don’t want everyone to think
they’re desperate. I’m not desperate, though. There’s no way I would marry anyone unless I knew he was absolutely right for me. I would rather die than get stuck with the wrong
man.’
‘So you would rather die than marry me?’
‘Yes.’
He shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘But what’s your problem anyway? Why are you so miserable? I can’t see why you’re all . . .’ She let out a long moan, and mimicked his voice. ‘ Boo hoo,
poor me, I’m going to Japan to be surrounded by Japanese student girls who will all have big crushes on me .’
‘I’ve hit a difficulty with my plan.’
‘What’s that?’
He lowered his voice, and looked sheepish. ‘I think I’ve just fallen in love – even though I’m clearly not husband material.’
Sylvie was exasperated. She had really thought she was in the clear with this one, and she had certainly let him know where she stood. Her hair wasn’t black, but it was dark brown and very
straight. Her eyes were dark brown too, she was slim, and her complexion was clear. She had never thought of herself as looking Japanese, but maybe she looked just Japanese enough for Lucien.
‘Listen, I’ve already told you – I’m not going to marry you, OK? How many more times will I have to tell you before it sinks in? Don’t take offence, but I just know
you’re not the one. Stick with your Japanese girls. You’ll be fine.’
‘No, no. I’m not in love with you .’
Sylvie was relieved, but also a little put out. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’
‘I’m glad you’re glad. It would never have worked out with you, even if you had liked me. I’ve tried being with girls who aren’t Japanese – I suppose I was
hoping it would somehow cure me of my affliction – and I even really liked some of them, but it’s never ended well. It’s not right for me, and it’s not fair on them.
I’ve embraced the way I am, and there’s no turning back. There were times when I saw it as a curse, but not any more – now I see it as a blessing.’
‘That’s good. So who is she then? Who is this Mademoiselle Wonderful who you just can’t live without?’
‘I think I’m in love with the Akiyamas’ daughter.’
Sylvie was quiet for a while, as she pondered Lucien’s predicament. ‘You only think you’re in love with her?’
‘No, it’s no use. I can’t fight it – I am in love with her.’
‘That’s better. So where is she now?’
‘In Japan. They showed me a picture of her yesterday. I could hardly sleep last night, and when I finally did I dreamt only of her.’
‘I see.’ Sylvie didn’t subscribe to fashionable notions that in order to love somebody you need to know them. Love, she knew for sure, was stranger than that. One summer, when
she was ten years old, she had been sent to stay with a distant aunt, who had shut her in her room for the entire school holidays with nothing but a copy of Les Misérables for
company. She had read it over and over again, empathising with Cosette as she huddled under the Thénardiers’ table, and glorying in her story as her happiness unfolded. When Marius had
first set eyes on her he had felt no pressing need to take her out for coffee to find out her likes and dislikes, or to live with her on a trial basis just to be sure they were right for one
another. And had Cosette reserved judgement until she had worked out whether or not Marius was going to fit in well with her existing social circle? Had she held back until she’d had a chance
to interrogate him at extreme length about whether or not he still harboured residual feelings for any girls he had known before? No, they just saw each other and fell in love, and everything else
melted away.
Sylvie saw no reason why Lucien’s feelings shouldn’t be as deep and poetic as theirs. She was by no means a starry-eyed romantic, though; while she believed absolutely in true love,
she knew how hard it
they’re desperate. I’m not desperate, though. There’s no way I would marry anyone unless I knew he was absolutely right for me. I would rather die than get stuck with the wrong
man.’
‘So you would rather die than marry me?’
‘Yes.’
He shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘But what’s your problem anyway? Why are you so miserable? I can’t see why you’re all . . .’ She let out a long moan, and mimicked his voice. ‘ Boo hoo,
poor me, I’m going to Japan to be surrounded by Japanese student girls who will all have big crushes on me .’
‘I’ve hit a difficulty with my plan.’
‘What’s that?’
He lowered his voice, and looked sheepish. ‘I think I’ve just fallen in love – even though I’m clearly not husband material.’
Sylvie was exasperated. She had really thought she was in the clear with this one, and she had certainly let him know where she stood. Her hair wasn’t black, but it was dark brown and very
straight. Her eyes were dark brown too, she was slim, and her complexion was clear. She had never thought of herself as looking Japanese, but maybe she looked just Japanese enough for Lucien.
‘Listen, I’ve already told you – I’m not going to marry you, OK? How many more times will I have to tell you before it sinks in? Don’t take offence, but I just know
you’re not the one. Stick with your Japanese girls. You’ll be fine.’
‘No, no. I’m not in love with you .’
Sylvie was relieved, but also a little put out. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’
‘I’m glad you’re glad. It would never have worked out with you, even if you had liked me. I’ve tried being with girls who aren’t Japanese – I suppose I was
hoping it would somehow cure me of my affliction – and I even really liked some of them, but it’s never ended well. It’s not right for me, and it’s not fair on them.
I’ve embraced the way I am, and there’s no turning back. There were times when I saw it as a curse, but not any more – now I see it as a blessing.’
‘That’s good. So who is she then? Who is this Mademoiselle Wonderful who you just can’t live without?’
‘I think I’m in love with the Akiyamas’ daughter.’
Sylvie was quiet for a while, as she pondered Lucien’s predicament. ‘You only think you’re in love with her?’
‘No, it’s no use. I can’t fight it – I am in love with her.’
‘That’s better. So where is she now?’
‘In Japan. They showed me a picture of her yesterday. I could hardly sleep last night, and when I finally did I dreamt only of her.’
‘I see.’ Sylvie didn’t subscribe to fashionable notions that in order to love somebody you need to know them. Love, she knew for sure, was stranger than that. One summer, when
she was ten years old, she had been sent to stay with a distant aunt, who had shut her in her room for the entire school holidays with nothing but a copy of Les Misérables for
company. She had read it over and over again, empathising with Cosette as she huddled under the Thénardiers’ table, and glorying in her story as her happiness unfolded. When Marius had
first set eyes on her he had felt no pressing need to take her out for coffee to find out her likes and dislikes, or to live with her on a trial basis just to be sure they were right for one
another. And had Cosette reserved judgement until she had worked out whether or not Marius was going to fit in well with her existing social circle? Had she held back until she’d had a chance
to interrogate him at extreme length about whether or not he still harboured residual feelings for any girls he had known before? No, they just saw each other and fell in love, and everything else
melted away.
Sylvie saw no reason why Lucien’s feelings shouldn’t be as deep and poetic as theirs. She was by no means a starry-eyed romantic, though; while she believed absolutely in true love,
she knew how hard it
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