Diva. Carrie Duffy

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СКАЧАТЬ almost two weeks now and discovered that most nights the pair stayed out until dawn, finally rolling in with a large group of ‘friends’ they’d acquired over the course of the evening, before cranking the music up loud, breaking out the champagne and partying until they passed out.

      She didn’t understand how they managed to hold down their jobs in the boutique. If Alyson turned up late, exhausted and hungover every day, she’d be fired for sure. She guessed they were just those kinds of people – the beautiful ones, who breezed easily through life with everyone smoothing their path. Life had never been like that for Alyson. She’d always had to work damned hard for everything.

      But no, that wasn’t fair, she told herself. It was the lack of sleep making her irritable. CeCe and Dionne had been nothing but kind to her ever since she’d moved in, always inviting her out with them even though she declined every time. Clubbing just wasn’t her scene. She had no interest in going out, getting drunk and making a fool of herself. She saw enough people doing that while she was at work. Perhaps it made her uptight, but she didn’t like that loss of control.

      ‘You okay?’ Aidan asked, in that lilting Irish accent.

      Alyson forced a smile as she rushed past him. The bar was a bomb site, the tables piled high with dirty plates and empty glasses.

      ‘Alyson,’ Aidan called. He caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to stand still for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said easily. ‘It’s quietening down now. We’ll have this place sorted in no time.’

      ‘Thanks, Aidan.’ Alyson gazed up at him, her blue eyes meeting his. Her skin was flushed from the exertion, wisps of fine, blonde hair snaking loose from her ponytail. She looked incredible.

      Quickly, Aidan let go of her shoulders and dropped his gaze, not wanting her to see the look in his eyes. He’d worked hard to win her trust, and Alyson had never given him any indication that she thought of him as anything other than a friend. He valued that too much to spoil it with some clumsy come-on.

      ‘I’ll head down to the kitchen, help finish up there.’ He cleared his throat, eager to get away.

      ‘No problem.’ Alyson was oblivious to his odd behaviour.

      As she turned round, she realized Aidan was right – the pub was emptying out, and there was no longer a queue at the bar. Only a few customers were left now – a couple of English girls, giggling as they studied the happy hour cocktail menu; an old Irish guy, one of the Chez Paddy regulars, watching RTÉ on a wall-mounted flat screen; a smart-looking man in an expensive suit, taking his time over a whiskey and soda on the rocks.

      ‘Busy day?’

      Alyson was collecting empty glasses, and didn’t hear the man speak.

      ‘Busy day?’ he tried again.

      She turned, startled, breaking into a self-conscious smile. ‘You could say that.’

      It was the guy in the suit who had spoken to her. He was tall, well built and Gallic-looking, with handsome features and penetrating brown eyes. His hair was dark, flecked with grey; Alyson aged him at late thirties.

      ‘Can I help you with anything?’ he asked, spreading his hands in an open gesture.

      Alyson took in his expensive clothes and immaculate appearance. He didn’t look as though he’d ever done a menial job in his life.

      ‘Have you worked in a bar before?’ she couldn’t resist asking.

      His lips twitched, aware he was being teased. ‘No, but I … I know a lot of people who do,’ he finished with a smile, aware of how ridiculous that sounded. When he laughed, the skin around his eyes crinkled into fine lines.

      ‘I’ll be fine,’ Alyson assured him, feeling caught off-guard somehow. She continued to clear away the leftover plates, aware that he was watching her.

      As she carried them over to the bar, he got up from his seat and joined her, settling his empty glass on the counter.

      ‘Would you like another?’ Alyson asked.

      He nodded. ‘Please. Whiskey soda, with ice.’ He had a French accent, and Alyson was surprised. They didn’t get many natives in Chez Paddy, especially not ones who looked like him – executives, in hand-tailored suits.

      ‘Your accent is very unusual,’ he commented. ‘Where are you from?’

      Alyson hesitated. She didn’t like talking about her background. ‘I’m from Manchester,’ she replied eventually, answering with only the bare facts. ‘The north of England.’

      ‘Ah,’ he explained passionately. ‘Yes, I know it! You have a wonderful football team, of course.’

      Alyson smiled in amusement. ‘So I’m told.’

      ‘But it is a beautiful part of the country,’ he added quickly, sensing her lack of interest in the subject. ‘There is the Peak District, no?’

      ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Alyson replied in surprise, not expecting him to know the area so well.

      ‘I have been to the north, two, perhaps three times. Manchester, the countryside, the Lake District … so beautiful,’ he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as though to re-live the memory.

      ‘Were you there on holiday?’ Alyson asked, slipping into the easy rhythm she’d learned at Chez Paddy – if the customer wanted to talk, ask them lots of questions about themselves.

      ‘No, I visited for work. I am very lucky with my job – it allows me to travel often.’

      Alyson pushed the whiskey and soda across the counter towards him. ‘What do you do?’

      There was a slight pause and she glanced up at him, worried that she’d overstepped the boundaries. ‘I’m in business,’ he told her, taking a slug from his glass. ‘And you?’ He changed the subject. ‘Have you travelled much?’

      Alyson looked down at the counter and shook her head. ‘This is the first time I’ve left England.’

      ‘Yes?’ The man raised his dark eyebrows, seeming surprised. ‘And now you are living here? That is a big decision – when you have never travelled overseas before, to move somewhere completely different … You have friends here?’

      ‘No,’ Alyson confessed, her voice growing quieter. ‘I didn’t know anyone before I came.’

      The man seemed to sense that something was wrong, smoothly changing the subject. ‘And now you are here, what do you think of Paris?’

      ‘Oh, I love it!’ Alyson exclaimed, her face lighting up. ‘I knew I would. I love the language, the architecture, the sense of freedom. It just seems like the most beautiful, romantic place in the world.’

      ‘It is,’ the man agreed, enjoying her enthusiasm. ‘It is very beautiful. And very romantic.’

      He stared hard at her, and Alyson suddenly found that she couldn’t meet his gaze. There was something about the way he was looking at her with those intense brown eyes. It made her heart beat faster and she suddenly had the overwhelming urge to run away in terror, the fight-or-flight СКАЧАТЬ