Free The Andalucian Friend by Alexander Söderberg Page A

introducing you to my friends.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” she said.
    He took her hand in his. “Is this OK?”
    She nodded.
    They stayed there holding each other’s hands, watching the dancers. His hand was large and warm. It felt good to hold it.
    Toward two o’clock in the morning the guests began to leave, and half an hour later the music was turned down and there were just a dozen or so people left in the room, most of them gathered around one table. Hector, Adalberto, Inez, Aron, and Leszek — the short-haired man who had arrived with Adalberto, as well as Thierry and Daphne. And, beside Hector, the beautiful woman. Sophie was sitting next to Aron and had been chatting to him about nothing much. Then she had started talking to the short-haired Pole, Leszek. She looked at the people around the table. She saw Inez talking to Adalberto — she looked like a child who had decided to be cross with her father, while Adalberto looked almost pained, like a father who didn’t want his daughter to be cross with him. Thierry and Daphne were huddled together. She looked at Hector. He wasn’t talking to the woman beside him, he had only exchanged a few words with her all evening. Sophie realized she was staring at her again. There was something chilly about the woman, something chilly and beautiful, not chilly and cold, but almost sober and sensitive. She seemed sad, introverted, without being shy. But above all there was something grand about her, beautiful was too small a word. Sophie felt a pang of envy.
    She bumped into her in the bathroom, perhaps she had followed her. They stood next to each other, inspecting their faces in the mirrors above the two washbasins. The woman was touching up her makeup.
    “My name’s Sonya,” she said quietly.
    “Sophie.”
    Sonya left the bathroom.
    When Sophie came out she was met with music and dancing again. Everyone who had been sitting around the table was now dancing energetically. A young waiter came over to her with a tray. She saw a load of white pills.
    “Please, help yourself,” Hector said behind her.
    “What is it?”
    “Ecstasy. I’ve taken one of these every birthday since I was thirty. It won’t kill you.”
    She hesitated, looked at the happy guests, looked at Hector.
    “Have you taken one tonight?”
    He nodded. “Just now.”
    “Can you feel anything?”
    He stared into the middle distance, searching his emotions to see if anything had changed.
    “It probably hasn’t had time to work yet … I think. But I’m not sure,” he said with a wide smile.
    Sophie took a pill and swallowed it.
    She discovered that she loved dancing more than anything, that what had seemed like an unremarkable restaurant was one of the most beautiful places she had ever been, so beautiful in its exquisite furnishings. Time kept twisting on its axis and suddenly they were all sitting at the table again, the music was quieter now, like the most perfect backdrop.
    Sophie looked on. The others around the table were talking and laughing in turn, smoking and drinking. It seemed that every subject of conversation was a link that bound everything together in a far greater context. Inez leaned over and started talking to her. Hector interpreted as best he could, but he and Inez kept bursting out laughing in Spanish. Sonya wasn’t laughing, she just smiled — a gentle smile that settled over her beautiful face, as if she was finding everything agreeable for a while, as if she had chosen to enjoy the moment instead of giggling. Hector was acting with boyish confusion; he was having a great time, she could see that, everyone was. Adalberto had become a child, chattering away in a Spanish that no one seemed to understand but which everyone found funny. Daphne and Thierry seemed even more in love now, sitting closely entwined, holding each other tight. Sophie felt as if the whole world were perfectly composed and comprehensible.
    At half past three in the morning she left the restaurant, she