The French Girl(38)

Back at the table the waiter is moving round with a handheld machine taking card payments and someone is suggesting a move to a nearby club, but on a Thursday night the idea has no traction; we all have to work tomorrow, and none of us are twenty-one anymore. Lara has already rescued our coats from the cloakroom; she’s holding mine ready for me by the exit. I look round for Tom and instead spy Caro and Seb, half hidden behind an enormous fern. They are close, too close. Caro has one hand on Seb’s arm and is speaking to him urgently; his head is bent to hear her. As I watch, Seb scans the room quickly, as if checking they haven’t been seen, then focuses on Caro again. I turn away. I wish I hadn’t seen them. I wish I didn’t have to feel achingly sorry for Alina and furiously disappointed with Seb. Despite everything, I had expected better of him.

Tom has returned from the gents, and as a group we’re now tumbling out into the night. Alina and Seb are doing their rounds of good-byes while various people try to figure out who best should share the taxis they’re trying to hail. I turn to Lara. “Shall we share a cab?”

“Actually, you and Tom can share. I’m . . . ah . . . going in a different direction,” she says clumsily, not meeting my eye.

“Lara.” By now I am fed up of this charade and too drunk to hide it. “I know where you’re going and you know I know.” Her lips thin mutinously as she bristles. It’s so out of character I almost laugh: Modan is drawing out new depths in our Lara. I grab her arm. “No, look, I’m not . . . I’m just saying, be careful, okay?” She looks at me warily. “I worry about you. Look after yourself. That’s all.”

A smile breaks over her face, and she pulls me in for a hug. “You, too, honey,” she says quietly. Her breasts crush against me as we hug; I smell her perfume and some kind of floral scent in her hair. I wonder how that would feel to me if I was Alain Modan. Then she climbs into the cab Tom has hailed for her and disappears off.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and swing round to find Seb beside me. “Sorry,” he says ruefully, charmingly. “We didn’t get a chance to talk after all.”

“I’m sure there will be other occasions.” I don’t want to speak to him at all tonight, and maybe not ever, after witnessing his tête-à-tête with Caro.

“Oh, definitely.” He pulls me a little to the side and suddenly looks awkward. “Listen, Kate, all this stuff with Severine being found . . . I just wanted to say, well, some stuff might come out that . . . doesn’t reflect well on me.” I gaze at him nonplussed. He grimaces. “I mean, some stuff about me and Severine.” It dawns on me that he’s confessing to his infidelity, right here, outside a restaurant, when we’ve both had too much to drink. I’m temporarily speechless. He’s still speaking, however. “I just . . . didn’t want you to hear from someone else and be hurt by that. It was just the once; it didn’t mean anything . . . We were all so drunk that night—”

Wordless, bitter rage broils inside me. I make a sharp gesture with my hand, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He blinks, taken aback by my vehemence. I look around for Tom.

“Well, it was a long time ago. It’s just, with that policeman and everything, everything is coming into the open. Best to be honest in this situation, I think. I mean, you can’t really lie to the law. And you and I both know I came to our room that night and passed out, so whatever happened to Severine was nothing to do with me.”

I swing back to stare at him. I worried about Caro telling Modan about Severine and Seb; it didn’t occur to me that Seb would own up himself. He’s running a hand through his hair and has on his best contrite expression, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I desperately want to tell him to fuck off, but it turns out Tom is right: this is all about pride. I would be yelling an endless stream of invective at Seb right now if it weren’t for the fact it would draw everyone’s attention. I can’t bear the thought of them all talking about me afterward. Poor Kate. All these years and she still hasn’t got over Seb. She hasn’t really had a serious boyfriend since, you know . . . I look for Tom, desperately hoping he has a cab ready to whisk me away; he’s waving at one that has its light on, but it’s not quite close enough for immediate salvation. I stare fixedly at it, willing it closer.

“Kate?” says Seb uncertainly.

The cab finally draws up. “Say good night to Alina for me,” I bite out, not looking at Seb. As I turn toward the cab, I realize Caro is watching us. Or rather, watching me. Watching my reaction.

“Okay?” asks Tom as he helps me into the cab. I glance back through the window of the cab. Seb and Caro are sharing a look, and suddenly I feel the ground shift under me. What if Caro and Seb aren’t having an affair after all? What if the secret they’re keeping is something else entirely? “Kate?” Tom says again. “Are you okay?”

The cab starts to pull away. Wild laughter bubbles up inside me. I’m still drunk, I realize. Of course I am. Seb’s confession and the night air may have been sobering, but given the amount of wine I’ve sunk, physically I can’t be anything other than smashed right now. Tom looks at me across the wide seat of the cab. The laughter evaporates just as quickly as it came. “No,” I say truthfully. “I’m not okay.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. He looks down, his expression hidden in the shadows of the cab. “I didn’t think so.”