Читать книгу VIP - Carrie Duffy - Страница 5

The guy sitting opposite her was hot as hell, with dark, Mediterranean looks, and a powerful, muscular body, but Alyson Wakefield didn’t even notice. She was staring out of the train window, fascinated by the view as it flashed past the carriage. The scene outside was far from extraordinary – bleak, grey skies, hanging low over the Kent countryside – but to Alyson, it was one of the most exciting things she’d ever seen. The rolling fields stretching away into the distance represented glorious freedom, the fruit trees coming into bud somehow symbolic of her new life.

Alyson had never even seen this part of England before, let alone been out of the country. She wasn’t one of those privileged kids, the ones who saw foreign holidays and an annual ski trip as a God-given right. Her life had been tough; she’d experienced more hardship in eighteen years than most people did in a lifetime.

But now she was leaving.

She felt a surge of excitement shoot through her body, nerves and anticipation churning in her stomach at the prospect of what lay ahead. She was moving to Paris, leaving behind the rugged moorland of Oldham, and the industrial cityscape of Manchester, where she’d grown up, for the city of love and life and lights.

The possibilities were endless and tantalising. She could reinvent herself – do what she wanted to do, be the person she wanted to be. She was no longer the shy, gangly schoolgirl, the one that the popular girls ignored and the popular boys taunted mercilessly. Like a snake shedding her skin, it was as though she’d left her old self behind when she’d checked in at St Pancras. In Paris, she could be anyone she chose to be.

She just wished she was leaving under happier circumstances. For years, she and her mother, Lynn, had faced the world alone, the two of them trying to get by as Lynn struggled with mental health issues and Alyson worked all the spare hours she could to try and keep a roof over their heads. And then her mother had been admitted to hospital after taking an overdose and her father, Terry – the man she hadn’t seen for almost a decade – had come back into their lives, offering Alyson the chance of escape.

You need to do something for yourself, he’d told her. You need to stand on your own two feet – and you need to give your mother the chance to do the same.

Alyson knew he was right, but that didn’t stop her hating him. She’d taken the money and run, wracked with guilt but eager to flee before the chance was snatched away. She had no idea what she was going to do with her life, but she was full of hope for the future and willing to work like a dog to make something of herself. She wanted to make her mother proud, to prove to her that it had been the right decision to leave. She didn’t give a damn what her father thought. As far as Alyson was concerned, he could go to hell.

The rural scene outside her window disappeared in an instant, replaced by nothing but stark blackness. Alyson jumped, jolted out of her daydreams. They were heading into the tunnel now, she realised, shooting under the sea on their way to another country, another life. Alyson couldn’t wait to get started.

“First time to Paris?”

“I’m sorry?” Alyson looked up in confusion. It was the man in the seat opposite who had spoken to her. She stared back at him, her pale blue eyes wide and uncertain.

“I said, is this your first time to Paris?” His face was gentle, his accent hard to place – not English, but not French either. He looked to be in his late twenties, with mocha-coloured skin and dark, curly hair. Even sitting down, it was obvious that he was at least six foot, and his dark eyes were trained on her intently. Alyson was oblivious to his interest. Men weren’t on her radar – her father had seen to that. No way was she ever going to give anyone the opportunity to treat her the way her father had treated her mother.

“I … yes …” she replied shortly, wishing this guy would just leave her alone. She didn’t want to strike up conversation with a random stranger, no matter how attractive he was.

“Are you travelling for a vacation?” he asked easily, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.

“It’s … I mean … Excuse me,” Alyson replied, flustered, as she grabbed her bag and quickly stood up. She could feel the colour flaming in her cheeks as she rushed down the aisle and out of the carriage. She only stopped when she found herself in the buffet car, her breathing coming hard, tears beginning to gather at the corner of her eyes.

What the hell’s wrong with me? she wondered in frustration. Some guy had spoken to her and she’d bolted like a hare from a trap.

