One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [86]
‘Céline… wanted to have a long honeymoon in Mauritius,’ he explained, reading my thoughts. ‘I couldn’t afford the time.’
‘I see. And now?’
‘Now?’
‘Well – when’s the wedding?’
‘November.’
‘And you’ll get your honeymoon?’
‘I guess.’
A pause.
‘And it’s going to be round the corner? I mean, the wedding? In Fayence?’
‘That’s it.’
‘So where is she now? Céline?’ Blood from stones. Teeth from heads.
‘She’s in London. We work for the same law firm – that’s how we met. She’s in the middle of a deal at the moment, so she’s at our house in Holland Park.’
‘Ah.’
What a nice life they led. Two glamorous, corporate lawyers, pots of money, two houses, one here, one in London, holidays in Mauritius… Not for the first time I wondered what I’d been doing with my life.
A waiter came to recharge the bread basket.
‘Une autre?’ He indicated the empty wine bottle.
I could have easily downed another, but Hal shook his head. ‘I think we’re done here, aren’t we?’ He looked at me.
‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.
‘L’addition, s’il vous plaît.’
*
Later, as we strolled up the old cobbled street together, threading our way through the crowds towards the square, he nodded at my hotel.
‘You’re over there?’
‘Yes,’ I said, surprised. ‘How did you—’
‘I saw you come out,’ he said quickly.
So he’d watched me all the way to the café. Had let me sit down before revealing himself. I had the feeling he could have kicked himself for saying that. He’d changed the subject now, this clever, corporate lawyer who’d tripped himself up. No. That was pitching it too high. I listened as he told me about the finer nuances of owning a house in France, the baffling bureaucracy, and as he talked I wondered about Céline: chic, intelligent, bilingual, no doubt – beautiful certainly, for this man was a catch. This man. And of course, I’d only known the boy: gauche, cadaverous, slightly awkward, but always wise, always clever. As he raked his fingers through his dark hair now, in the midst of some tale of corrupt planners, it was a gesture that took me right back to the student union bar, where, as he held forth in some intellectual way, raking his hair, running rings around everyone, I’d sit back, pleased with my friend. See? Look how clever he is? I seemed to say. Even then he’d had huge potential, but I’d had my eyes on the more obvious prize, the finished article: brother Dom. No vision, you might say, which was odd, considering I had plenty in other areas. Show me a wreck of a house and I’ll mentally be knocking walls down, throwing up RSJs, yet Hal had passed me by. It was astonishing how like Dom he was now, aside from the hair colour, of course. But there was something else missing too. It came to me with a jolt. The smoothness. Hal had charm, but no sugar coating. He wasn’t fly. Shocked to find myself thinking of Dominic in anything like a critical manner, I attended to what Hal was saying, about his plans to get round the planners, build a pool.
‘You could always get them over for a drink?’ I suggested. ‘Isn’t that how everything’s done in France, over a bottle? Pass around some foie gras nibbles?’
‘Or maybe just a bowl of euros?’
I laughed. We’d reached my hotel now. A silence ensued as we came to a halt in front of it.
‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night,’ he said casually. We were standing under a balcony dripping with bougainvillaea and jasmine: the scent was heady. His slanting brown eyes gave nothing away. I hesitated. Then smiled.
‘Why not? I’d like that.’
‘Good. I’ll come by at about eight.’
‘Eight, it is.’
‘Good night, Hattie.’
He took a step towards me, I thought to kiss my cheek, but instead, he reached out and gravely adjusted the collar of the thin linen shirt I was wearing, turning it the right way out.
Why should that small gesture rock me?
A moment later he was gone – into the crowds, the swirl of tourists, the still dark night.
I climbed the stairs to the second floor and let myself into my room. The first thing I did was to go to the window and throw it open, wanting more of that