Pompadour.’
‘Yes. Of course. Madame de Pompadour. That’s who I meant.’ I feel awkward. ‘What did I say?’
‘Madame de Pamplemousse.’ He bursts out laughing. ‘Madame Grapefruit! That’s brilliant.’ He’s properly laughing now, throwing back his head, showing his perfect white teeth, the deep rich sound booming around.
I laugh too, but I’m also mortified to have said something so stupid. I’m scarlet with embarrassment and as I try to laugh it off, I realise my eyes are stinging again. Oh no, don’t! Just don’t! Don’t start blubbing, this is ridiculous. But the more sternly I talk to myself, the worse it gets. I’ve made a fool of myself and like a baby, I’m going to cry about it. I use all my strength to stop myself and keep it in, biting the inside of my cheek hard.
He sees my expression and stops laughing at once, his smile fading. ‘Hey, don’t be upset. It’s okay, I know who you meant. It’s just funny, that’s all, but I’m not laughing at you.’ He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine.
The moment our hands touch, something strange happens. The sensation of his skin on me is electric, almost burning. A kind of current flows between us that almost makes me shudder, and I look up, astonished, into his eyes. For the first time I really see him, and he stares straight back at me, his expression surprised, almost disconcerted, as though he’s also feeling things he didn’t expect to. I feel as though I can see his real self, unmasked by politeness and convention, and that he can see right back into me.
Every day, as we go about our lives, hundreds of faces slide by, flickering in and out of our consciousness. We meet the glances of people on trains or buses, in lifts or on escalators, in shops, at counters, on the way to work and back again, and we make a tiny half connection that is broken and lost almost at once. For an instant, we recognise someone else’s existence, grasping for an instant the fact that they have a life, a history, a whole past that has brought them inexorably to this moment where we connect with them, and then, just as swiftly, we disconnect, our eyes turn away and we go on our separate paths, forward to different futures.
But right now, as I look into Dominic’s eyes, it’s as though I know him, even though he’s a stranger. As though our different ages and life experiences don’t matter a bit. In some strange way, it feels like we know each other.
The world beyond us falls away and disappears. All I’m conscious of is his hand on mine, the torrent of excitement that’s racing through my body, the deep sense of connection. I am staring into eyes that seem to penetrate to the core of my being, that seem to know me intimately. I have the instant conviction that he understands me. I am certain he feels it too.
It seems as though we’re frozen like this for an age, but it must only be a few seconds. I begin to grasp our situation, coming back to reality like a swimmer breaking the surface after a long dive, and I wonder with a kind of shivering anticipation what’s going to happen now.
Dominic looks both awkward and amazed, as though something he never imagined has just happened. He opens his mouth, and is about to say something, when we hear a sound in the hallway. Dominic’s gaze shifts at once to the door, and I turn as well, just in time to see a woman marching in. She’s wearing a long dark fur coat despite the warm evening, and her expression is cross.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demands as she walks in, and then stops dead when she sees me, looking me up and down with a rapier gaze. ‘Oh.’ She turns to Dominic. ‘Who’s this?’
The spell, our connection, is broken. He hastily removes his hand from mine. ‘Vanessa, let me introduce Beth. Beth, this is my friend Vanessa.’
I murmur a quiet hello. This is the woman I’ve seen before. So that’s her name. Vanessa. It suits her.
‘Beth’s staying just across
‘Yes. Of course. Madame de Pompadour. That’s who I meant.’ I feel awkward. ‘What did I say?’
‘Madame de Pamplemousse.’ He bursts out laughing. ‘Madame Grapefruit! That’s brilliant.’ He’s properly laughing now, throwing back his head, showing his perfect white teeth, the deep rich sound booming around.
I laugh too, but I’m also mortified to have said something so stupid. I’m scarlet with embarrassment and as I try to laugh it off, I realise my eyes are stinging again. Oh no, don’t! Just don’t! Don’t start blubbing, this is ridiculous. But the more sternly I talk to myself, the worse it gets. I’ve made a fool of myself and like a baby, I’m going to cry about it. I use all my strength to stop myself and keep it in, biting the inside of my cheek hard.
He sees my expression and stops laughing at once, his smile fading. ‘Hey, don’t be upset. It’s okay, I know who you meant. It’s just funny, that’s all, but I’m not laughing at you.’ He reaches over and puts his hand on top of mine.
The moment our hands touch, something strange happens. The sensation of his skin on me is electric, almost burning. A kind of current flows between us that almost makes me shudder, and I look up, astonished, into his eyes. For the first time I really see him, and he stares straight back at me, his expression surprised, almost disconcerted, as though he’s also feeling things he didn’t expect to. I feel as though I can see his real self, unmasked by politeness and convention, and that he can see right back into me.
Every day, as we go about our lives, hundreds of faces slide by, flickering in and out of our consciousness. We meet the glances of people on trains or buses, in lifts or on escalators, in shops, at counters, on the way to work and back again, and we make a tiny half connection that is broken and lost almost at once. For an instant, we recognise someone else’s existence, grasping for an instant the fact that they have a life, a history, a whole past that has brought them inexorably to this moment where we connect with them, and then, just as swiftly, we disconnect, our eyes turn away and we go on our separate paths, forward to different futures.
But right now, as I look into Dominic’s eyes, it’s as though I know him, even though he’s a stranger. As though our different ages and life experiences don’t matter a bit. In some strange way, it feels like we know each other.
The world beyond us falls away and disappears. All I’m conscious of is his hand on mine, the torrent of excitement that’s racing through my body, the deep sense of connection. I am staring into eyes that seem to penetrate to the core of my being, that seem to know me intimately. I have the instant conviction that he understands me. I am certain he feels it too.
It seems as though we’re frozen like this for an age, but it must only be a few seconds. I begin to grasp our situation, coming back to reality like a swimmer breaking the surface after a long dive, and I wonder with a kind of shivering anticipation what’s going to happen now.
Dominic looks both awkward and amazed, as though something he never imagined has just happened. He opens his mouth, and is about to say something, when we hear a sound in the hallway. Dominic’s gaze shifts at once to the door, and I turn as well, just in time to see a woman marching in. She’s wearing a long dark fur coat despite the warm evening, and her expression is cross.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demands as she walks in, and then stops dead when she sees me, looking me up and down with a rapier gaze. ‘Oh.’ She turns to Dominic. ‘Who’s this?’
The spell, our connection, is broken. He hastily removes his hand from mine. ‘Vanessa, let me introduce Beth. Beth, this is my friend Vanessa.’
I murmur a quiet hello. This is the woman I’ve seen before. So that’s her name. Vanessa. It suits her.
‘Beth’s staying just across
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