The Train to Paris (22 page)

‘My flatmate. You can imagine. He loves bars like this. It's the sort of place where he plays a show.'

‘You're fond of him, aren't you?'

‘Ethan? We coexist, somehow. He's good company. I would be lonely without him.'

‘But he annoys you. He reminds you of the youthful hedonism that you're missing out on.'

‘No. I don't compare myself to him anymore. We're too different for that to be fair. Can you imagine me going out every night and sleeping past midday?'

‘I am glad you understand that now. But listen to me, because this is important—you probably think that I am going to tell you how crucial it is to be yourself, how much happier that will make you. It is not so straightforward. You need to know yourself first. And sometimes yourself needs to be teased out. You have to let other people do that. Otherwise you never change.'

‘Is that what you do?'

‘I don't need to. I know who I am.'

The sangria arrived in a ribbed earthenware carafe, with the fruit bobbing on the surface.

‘This is rather odd,' Élodie said, as I poured her a glass. ‘Sangria in the middle of winter. We can pretend that it's still summer.'

I tried not think of the party, or how long it would be before somebody noticed Élodie's absence. No wonder she lived without a mobile phone. It was unfair for her to leave such a trail of destruction, which everybody else would have to clean up.

‘What are you thinking?' I asked. She was far away.

‘Somebody should really teach you not to ask those sorts of questions.'

‘So I should ignore your example?'

‘I never pretended to be a role model.'

‘No. You pretended to be everything else.'

‘You really shouldn't talk like that. It doesn't suit you.'

I wondered what I had done wrong this time. It was imperative that I did not apologise.

‘Tell me what you're thinking,' I said. ‘If you don't, then I won't give you the surprise.'

‘What if I don't want it?'

‘You do.'

‘Very well. I am thinking that this place is a terrible student dump, and that you were a fool to bring me here when we could have had more fun somewhere else.'

‘Right. Now tell me what you're really thinking.'

‘Why would I do that? I never have any real thoughts.'

‘You do. I know you do.'

‘I have to run away,' she said after a long pause. Her voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it. ‘I have to find something else, somewhere else. Do you understand that? No, you don't. How could you? I have to burn the building down and run away from it. You can't even begin to understand it, Lawrence. You're a child.'

‘Why do you have to run away?'

‘Because I hate everybody, and they all hate me.' A strand of her hair dangled before her eye. She did not brush it away as she usually would have. ‘But I can't talk about it. I only wanted to have one last evening of fun with you, Lawrence.' She looked around, as though she was searching for the missing fun. ‘You had to take that away from me, too.'

This made my chest contort a little. I told myself to feel no sympathy for her. I wanted to argue that such pleasure was an illusion, and that she would be better off not seeking it. But this was cruel. I hung my head.

‘Sorry, Élodie,' I said. ‘You're right. We should be having fun.'

The jukebox stopped. I went over to it.

‘Where are you going?' she asked.

‘Come with me.'

I searched for the bossa nova track from Biarritz. ‘Menina Flor'. Élodie was curious as the first few notes faded in. Then the sax line became prominent.

‘Oh Lawrence,' she said. ‘What a wonderful idea.'

I held my arms out, inviting her to dance. She responded by touching her body to mine. It was as fragile as I remembered it feeling under my fingers. I tried to lead, but this proved futile. She did not want to be led. Instead I answered her movements and touches. We took up a space in the centre of the bar, and I could feel the eyes of others on me, waiting for me to make a mistake. But for once I had no cause to worry. In some ways I wanted to make a mistake. It no longer mattered if I did.

‘This is naughty,' Élodie whispered in my ear. I felt a rush as I pulled her closer. She gave me the energy that I needed. I steered her, and she steered me.

The song came to an end too soon. We broke off, and Élodie threw her head back in wicked laughter, while everybody around us applauded. And then she kissed me. It was almost by accident. Everything slowed down. I closed my eyes. I could see her dancing before me on the terrace in Biarritz, her movements entrancing me. At the same time I could feel her beneath my hands, and I knew that it was no fantasy, that it had all happened, that she was real.

