VIP. Carrie Duffy

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СКАЧАТЬ asked easily, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.

      “It’s … I mean … Excuse me,” Alyson replied, flustered, as she grabbed her bag and quickly stood up. She could feel the colour flaming in her cheeks as she rushed down the aisle and out of the carriage. She only stopped when she found herself in the buffet car, her breathing coming hard, tears beginning to gather at the corner of her eyes.

      What the hell’s wrong with me? she wondered in frustration. Some guy had spoken to her and she’d bolted like a hare from a trap.

      She was supposed to be different now, she thought, furious at her own weakness. She wanted to be witty and sophisticated, poised and intelligent and able to hold her own in any conversation – not someone who took fright and ran every time a stranger tried to talk to her. Alyson let out a long, shaky sigh. Maybe this new life would be harder than she’d thought.

      She stood miserably beside the window, her own reflection staring back at her. Who was she trying to fool? She wasn’t elegant or beautiful, she thought critically, examining her features in the makeshift mirror. Her face was too thin, too angular, all thrusting cheekbones and pouting lips, surrounded by fine blonde hair. And her eyes were far too large – wide and round, fringed by long, pale lashes. It didn’t help that at five feet eleven, she was about six inches taller than most other women and permanently hunched her shoulders to try and make herself look smaller. Her limbs were ridiculous – long and skinny – while her skin was pale and she refused to use fake tan. She’d spent all of her teenage years being labelled a freak, and it was going to take more than boarding the train to a new city to erase all that.

      Alyson exhaled slowly, wiping her eyes. She never wore make-up, so at least she didn’t have to worry about mascara streaking down her face. She would just buy something from the buffet car and go back to her seat, she told herself, as she joined the queue behind an overweight man in a business suit. She tried to stand a little straighter, relaxing her shoulders, as though she could fool people into thinking she really was confident and successful – not shy, terrified Alyson Wakefield from a run-down terrace in Oldham.

      She didn’t realise that men looked at her not with disdain, but with naked desire; that the distant look in their eyes was nothing to do with disinterest and everything to do with imagining what she would look like in a wisp of black lace from La Perla. If she’d known what they were really thinking, Alyson would have been horrified.

      “Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

      Alyson started; she hadn’t realised she’d reached the front of the line. She heard someone tut behind her and leapt forward self-consciously, ordering a tea which she grabbed before scuttling straight back to her seat.

      The guy who’d spoken to her had his head down, scribbling in a Moleskine notebook. He looked up as she slid in opposite him.

      “I’m sorry,” he apologised, as he closed the notebook and put down his pen. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

      Alyson smiled, wishing they could start again. He must think she was a complete idiot. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Really.” She tried to speak confidently, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were a deep brown, and sparkled when he looked at her.

      “I’m Javier,” he told her. His voice was deep, his accent rich – Spanish or Portuguese, Alyson guessed.

      She hesitated for a moment before replying, then told herself not to be so stupid. “Alyson,” she replied. “And yes, it’s my first time to Paris. Have you … have you been before?”

      “Yes, many times,” Javier nodded. “I love to travel, and Paris is a beautiful city – although it’s some time I was last there. I’m a writer,” he explained, “And to write about life, you have to experience life – that is what I believe. So yes, I like to travel, to visit many different cities and people …” He broke off, his dark eyes dancing. “I’m sorry. I think I talk too much.”

      “No, not at all,” Alyson insisted. “It’s fascinating. I’ve never really travelled at all, but I’d like to.”

      “Well, Paris is a very good place to start.” He smiled at her, and Alyson could feel the heat rise in her face. She was so unused to all of this – chatting with a man, having a normal conversation. He was so much more mature than the boys at school, the ones who yelled crude things as she passed them in the corridor, teasing her ruthlessly to bring out all her insecurities.

      “Have you been staying in London?” Alyson asked. She spoke quickly to hide her embarrassment, trying to ignore the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach and spreading through her body.

      “Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “It’s a wonderful city – very modern, and majestic. But the weather is so cold!” He looked so outraged by this last statement that Alyson couldn’t help laughing. “I’m like a bird,” he continued, by way of explanation. “I must fly south to find somewhere warmer.”

      “Do they have good weather in Paris?” Alyson asked innocently, taking a sip of her tea.

      Javier shrugged. “A little better than London, maybe. But I won’t stay for long – a few days, perhaps a week or two. Then I’ll make my way down to Spain – my home country,” he explained with a grin. “My family are in Madrid, but I have friends in Barcelona so I’ll stop there. And I hope to be in Morocco by the end of the month. After that … what’s the expression?”

      He broke off, and Alyson watched him as his brow furrowed in thought. She felt strangely disappointed that he wasn’t going to be staying in Paris. It was completely irrational, she knew that – half an hour ago, she’d never even spoken to him before. But there was something about him she found intriguing: to have the confidence to travel the world, moving from country to country like a free spirit, making casual acquaintances on trains and writing about what you found … He was so interesting, so adventurous.

      Well now she was making her own adventure, she thought determinedly.

      “Ah yes,” Javier began, suddenly remembering. “I will go where the wind takes me.”

      The train shot out of the tunnel, and Alyson whipped round, eager to see what was outside the window. Her face fell as she looked at the view. She could feel Javier watching her.

      “Is something wrong?” he asked

      Alyson opened her mouth to speak, wondering how to explain herself. “I didn’t think … I mean, I just expected something else. The landscape, I mean …” she broke off, shrugging helplessly. The scene outside was depressingly similar to the one she’d left behind in England – the same flat, muddy fields and overcast skies. She knew it was crazy, but she’d somehow expected France to look visibly different; a glamorous, exotic Technicolor world, like Dorothy leaving Kansas and arriving in Oz.

      Javier smiled sympathetically, the look of disappointment on her face all too obvious. “It will be different in Paris,” he reassured her. “It’s a magical, beautiful city – nothing like this,” he finished, waving his hand dismissively at the window.

      “I hope so,” Alyson whispered. She’d come here looking for a new life, and so far nothing had gone to plan. She just hoped she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

      ***

      The Gare du Nord was enormous. Alyson stared round in awe, gazing at the huge, arched windows and the vast green columns stretching up to the vaulted roof. All around her people СКАЧАТЬ