Read Online The Girl You Left Behind by Jojo Moyes - Free Book Online Page B

liked.’ I don’t know why I said it. It wasn’t as if I had enjoyed the
     experience.
    He smiled at me then. He had the kindest
     eyes. ‘That would be … very generous. I’m sure I’ll be able
     to do you justice on another occasion.’
    But Sunday was no better. I tried, I really
     did. I lay with my arm across the
chaise longue
, my body twisted like the
     reclining Aphrodite he showed me in a book, my skirt gathered in folds over my legs. I
     tried to relax and let my expression soften, but in that position my corset bit into my
     waist and a strand of hair kept slipping out of its pin so that the temptation to reach
     for it was almost overwhelming. It was a long and arduous couple of hours. Even before I
     saw the picture, I knew from Monsieur Lefèvre’s face that he was, once again,
     disappointed.
    This is me? I thought, staring at the
     grim-faced girl who was less Venus than a sour housekeeper checking the surfaces of her
     soft furnishings for dust.
    This time I think he even felt sorry for me.
     I suspect I was the plainest model he had ever had. ‘It is not you,
     Mademoiselle,’ he insisted. ‘Sometimes … it takes a while to get
     the true essence of a person.’
    But that was the thing that upset me most. I
     was afraid he had already got it.
    It was Bastille Day when I saw him again. I
     was making my way through the packed streets of the Latin Quarter, passing under the
     huge red, white and blue flags and fragrant wreaths that hung from the windows, weaving
     in and out of the crowds that stood to watch the soldiers marching past, their rifles
     cocked over their shoulders.
    The whole of Paris was celebrating. I am
     usually content with my own company, but that day I was restless, oddly lonely. When I
     reached the Panthéon I stopped: before me rue Soufflot had become a whirling mass
     of bodies, its normally grey length now packed with people dancing, the women in their
     long skirts and broad-brimmed hats, the band outside the Café Léon. They moved
     in graceful circles, stood at the edge of the pavement observing each other and
     chatting, as if the street were a ballroom.
    And then there he was, sitting in the middle
     of it all, a brightly coloured scarf around his neck. Mistinguett, her associates
     hovering around her, rested a hand possessively on his shoulder as she said something
     that made him roar with laughter.
    I stared at them in astonishment. And then,
     perhaps compelled by the intensity of my gaze, he looked round and saw me. I ducked
     swiftly into a doorway and set off in the opposite direction, my cheeks flaming. I dived
     in and out of the dancing couples, my clogs clattering on the cobbles. But within
     seconds his voice was booming behind me.
    ‘Mademoiselle!’
    I could not ignore him. I turned. He looked
     for a moment as if he were about to embrace me, butsomething in my
     demeanour must have stopped him. Instead he touched my arm lightly, and motioned me
     towards the throng of people. ‘How wonderful to bump into you,’ he said. I
     began to make my excuses, stumbling over my words, but he held up a great hand.
     ‘Come, Mademoiselle, it is a public holiday. Even the most diligent must enjoy
     themselves occasionally.’
    Around us the flags fluttered in the
     late-afternoon breeze. I could hear them flapping, like the erratic pounding of my
     heart. I struggled to think of a polite way to extricate myself, but he broke in
     again.
    ‘I realize, Mademoiselle, that
     shamefully, despite our acquaintance, I do not know your name.’
    ‘Bessette,’ I said.
     ‘Sophie Bessette.’
    ‘Then please allow me to buy you a
     drink, Mademoiselle Bessette.’
    I shook my head. I felt sick, as if in the
     mere act of coming here I had given away too much of myself. I glanced behind him to
     where Mistinguett was still standing amid her group of friends.
    ‘Shall we?’ He held out his
     arm.
    And at that moment the great Mistinguett
     looked straight at