‘Come,' Élodie said. She was as sharp and prim as she had always been. ‘We must go somewhere more appropriate.'

23

I suggested we go
to my apartment for another drink. It made sense, when it was so close. But Élodie refused. She led the way across the Carrefour de l'Odéon. A gentleman might have put his arm around her, but I never thought of this.

‘You know, darling,' she said. ‘That is the first time I have had any fun in such a horrid place.'

‘What an achievement,' I said. ‘But now you can't face trying the same thing at my place.'

‘No, of course not. You have redeemed yourself, and I need to reward you accordingly.'

‘So where are we going?'

‘To the hotel next door to your apartment. They tell me that it's the best in this area.'

It was a surprise to hear her mention this hotel, where I had imagined staying with her all those months ago.

‘Who tells you that?' I asked.

‘Oh, anybody. It is hard to keep up with such a wide circle.'

‘I can imagine. Even though you hate all of them.'

We crossed the road to Saint-Sulpice, with the eastern tower of the church standing proud at the end of the street, lighted in soft gold like a stately mirage. I felt for Élodie's hand, and she gave it to me hesitantly. It was cold. I tried to warm it.

The concierge recognised me. He was about to hand me the telephone when Élodie swooped in with the American Express. I offered to pay, but she was insistent, handling the card so that I would not see it. While she talked with the concierge I admired the hotel's velvet cushions and the silk drapery. There was an intricate pattern on one of the chairs, which must have taken somebody a long time to execute. I wanted to examine it for flaws. The mirror above the fireplace showed my reflection, and I was as tall and lean as I had always been, but something was different. I remembered what Élodie had said in Biarritz, and once again I felt as though I was in a Fellini film.

‘How funny,' Élodie said. ‘We have a room on the fourth floor. Right beside yours.'

We waited for the elevator. I had to ask her now. I no longer cared if she took offence. ‘Why are you using somebody else's credit card?'

‘Because I am a naughty girl,' she said. ‘You like that. If you didn't, then you wouldn't have come to meet me this morning.'

‘That's a dubious argument.'

‘But it is the truth. And I don't have to explain myself to you, when you don't understand a damned thing.'

‘And you like that. If you didn't, you wouldn't have invited me to your party.'

The elevator arrived, and she cut the conversation clean in two by walking in ahead of me.

‘I asked for them to send up a bottle of champagne,' she said.

‘You never tire of that drink, do you?'

‘Why should I? It really is ambrosia.'

‘And can the payer afford it?'

‘For God's sake, Lawrence. You won't let that drop, will you?'

‘No, I won't. Tell me whose money I'm stealing. I have a right to know, surely?'

‘We aren't stealing anything. It is Ed's card. He gave it to me when we had dinner last night.'

This caught me by surprise. I had not prepared for the possibility, and as such I found it difficult to accept.

‘So that was all a show today?' I said. ‘You had already seen him and made plans. Was it his idea you call me?'

‘He couldn't give a damn about you. I suggested it. We agreed that it would be for the best if he gave us a nice day together.'

The hotel room had the same floor plan as my apartment, but it could not have been more different. It was tidier. I liked to imagine that my bed would be as crisp and neatly spread as the one before me, if only I wanted it to be so. But I knew, too, that a room like this would never make a good home. The view out the window was the same, except that there was no film of grime settled over the glass. And the lighting was soft. It illuminated everything that needed to be seen, including Élodie. Her back showed, and under the glow of the standard lamp her skin became smooth and gold again.

‘So, how do we finish the nice day?' I said, standing stupidly in the middle of the room.

‘You put a bit too much thought into that. We should take it naturally. See what happens. My opinion of you might change as a result.'

I could see her figure in the dress. She removed my jacket and draped it over the bed. As her shoulders flexed, I could see the white scar again. Her hair was tightly bound, and I wanted to take out the comb and let it hang free as it had in Biarritz.

