles of wine and one spillage later, a discussion about the differences between France and England was in full flow. Nathalie and Marie, a friend of hers, were the instigators. Their comments on British girls’ tendency to wear short skirts and no tights, even in winter, had prompted a surge of moralising interest from the women, and a more basic enthusiasm from the men. Christian had disappeared from view but was, no doubt, still either in the room or out on the balcony. I felt a sudden rush of desire for attention – to see every face turned towards mine – and feeling forgotten down on the floor I joined the realm of the standing and embarked on a well-used diatribe about how the French see the English, knowing that Beth had heard my turns of phrase before, but that the rest of the room, and Christian, had not. Gratified by the laughter I was getting, and the gradually expanding group around me, I started on an anecdote, knowing that the outcome painted me in a flattering light. It occurred to me that if an outsider had been observing me they wouldn’t have liked me much. Christian’s eyes flew into focus, and I felt them on me for a split second, while Beth’s lingered on me a second longer.
    As the evening wore on I realised that, though I had not yet been brave enough to look at Christian’s face full on, or standnear enough to overhear his conversation, I had somehow taken in the fact that one of his front teeth came forward a little more than the others, forming a broken triangular shape which forced his top lip to protrude slightly, and that his voice went up half an octave when he spoke English. His eyes were a dark-green colour flecked with gold, and slanted sharply at the edges, giving him the appearance of being either bored or amorous. I couldn’t be sure whether he too felt that we’d been walking in circles around each other all night, but was determined to find out. Around one in the morning I found Stephen and Christian in the kitchen, laughing over a photograph of Beth pinned to the noticeboard.
    â€˜My sister says that at university Beth was always the one to suggest something really stupid at the end of the evening, something they would both regret the next day,’ Stephen was saying.
    They laughed indulgently. I