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Charlie stared at her wine glass as condensation dripped around its curve. She let it hang for a few moments before rubbing it away with her thumb. A resigned sadness washed over her. She’d let Elda walk out of her life, and she hadn’t given them a chance to get started.
She looked at Jude and remembered the last time they’d been together. They were familiar. They knew each other’s bodies, what worked and what didn’t. But nothing more than that. Charlie straightened her back, ready to confront her behaviour. “I haven’t been good to you. In fact, I’ve been a bit of a shit.” She took Jude’s hands in her own and noticed their fragile size for the first time. Perhaps Jude had feelings that she’d played with and ignored. The guilt hung heavy across her shoulders.
“What are you talking about?” Jude recoiled and her cheeks coloured.
“I mean it. I’ve slept with you and then treated you terribly. I’m sorry.”
Jude leaned closer and pushed Charlie’s short hair away from her ear. “Charlie, darling. I’m not in love with you. Our arrangement was entirely mutual and a complete pleasure.” She giggled into her glass. “Why the sudden guilt trip?”
“Jesus.” Charlie ran her hand through her hair and took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I just feel a bit weird.”
“Have you fallen in love, sweetheart? Have you discovered unknown depths to your feelings? Been there, darling. It hurts. And you realise everything before was just performance, really.”
Charlie sat still for a moment and digested Jude’s analysis. She was spot on. Charliehadfallen in love. “Why would you say that?”
“You don’t let anyone in, do you?” Jude looked smug, like she’d discovered something Charlie was trying to keep hidden. “You’ve spent all these years with your guard up, and now you’ve fallen for someone. Admit it.”
Charlie wriggled under the interrogation, conscious of how exposed she was. “Maybe. It can’t go anywhere though.”
“Why not?”
“Well, she’s moving to bloody Paris. With a guy.”
“You’re not the first to fall for a straight, attached woman, Charlie, and you won’t be the last. Don’t tell me, he’s gorgeous too. They always are.” Jude took a sip of wine.
“No. They’re not together. He offered her a job. It was a good career move. I encouraged her.” Charlie covered her ears with her hands. Trying to explain this was painful, and she wasn’t sure she could stand her own ramblings.
“So, she’s not straight or with the guy, and you told her to move to Paris?” Jude raised a single, preened eyebrow.
“The job was perfect for her. And yes, I told her to go. I couldn’t ask her to put her dreams on hold for something so intangible. I don’t even know if she likes me.”
“Oh, bugger that. You’re irresistible. Go and bloody fight for her.” Jude picked up Charlie’s wine glass by the stem and handed it to her. Her face glowed, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
Charlie had thought she didn’t have anyone to talk to about her feelings for Elda. If she’d confided in Jude earlier, maybe it wouldn’t have unravelled so easily. She might have recognised the power of her feelings before Elda was swept along on Francis’s ride.
It was pointless to go over the chronology of it all now. They’d only known each other a few weeks. Charlie couldn’t have understood and acted on her emotions in that time. She kicked herself. Coasting through life like she was untouchable was one way to protect her heart. But losing the only person she’d connected with in almost two decades was a tragic waste.
Chapter Thirteen
Elda rested against the bench and lifted her head. The sunlight made orange patterns behind her closed eyelids, and when she opened them, she was blinded for a few seconds.
She was fresh off the Eurostar, grateful for the cool air under the Paris sky and the hum of tourists. She was no fan of the tunnel itself. It made her panic to travel under the seabed. She took a deep breath and looked up at the thick grey arch above her, its criss-cross pattern stretching into the clouds. From this angle, the Eiffel Tower looked short and squat, like an iron bridge. It was a terrible cliché to start her new life here, but Francis had wanted to show Elda the sights. “So, when are we going over to the university? I want to check out the spaces and find a proper place to live.”
“Soon.” He stroked his chin. “I think we should walk to the river and catch a boat to the Pont Neuf. I’ll take you down to the Notre Dame and then onto the hotel I booked for you.”
“Okay, but I can’t wait to see everything.” Pent up with ambition and excitement, she wanted to get started, but Francis seemed slow to move.
“In Paris, we enjoy things. Work will come.”
A few hours later, Elda was disorientated. They’d had too many little jugs of red wine, and she wasn’t sure which side of the River Seine they’d ended up on. They’d spent the afternoon meandering through the Latin Quarter, stumbling across pretty squares full of cafés and conversation. Young men played chess, beautiful women chatted, and waiters carried out trays of beer and pastis to the terraces. She felt like a tourist, forgetting that this wasn’t a holiday.
Francis was talking art, and his hands grabbed at the air as he described his vision for the team. His mannerisms and accent were even more foreign to her than a few weeks ago. He was more Italian, more French. He was a stranger. But he knew Paris by heart. Unlike her last trip with Rebecca, she’d been whipped away from the Gare du Nord to the most sumptuous parts of the city, skipping past the grubby backstreets. The alleys they stumbled upon were cobbled and full of charm.
They sat in a late-night bar around the corner from the Sorbonne University. It was dark and luxurious, with a velvet curtain draped across the doorway. The waiter nodded towards a corner table facing the picture window. Elda could just about see the river, edged by festoon bulbs, when she stretched her neck.
Her head pounded behind her eyes, and the undercooked steak she had forced down earlier was threatening to make a reappearance. She struggled to concentrate on Francis’s latest anecdote, and she stretched into contortions on her wicker chair in an effort to get comfortable. She excused herself to find the toilets. A man polishing glasses at the bar gestured towards a single door at the back that met neither the ceiling nor the floor. Elda pushed through to find that it divided the dimly lit bar from an even darker, single hole in the floor.
Her stomach cramped, and she doubled over in pain, with no time to be horrified. The wine made her head swirl, and she worried that she was going to be sick.She dropped her jeans andscooped them towards her chest, then said a silent prayer that she could stand up without falling into the hole and breaking her ankle.Christ, that would be awkward.
