The debris of a finished meal littered the table. ‘And Patrick! Comment vas-tu? ’
The stranger stood up with difficulty, almost upsetting the unsteady table with his stomach, and kissed Dominique on both cheeks.
‘David, this is Patrick Hoyle,’ Dominique said. ‘He is Tony’s lawyer. He is a very clever man. He lives here in Monte Carlo and saves himself millions of francs in taxes. Patrick, this is David Lane, a friend of Guy’s from school. A charming friend.’
I shook Hoyle’s hand, which was damp. ‘Pleased to meet you, David,’ he boomed. He had a large, round head edged with black tufts of hair. He wore pink-tinted glasses and his skin was pasty for someone who lived in such a sunny place. He was also fat. Really, really fat.
I mumbled something in return. I thought the ‘charming’ was a bit unnecessary and I tried not to go red.
‘We’ll just order a salad,’ Dominique said.
The others seemed awkward, uneasy about something. Mel looked miserable, Ingrid cool, Guy mildly irritated and Tony pensive. Only Hoyle seemed comfortable as he poured himself another glass of red wine.
Dominique gazed out over the multi-million-dollar motor-yachts that were crammed into the harbour in tight rows. ‘Ah, Tony, it’s such a lovely day, don’t you think?’ she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
Tony was caught off guard. I knew they had been screaming at each other the previous night, and I’d seen them ignore each other before lunch. He looked at Dominique questioningly, and then turned his eyes to me. They met mine for a fraction of a second before I had time to look down at my menu in panic. But that fraction of a second was enough.
He knew.
I wanted a hole to open under my chair and swallow me up.
He knew.
And what’s more, I realized that the whole thing had been done by Dominique for just this delicious moment of revenge against her husband. He could fuck a child; well, so could she.
I glanced over to her. She was chattering away, smoking a cigarette and smiling a smile of triumph. I couldn’t hear what she said. It was all meaningless anyway, and only Guy seemed to be responding half-heartedly to any of it. I didn’t hear anything at all. I was buried deep in my menu, wishing to God I was somewhere else.
I felt used. Used and dirty. But I knew I didn’t deserve sympathy. Because most of all I felt stupid. I should have realized what Dominique was after, that all she wanted was to hurt her husband, that I had nothing to do with it. My self-esteem could cope with the idea that it was all just alaugh on her part, but not that I was an inept instrument in a piece of petty malice.
What an idiot.
Lunch was a nightmare of awkwardness. Afterwards, we set off for the beach, thankfully leaving Hoyle to return to his office. This time I made sure I was in the Jeep. Ingrid went with Dominique.
The beach was just a small stretch of sand in a rocky cove beneath the cliffs upon which Les Sarrasins perched. It was difficult to get to: we had to scramble down a rocky path, and the waves rushed in with more vigour than at the sedate beaches of Beaulieu. It was flanked on one side by nudists and on the other by gays. There were very few other people there and in a better mood I would have thought it beautiful. It did at least give me the chance to lie down, shut my eyes and ignore everyone else.
I spread my towel over a smooth rock next to Ingrid, lowered myself face down upon it and closed my eyes. I could hear activity around me. Guy and Tony had brought a cooler of beer and were getting stuck into it. It sounded like they were having some kind of father-and-son bonding session, but nobody else was interested.
It made me sick. Tony had just screwed his son’s girlfriend and yet he was quite happy to drink and joke with him. Guy didn’t have a clue. The girlfriend in question was keeping very quiet, despite Guy’s efforts to bring her into the conversation.
I felt a gentle tickle on my thigh. I
The stranger stood up with difficulty, almost upsetting the unsteady table with his stomach, and kissed Dominique on both cheeks.
‘David, this is Patrick Hoyle,’ Dominique said. ‘He is Tony’s lawyer. He is a very clever man. He lives here in Monte Carlo and saves himself millions of francs in taxes. Patrick, this is David Lane, a friend of Guy’s from school. A charming friend.’
I shook Hoyle’s hand, which was damp. ‘Pleased to meet you, David,’ he boomed. He had a large, round head edged with black tufts of hair. He wore pink-tinted glasses and his skin was pasty for someone who lived in such a sunny place. He was also fat. Really, really fat.
I mumbled something in return. I thought the ‘charming’ was a bit unnecessary and I tried not to go red.
‘We’ll just order a salad,’ Dominique said.
The others seemed awkward, uneasy about something. Mel looked miserable, Ingrid cool, Guy mildly irritated and Tony pensive. Only Hoyle seemed comfortable as he poured himself another glass of red wine.
Dominique gazed out over the multi-million-dollar motor-yachts that were crammed into the harbour in tight rows. ‘Ah, Tony, it’s such a lovely day, don’t you think?’ she said, giving him a dazzling smile.
Tony was caught off guard. I knew they had been screaming at each other the previous night, and I’d seen them ignore each other before lunch. He looked at Dominique questioningly, and then turned his eyes to me. They met mine for a fraction of a second before I had time to look down at my menu in panic. But that fraction of a second was enough.
He knew.
I wanted a hole to open under my chair and swallow me up.
He knew.
And what’s more, I realized that the whole thing had been done by Dominique for just this delicious moment of revenge against her husband. He could fuck a child; well, so could she.
I glanced over to her. She was chattering away, smoking a cigarette and smiling a smile of triumph. I couldn’t hear what she said. It was all meaningless anyway, and only Guy seemed to be responding half-heartedly to any of it. I didn’t hear anything at all. I was buried deep in my menu, wishing to God I was somewhere else.
I felt used. Used and dirty. But I knew I didn’t deserve sympathy. Because most of all I felt stupid. I should have realized what Dominique was after, that all she wanted was to hurt her husband, that I had nothing to do with it. My self-esteem could cope with the idea that it was all just alaugh on her part, but not that I was an inept instrument in a piece of petty malice.
What an idiot.
Lunch was a nightmare of awkwardness. Afterwards, we set off for the beach, thankfully leaving Hoyle to return to his office. This time I made sure I was in the Jeep. Ingrid went with Dominique.
The beach was just a small stretch of sand in a rocky cove beneath the cliffs upon which Les Sarrasins perched. It was difficult to get to: we had to scramble down a rocky path, and the waves rushed in with more vigour than at the sedate beaches of Beaulieu. It was flanked on one side by nudists and on the other by gays. There were very few other people there and in a better mood I would have thought it beautiful. It did at least give me the chance to lie down, shut my eyes and ignore everyone else.
I spread my towel over a smooth rock next to Ingrid, lowered myself face down upon it and closed my eyes. I could hear activity around me. Guy and Tony had brought a cooler of beer and were getting stuck into it. It sounded like they were having some kind of father-and-son bonding session, but nobody else was interested.
It made me sick. Tony had just screwed his son’s girlfriend and yet he was quite happy to drink and joke with him. Guy didn’t have a clue. The girlfriend in question was keeping very quiet, despite Guy’s efforts to bring her into the conversation.
I felt a gentle tickle on my thigh. I
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