Love Falls Read Free Page A

head courteously and a man, too sleek and well-groomed to be British, introduced himself and immediately began to open up a conversation as if this lunch had been pre-arranged.
    He was a professor of medicine, from Belgium, involved in research, and soon it was clear that he had heard of Lambert, recognised him now, was thrilled to have this chance to talk to the great man. Ideas were exchanged, opinions, names and theories introduced, and to Lara’s surprise, Lambert, who always protested he hated to see too many people, loathed having to discuss his work, was nodding, interrupting and admonishing the Belgian with real pleasure in their every word.
    Lara sat and listened, hoping to find some way to contribute, aware she should be concentrating, hoping she might even retain something of what she knew to be great talk, but soon she realised she was listening too hard to take in anything, and so instead she excused herself and went out to find the loo.
    She made a detour past the shops, the information desk, the duty-free and then, seeing a door open, she stepped out on to the deck. She was high up, the sea swirling dark-green and menacing below. She leant over the rails, pushing her feet between the painted poles, and thought how easy it would be to slip. Shouldn’t they be more solid, shouldn’t the temptation to slide through unnoticed be put further out of reach? Lara pulled herself back. Gulls screamed and dived around the boat and children ran squawking along the ramps.
    She walked to the very front of the ship where couples huddled out of the wind, their faces bright with spray and happiness, their arms around each other, the remnants of their packed lunches scattered along the wooden bench. She scanned the shoulders of the men for signs of Clive, longing to see him in this unlikely place, wanting a chance to turn fate around, to claim him, or even say hello, but although there were a number of dark-haired, donkey-jacketed men, none of them, quite obviously, was him.
    Lara suddenly remembered she was meant to be having lunch. She turned and ran, slipping through the nearest door, rattling up and down the metal stairs, losing her way, then finding it again at duty-free, back past the canteen, the information desk, and there they were, her father and the Belgian, still talking, the waiter having given up on her, clearing the plates. Lara sat down with a small nod of apology and there was a pause while it was decided no, they wouldn’t need dessert.
     
     
    ‘First class?’ Lambert asked a guard on the platform at Calais. ‘ De premíre classe avec couchette ?’ but the guard shook his head haughtily and said there was no first class on this train. He seized the tickets and flicked them mockingly. No couchettes either. Not for them. For a moment they both examined the tickets, disbelieving, and then, realising they were losing precious time, they boarded the train and began searching for two seats.
    It seemed impossible, but there were not two seats together the whole length of the train. Anxiously they moved from carriage to carriage, peering into compartments where people, already ensconced, looked up with hostile eyes. Who were they? Lara thought. Where had they come from, how had they settled themselves so soon? She began to hate them, they looked so smug, as if they owned their seats, had inherited them, had not a thing in common with her at all. Lambert looked defeated as he let yet another heavy door slide shut, and Lara had to stop herself from reaching out to take his arm.
    Maybe he shouldn’t have left London, the safety of his study, the largeness of his reputation; and then just in time they came across a carriage where a buxom woman with quantities of luggage had taken up three seats.
    ‘ Excusez-moi, pouvez-vous enlever vos baggages ?’ Lambert asked in chivalrous French, and with perfectly good grace she stood up and began to stow away her bags.
    Lambert sat beside the woman and Lara opposite him.