Читать книгу Puzzled - Seraphima Bogomolova - Страница 15

Monte Carlo, France, 25 December

I drink up my cherry, take the guitar and leave, releasing Monsieur Moreau and maman from my presence.

Back in my room, I lean the precious instrument against the wall and open my laptop. Scanning new messages, I look for her reply. Not seeing it, I look over the messages again, this time, going through them one by one, but still no luck. Just to be sure, I also check my spam box, nothing there either.

I begin to jump aimlessly from one networking site to another. Landing on my Facebook page, I pause and scribble a sentence about the best Christmas present ever: my Fender guitar. ‘I’ll post a snapshot of it later’, I think, reading comments and updates of my Facebook ‘friends’. I’m about to leave the page when a photograph tagged with my name catches my eye.

‘What the heck?’ I stare at it in disbelief.

The photograph pictures me locked in an embrace with that same skinny girl, who begged me for a mobile snapshot at yesterday’s dinner.

The image must have been photoshopped … Below it, her comment is attached. ‘My beau Luke. Together forever’, I read and break out in a cold sweat.

Is she out of her mind?

I attempt to raid her Facebook profile, but it is locked for ‘non-friends’. Her name doesn’t look familiar, so I Google it. The girl turns out to be a ‘bikini model’, whose photos occasionally end up on the covers of FHM and other mags of that ilk.

What on earth possessed maman to invite her to the Christmas reception? And I? What was I thinking when I let this ‘bikini girl’ take a picture of me?

I groan and drop my head into my hands, tears welling up in my eyes. Grabbing my jacket, I dash out of the room and down the stairs.

The library stands open, the voices of maman and Monsieur Moreau wafting out of it. Maman’s milky highland terrier rolls out of the room, rushing towards me, his tail wiggling.

‘Mum, I’ll take Domino for a walk.’ I shout and sprint out the house, slamming the door behind me.