She was supposed to be different now, she thought, furious at her own weakness. She wanted to be witty and sophisticated, poised and intelligent and able to hold her own in any conversation – not someone who took fright and ran every time a stranger tried to talk to her. Alyson let out a long, shaky sigh. Maybe this new life would be harder than she’d thought.

She stood miserably beside the window, her own reflection staring back at her. Who was she trying to fool? She wasn’t elegant or beautiful, she thought critically, examining her features in the makeshift mirror. Her face was too thin, too angular, all thrusting cheekbones and pouting lips, surrounded by fine blonde hair. And her eyes were far too large – wide and round, fringed by long, pale lashes. It didn’t help that at five feet eleven, she was about six inches taller than most other women and permanently hunched her shoulders to try and make herself look smaller. Her limbs were ridiculous – long and skinny – while her skin was pale and she refused to use fake tan. She’d spent all of her teenage years being labelled a freak, and it was going to take more than boarding the train to a new city to erase all that.

Alyson exhaled slowly, wiping her eyes. She never wore make-up, so at least she didn’t have to worry about mascara streaking down her face. She would just buy something from the buffet car and go back to her seat, she told herself, as she joined the queue behind an overweight man in a business suit. She tried to stand a little straighter, relaxing her shoulders, as though she could fool people into thinking she really was confident and successful – not shy, terrified Alyson Wakefield from a run-down terrace in Oldham.

She didn’t realise that men looked at her not with disdain, but with naked desire; that the distant look in their eyes was nothing to do with disinterest and everything to do with imagining what she would look like in a wisp of black lace from La Perla. If she’d known what they were really thinking, Alyson would have been horrified.

“Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

Alyson started; she hadn’t realised she’d reached the front of the line. She heard someone tut behind her and leapt forward self-consciously, ordering a tea which she grabbed before scuttling straight back to her seat.

The guy who’d spoken to her had his head down, scribbling in a Moleskine notebook. He looked up as she slid in opposite him.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, as he closed the notebook and put down his pen. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Alyson smiled, wishing they could start again. He must think she was a complete idiot. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Really.” She tried to speak confidently, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were a deep brown, and sparkled when he looked at her.

“I’m Javier,” he told her. His voice was deep, his accent rich – Spanish or Portuguese, Alyson guessed.

She hesitated for a moment before replying, then told herself not to be so stupid. “Alyson,” she replied. “And yes, it’s my first time to Paris. Have you … have you been before?”

“Yes, many times,” Javier nodded. “I love to travel, and Paris is a beautiful city – although it’s some time I was last there. I’m a writer,” he explained, “And to write about life, you have to experience life – that is what I believe. So yes, I like to travel, to visit many different cities and people …” He broke off, his dark eyes dancing. “I’m sorry. I think I talk too much.”

“No, not at all,” Alyson insisted. “It’s fascinating. I’ve never really travelled at all, but I’d like to.”

“Well, Paris is a very good place to start.” He smiled at her, and Alyson could feel the heat rise in her face. She was so unused to all of this – chatting with a man, having a normal conversation. He was so much more mature than the boys at school, the ones who yelled crude things as she passed them in the corridor, teasing her ruthlessly to bring out all her insecurities.

“Have you been staying in London?” Alyson asked. She spoke quickly to hide her embarrassment, trying to ignore the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach and spreading through her body.

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “It’s a wonderful city – very modern, and majestic. But the weather is so cold!” He looked so outraged by this last statement that Alyson couldn’t help laughing. “I’m like a bird,” he continued, by way of explanation. “I must fly south to find somewhere warmer.”

“Do they have good weather in Paris?” Alyson asked innocently, taking a sip of her tea.

Javier shrugged. “A little better than London, maybe. But I won’t stay for long – a few days, perhaps a week or two. Then I’ll make my way down to Spain – my home country,” he explained with a grin. “My family are in Madrid, but I have friends in Barcelona so I’ll stop there. And I hope to be in Morocco by the end of the month. After that … what’s the expression?”

