The Train to Paris by Sebastian Hampson Page A

temptation.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m a terrible dancer.’
    â€˜Very well, gentlemen. I will give you both a demonstration.’
    She moved to the centre of the terrace, backlit by the restaurant and the swirling blue hue of the swimming pool. They cast her into a silhouette. She moved in time with the music, and gave her whole body over to it. Her figure became an extension of the sound.
    I was mesmerised. Her hips drew in and out, her limbs became liquid. She flowed along her own channel, and she closed her eyes as she spun around with her arms out wide. It was an act of abandon, yet somehow she kept her dignity.
    Selvin applauded once the song had ended, as did a few others who had gathered on the other side of the swimming pool to watch her. I did not. Time had slowed. I could feel the day’s decaying warmth waiting to be swept off by an Atlantic breeze. Élodie took an exaggerated bow to the audience in her self-made theatre.
    â€˜It really is exhausting,’ she said, returning to us.
    â€˜Where in the hell did you learn how to dance like that?’ Selvin asked.
    â€˜Copacabana. You know, that old cliché. Don’t you remember? I lived there for a while.’
    â€˜Of course I remember.’ He grinned at her in a knowing way. ‘Back when it was the place to be, right?’
    Their discussion was of little interest to me. Élodie’s vitality now filled her to the brim. I was in awe of her. There was something particularly beautiful about the way that she smoked her cigar. She craned her neck in a swanlike arc, allowing the smoke to stream out of her mouth, neither too fast nor too slow. There was a surreal quality to her performance. I could have watched it forever.

9
    Selvin excused himself, saying he was going to check on Vanessa. Perhaps she really was ill. Élodie watched him stride away.
    â€˜Why don’t you dance, Lawrence?’ she asked.
    â€˜I don’t know. It doesn’t come naturally to me. You were extraordinary, by the way.’
    â€˜Don’t feign enthusiasm. It always fails to impress me.’
    â€˜I wasn’t feigning anything.’
    â€˜Oh darling, you don’t have to be earnest about absolutely everything.’
    I finished my drink, in a weak effort to wash away the remnants of smoke hanging on my breath.
    â€˜How are you feeling?’ she asked. I swayed my head from side to side as if to say, so-so . She bent in closer. We were sitting at one of the tables by the parapet, facing towards the hotel, which loomed above. I could see our suite and the terrace with the light streaming out through the open doors.
    The stars were already coming out. The stars never came out in Paris. The last time I had seen them they had been hanging over an open field in New Zealand. It felt healthy to be able to see them now.
    â€˜Shall we abandon Ed?’ Élodie continued. ‘I get the feeling that he won’t be coming back.’
    â€˜That depends. Am I still your lovelorn puppy?’
    Her face remained an unopened envelope.
    â€˜I thought that you might have been listening. Bear in mind that what I say to Ed is not necessarily how I feel.’
    Once again I felt a violent urge to walk away. Why had I spent my afternoon and evening with her?
    â€˜Christ,’ I said. ‘It really is all about appearances with you, isn’t it? Are you ashamed of me?’
    â€˜Not particularly. I just think that you need more work. We’ve done well so far, though.’
    â€˜And what is the truth? Am I supposed to guess how you feel about me?’
    Ã‰lodie ignored the question. She disappeared into the shadows.
    â€˜We don’t have to take things too fast,’ she said without warning.
    â€˜No?’
    She grew flustered. ‘Well, it’s true that we already have,’ she said. ‘Point taken. But you shouldn’t feel any obligation.’
    â€˜I don’t. I would hate to take any of