No. He turned the volume off and put it away.
Ash’s curious gaze was burning into him and he took a couple more healthy swallows of cocktail before smiling at her. She was obviously dying to ask.
‘That was my papa,’ he explained. ‘And in some way that explains why I haven’t been to visit for so many years.’
She tilted her head to show she was listening but didn’t say anything more.
‘I work for him – you know that – and he is…’ He sighed and closed one eye, searching his mind for the right word in English and then realising it was the same in French anyway. ‘Flamboyant.’
‘Like, in the way he dresses?’ She frowned.
‘More in the demands he makes of life and those in his life.’ As he said it, Olivier thought of his parents’ marriage. They’d always said they’d just fallen out of love with each other but what if the reality was his maman had needed space? So much space, she’d moved to another country. He was starting to appreciate that if it were the case.
‘Oh. I see.’ She bit her lip. ‘How have we never talked about your dad before? So, he monopolises your time?’
‘That’s a good way of putting it.’
She leaned her chin on her hand and gave a soft, sad laugh. ‘What’s that like then? To have a parent all in your business?’
‘Honestly? Tiring and…’ He caught himself. He’d been about to tell her about the other problem. The way he didn’t know whether he was capable of making his own decisions anymore. Something about Ashleigh’s openness was catching but he didn’t really want her to think he was that pathetic. ‘Well. I shouldn’t complain.’ He remembered about her family. They had talked about that whenever he visited. How her maman was in LA and rarely visited, how her papa disappeared after the divorce offering her little more than the occasional phone call.
‘No? Everyone has the right to have a moan, Olivier.’ She nudged his shoulder and left it there. He looked at her closely again, but not to just appreciate her charms. He noticed how she was slumping. First leaning on the back of the sofa, then on her propped-up hand, now against him.
‘You’re worn out.’
‘A bit.’ She rubbed her neck and straightened her back.
‘You didn’t order anything to eat.’ He suddenly remembered.
‘Oh, it’s too late now. I don’t really fancy anything.’ She stifled a yawn against the back of her hand and he wished they were at his home or hers, so he could pull her into his side and relax back on the sofa and let her fall asleep against him.
Except ‘just friends’ didn’t really do that did they?
Even so, the image wouldn’t leave him for some reason. All the while when they finished their drinks and then walked home in the darkness, parting at their gates, he thought of holding her and it seemed terribly cruel that when he went to bed that night, he knew she was just on the other side of the wall.