He broke off, and Alyson watched him as his brow furrowed in thought. She felt strangely disappointed that he wasn’t going to be staying in Paris. It was completely irrational, she knew that – half an hour ago, she’d never even spoken to him before. But there was something about him she found intriguing: to have the confidence to travel the world, moving from country to country like a free spirit, making casual acquaintances on trains and writing about what you found … He was so interesting, so adventurous.

Well now she was making her own adventure, she thought determinedly.

“Ah yes,” Javier began, suddenly remembering. “I will go where the wind takes me.”

The train shot out of the tunnel, and Alyson whipped round, eager to see what was outside the window. Her face fell as she looked at the view. She could feel Javier watching her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked

Alyson opened her mouth to speak, wondering how to explain herself. “I didn’t think … I mean, I just expected something else. The landscape, I mean …” she broke off, shrugging helplessly. The scene outside was depressingly similar to the one she’d left behind in England – the same flat, muddy fields and overcast skies. She knew it was crazy, but she’d somehow expected France to look visibly different; a glamorous, exotic Technicolor world, like Dorothy leaving Kansas and arriving in Oz.

Javier smiled sympathetically, the look of disappointment on her face all too obvious. “It will be different in Paris,” he reassured her. “It’s a magical, beautiful city – nothing like this,” he finished, waving his hand dismissively at the window.

“I hope so,” Alyson whispered. She’d come here looking for a new life, and so far nothing had gone to plan. She just hoped she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

***

The Gare du Nord was enormous. Alyson stared round in awe, gazing at the huge, arched windows and the vast green columns stretching up to the vaulted roof. All around her people hurried past, dragging suitcases behind them as they dashed to make their train. Nearby, a couple exclaimed in a language she didn’t understand, clearly delighted as they rushed towards each other and embraced, like a scene from an old-fashioned movie. Everything felt so … French! The announcements over the tannoy in a rapid Parisian accent; the signs outside the cafés for Orangina and croque-monsieur; the massive billboards advertising shows at the Opera Bastille and portables and TGV trains to Provence. Alyson loved it instantly.

It was incredibly inspiring, and more than a little intimidating. Every sense was on high alert as her body was bombarded by new sights and sounds and smells. Could she really do this, she wondered, a horrible wave of doubt creeping over her. There were so many people here that she felt completely insignificant, just one person in a city of millions. Was it really possible that she could carve out a future for herself here, with friends, an apartment, a career?

Instinctively, she moved closer to Javier. He’d accompanied her from the train, carrying her suitcase through to the arrivals hall.

“Can I help you find a taxi?” he offered.

“It’s okay,” Alyson shook her head. “I’ll take the metro.” A taxi seemed far too extravagant, especially as she had no idea when – if at all – she would find a job. She had to make her father’s money last as long as possible.

“Where are you staying?” Javier asked.

“I’m booked into a hotel in the Fifth for a few nights.” It was a tiny, two-star place she’d found on the internet. The reviews were horrendous, but the rates were dirt-cheap. “You?”

“The Eighteenth – the other side of the city.” Javier’s tone was apologetic. “It’s not the best area but …” he shrugged. “It’s very lively. There’s a real mix of people, many different nationalities … You’re sure I can’t help you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Alyson assured him, with more confidence than she felt. Their hands brushed as she went to take the suitcase from him, and she felt her stomach contract sharply.

“Well, it was great to meet you,” he told her softly, his eyes lingering on her face. Then he leaned towards her and Alyson felt a sudden stab of panic. He was going to kiss her! He was about to—

Javier bent down, their skin barely touching as he kissed lightly her on both cheeks, and Alyson felt a wave of humiliation wash over her. What the hell was she thinking? Her imagination had been working overtime, and she’d totally forgotten the way they did things over here – the double kiss being a perfectly normal way of saying hello and goodbye.

“Take care, Alyson,” Javier smiled. He picked up his bag and turned around, walking away into the crush of people. Alyson stared after him, watching the broad muscles of his shoulders until he was swallowed up by the crowds that bustled through the station. Then reality hit: she was in a strange city, a foreign country, and she was completely alone.

She could feel the warmth of his cheek against hers long after he’d walked away.