“But that was the Skyper-Kensitts’ scotch!”
“Yes, but I offered it to you,” he whispers jokingly.
“Second row, eh? You must really be into this concert,” I point out.
“I couldn’t refuse.”
“Neither could I,” I comment, looking towards Ashford.
Carter shows me anmp3player protruding from his pocket, and he points at the earpiece hanging from his right ear. “I was forced to be here, but not to listen.”
“Genius.”
He hands me the other earpiece. “To save you, tonight, I can only offer Dire Straits.”
In my life, I’ve imagined all sorts of things: roses, chocolates, heart shaped balloons, but I had never thought that sharing headphones could be this romantic.
WhileRomeo & Julietis playing, we don’t pay any attention to the concert taking place in the hall, we just clap mechanically every time we see the other guests do it.
Carter and I don’t say a word, we just occasionally exchange knowing looks; I start thinking that it could be time to put that open marriage thing into practice.
Carter is interested in me, this is obvious, or he wouldn’t spend so much time with a married woman.
Besides, it’s the second time he saves me from boredom!
Towards the end of Dire Straits’ Greatest Hits, I feel a hand beating lightly on my shoulder. It’s Cécile.
“I’m about to go and I wanted to say goodbye. For your information, Ashford is up there on the balcony,” she says pointing at him in the gilded parapet, “and he’s pissed as hell. I know this is none of my business, but maybe you should join him.”
For a moment, my eyes meet Ashford’s, and I see that they’re narrowed in anger; he’s furrowing his brow and his lips are tightened. He’s challenging me openly: get up from that chair and come on up, or stay there and I’ll deal with you later.
I have a third option.
I turn towards Carter and say: “How about that double scotch I owe you, how about we go and get it? I feel generous tonight.”
“Now?” He asks, more out of amusement than of lack of confidence. He never seems to lack confidence.
“You came by car, didn’t you?”
“As I always do.”
“Awesome,” I say, looking sharply at Ashford, who gives me a grim look from the gallery in exchange.
As soon as I get into Carter’s Porsche, I send a message to Ashford.
Heading to have a drink with Carter. Enjoy the Siberian howler monkey. Don’t wait up for me.
“Shall we go to Mason’s Head?” He asks.
I don’t even know where it is. “Sounds perfect.”
30
Ashford’s Version
“Call.”
“What?” Harring shouts.
