Secret Smile by Nicci French Read Free Book Online Page A

fact that I'm a woman doing the work I do. You'd think I was
defusing bombs. Still, it gives me something to talk about. And it's a bit like
being a doctor. I get asked for my advice. People ask me about how they should
do up their homes.
    Then Nick asked me what I wanted to do
after.
    'After what?' I said, pretending not to
understand.
    'Well. I mean — do you want to always be a
decorator?'
    'You mean, instead of getting a
profession?'
    'I guess so,' he said uncomfortably.
    'Yes,' I said simply. 'This is what I want
to do.'
    'Sorry — that probably sounded really
patronizing.'
    Yes, it did, so I just asked Nick what he
did. He told me that he worked for an advertising company. I asked if they'd
done anything I would have seen. Lots, he said. He said that they were the ones
who'd done the commercial with the fluffy talking pig. Unfortunately I hadn't
seen it. I asked what he was working on now, and he replied that they'd
recently won a huge account with an oil company and he was working on a report
in preparation for the campaign.
    But it didn't matter. What mattered were
the things going on underneath the conversation, the things we weren't saying.
After what seemed like a short time I looked at my watch and was surprised we'd
been talking for over an hour.
    'I've got to go,' I said. 'I'm having
dinner with this old friend of mine. Laura,' I added, to make it clear that I
wasn't off to meet a man who might be a boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend or someone
I might be considering as a boyfriend.
    'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I hoped that we
could have dinner. Or something. Not tonight, obviously. What about, I don't
know, Thursday?'
    I had arranged to see Troy on Wednesday
that week, so Thursday sounded fine. I walked out of the bar thinking, yes, I
was sure, almost sure at least, that something was going to happen. I had
another thought as well, almost a scary one: maybe this was the best bit.
Probably for the next few days or weeks we would have the excitement of a new
object in our lives, exploring it, finding out about it. We would ask each
other questions, tell carefully edited stories from our earlier lives. We would
be so nice to each other, so concerned and thoughtful and just endlessly
curious. And then what? Either it would fade away or just end quickly, and we
would lose touch and become a memory. Somehow it never subsided into pleasant
friendship. There was no way back to that. Or we would become a couple, and
even then we would have to subside into some sort of normality in which we got
on with our jobs and had anniversaries and had joint opinions about things and
we would complete each other's sentences. It could be good. People say so. But
it could never have the sheer possibility of the beginning. I felt wistful and
it seemed to suit the early evening. On one side of the road the cars and
shopfronts and people walking home from work were painted in gold from the last
of the sun. On the other side of the road they were lost in deep shadow.
    When I saw Laura, she knew straight away
that something was up, which it wasn't, not really.
    'You don't need to say anything,' she
said. 'I can tell just by looking at you.' I tried to tell her not to be
ridiculous. It had only been a drink. I thought he seemed nice, but I couldn't
tell yet.
     
     
    I was more convinced than I let on.
Thursday was good as well. We ate at a place just around the corner from my
flat and the evening went by almost without my noticing, until we were the only
people left in the restaurant and the chef was out from the kitchen with a
glass of wine chatting with us. Twenty minutes later we were in the doorway of
my flat, kissing each other. I pulled back from him and smiled.
    'I'd like to ask you up,' I said.
    But...?'
    'Soon,' I said. 'Really soon. It was such
a nice evening, I had a great time, I really like you. I'm just not...'
    'Sure?'
    'Ready. I'm sure, Nick.'
    'Can I see you tomorrow?'
    'Yes, of course...' Then I remembered.
'Fuck. Sorry. I've got