A waiter wheeled the champagne in and presented it on a silver tray. He was about to open it, but Élodie asked him to stop.

‘Do the champagne,' she said to me. ‘Pop the cork as gently as you can. There is nothing more beautiful.'

She went through to the bathroom, swaying those elegant arms in time to her stride. She left the door half-open. I approached the champagne with some trepidation, convinced that I would get it wrong again. I could feel pressure beneath the cork. The bottle must have been shaken. With intense concentration, I did my best to slide the cork out in a way that would neither be too gentle nor too dramatic. I could tell that it had made the right sound. Élodie applauded from the bathroom.

‘Well done, boy,' she called out. ‘Now take that approach to everything else.'

I waited for her to emerge in nothing but her lingerie and her gartered stockings. But she kept her dress on, to my surprise. Its black sequins danced under the lights. I handed her a glass of the champagne. I held mine up, and asked what we should drink to this time.

‘I have already told you,' she said. ‘We should never drink to anything. We are what we are; the drink is what it is. Let us not pretend to anything more.'

‘How unlike you,' I said. We clinked our glasses together nonetheless. There was something that I wanted to say to Élodie, but now I was not nearly drunk enough.

‘We don't need to do anything,' she said. ‘It would be nice, but we don't need to.'

‘Fair enough.' I could tell that she wanted me to disagree with her. ‘Would you mind if I had a shower to freshen up?'

‘You do that. I will wait out here and read the room service menu. It does look fascinating.'

We shared in a moment of amusement. As I was about to turn away, she held me by the arm. Her hands had not warmed up. She rubbed from my wrist to my biceps, as if feeling for something under my skin. Her grip was strong.

‘Go, quick,' she said, and released me.

The shower was invigorating. I became aware of my body as I stood naked beneath the hot water, and I no longer felt skinny and weak. My arms were full and my body hair was thick. I could hear her footsteps. She drew back the curtain, and stepped in. I pressed up against her, touching her neck and running my hand down her back. This time I kissed her. I clung to her wet hair while she dug her fingernails into my arms. She was wearing her diamond rings. I wondered if she ever took them off.

There was no undressing to be done. On the bed she forced me to roll over, and she was on top. She teased my chest hair and felt my muscles, and I felt more and more like a man, a man who deserved to be with this woman. She bit my neck, and I told her to stop. But she continued down to my breast, and her teeth closed around my nipple.

I resisted and pushed her off, and we tussled as she tried to hold me down again. I pinned her to the bed, as I had in Biarritz, and then I put my mouth on her. I could taste her, and I could sense her reaction. I felt her become mine. And then I drew my head up. She lay in the pillows with her hair a mess, a line of sweat on her brow, panting.

This time I built up slowly, and her gasps escalated. Everything was delicate and balanced, and I wanted it to last forever. But we released, and we lay together, and I felt her breath on my face.

‘Lawrence,' she whispered.

‘What is it?'

‘Nothing.'

It was dark. The only light came from the street, where the old buildings were bathed in amber.

‘You will get used to it,' she said. ‘But it takes time. It took me years.'

I didn't want to think about whether she might have been a porn actress, how many men she might have been with before me. But I did want to think about how real it all was. I hid my face in the pillows. She could not see that I was sad.

‘Lawrence, you have to tell me more about yourself,' she said. ‘It feels as though I know everything and nothing about you.'

‘That's because there is nothing to know.'

‘But why are you in Paris? It is not the right place for a boy like you. Don't tell me that you came here out of some misplaced belief that you would learn culture. Or did you want to find the love of your life in one of those horrid bars?'

‘I wanted to be free. I wanted to find out if the Paris in my imagination really existed. There. Does that conform to your stereotype of me?'

‘As a matter of fact, it doesn't. I am surprised. Tell me: what were you like at school? You can't have left all that many years ago.'