‘So you didn’t agree to be faithful just to each other?’ Odette looked confused. ‘Perhaps it is an English thing,’ Odette said. ‘But to me, this does not sound too serious. Not when you are so newly together.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Maybe the English are more old-fashioned. Like the old days when the woman and man must be faithful to each other and do not sleep with other people from the beginning.’
In Bella’s mind, the words ‘old days’ meant last century, or the 1800s where the most sex people seemed to indulge in – if you believed Jane Austen – was rubbing up against each other at an organised dance. Not— Was Odette calling the noughties ‘the old days’?
‘Perhaps it was a misunderstanding.’
‘He is still a shit for bringing her here,’ Odette offered.
Bella found herself smiling, momentarily. ‘I feel so lost sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose I made assumptions. I’ll talk to him.’
Odette looked at her strangely. ‘So you are all right?’
Bella nodded.
Odette withdrew her head from the gap, shutting the door with a click, leaving Bella more confused than she had been before.
She hated the idea of anyone she was dating seeing other people too – and couldn’t imagine ever having the energy to do so herself. But maybe if she was going to start seeing people again, she’d have to get up to speed with modern dating norms in France.
In the kitchen, she grabbed a sandwich and a cup of almost ridiculously strong tea, then took them upstairs. She was exhausted and some time alone, followed by an early night, would be exactly what the doctor ordered.
* * *
She couldn’t sleep. Thoughts of Henri, and naked women, and Odette, and Madame Roux, and the Hotel Club representatives, and Claudine had been buzzing around her head since she laid it on the pillow.
1.45a.m. In five hours, she’d be up again, getting ready for another day at work. And rather than the buzz she’d started to feel at the prospect of going in, she felt a vague sense of dread.
Sick of trying, she got up and went downstairs. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, she made her way to the cupboard and took out a tall glass, then walking over to the sink she ran the tap until the water ran cold and filled it up.
It was only when she turned, glass half drunk, that she realised she was not alone. Sitting at the table in the near darkness was a man, his face in shadow. In front of him, a bottle of what looked to be whisky and a half-empty glass.
She screamed, dropping her glass which shattered spectacularly on the terracotta tiles, sending shards of itself as far as each of the walls.
‘Crap!’ the man said, standing up. ‘What in God’s name—?’ Brad.
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ She dropped into a crouch and began sweeping the glass into a pile with her hands.
‘Stop!’ he said, and his voice was so loud, so forceful that she froze. ‘You’ll cut yourself. Here.’ He slid his hands gently under her arms and helped her into a standing position, then pulled another of the chairs out and guided her into it. Then, ‘Right!’ he said, and flicked on the light.
They both blinked like nocturnal creatures in an artificial environment. Then he took her hand in his and for a moment she thought he was going to lift it to his mouth in an old-fashioned greeting. But no, he was inspecting it for glass. Brushing off a couple of tiny pieces, he dropped it, satisfied. ‘No damage done.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, her words feeling thick in her mouth. Her heart was still thundering from the shock of seeing someone sitting in the dark kitchen, the sound of her own scream and the crash of glass on tile. She started to stand. ‘I’ll get the dustpan and brush.’
‘No. You stay there,’ he said firmly. ‘You’re barefoot.’ He reached into the cupboard under the sink and extracted the rather worn plastic ensemble, then, crouching, swept the glass shards into it, the brush becoming wet with water residue. Tipping it into the bin, he reached for a cloth and wiped the remaining water from the floor. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Better.’
‘You didn’t have to do that, you know. It was my mess.’
He laughed. ‘Feels more like it was my fault, scaring you like that. Again! Although,’ he touched his chest, ‘that scream scared the hell out of me!’
She made a face. ‘Sorry.’
‘Honestly, no need.’ He slid back into a chair and looked at her, his blue eyes kind. ‘It’s probably the first time I’ve been up past eleven since I arrived.’
‘Pretty much.’ She smiled weakly.
‘Can’t sleep?’
