Free The Pupil by Caro Fraser Page B

animatedly to some girl about the iniquities of the judicial system, and that the girl was Julia. She was dressed in scarlet and was gazing at him with sympathy and interest. Or so it seemed.
    In fact, Julia was thinking that Anthony probably didn’tget drunk very often, and looked rather sweet doing it. He was very attractive, in a dark, serious sort of way. He had soft, messed-up hair and a nice mouth. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She tried to say something to him, but the noise in the hall had grown and he had to lean over to hear.
    ‘What?’ Whatever it was, she tried to repeat it, but Edward was braying at them about going on to a restaurant, and a few moments later Anthony found himself in the dark, crisp December air, walking up Middle Temple Lane rather unsteadily, flanked by Edward and someone called Piers. Piers seemed to be a very good bloke. Very funny. Anthony wondered where Julia was.
    She reappeared sitting next to him in the restaurant. They were in some rowdy Italian place in Piccadilly Circus, all sitting round a large table. There were ten or twelve people, it seemed to Anthony, all as drunk as he was; he didn’t know a lot of them, but Edward seemed to. Edward always did. Good bloke, Edward. Very funny.
    Although he was sitting next to her, Anthony didn’t really talk much to Julia. She always seemed to be talking to people in the other direction from him, laughing a lot and leaning over. Her bare shoulders glowed in the light from candles stuck in bottles, and he noticed, glancing rather often, how her blonde hair curled in softly at the nape of her neck. How nice it would be to touch it. I’m drunk, he thought. It was just as well he wasn’t getting much chance to talk to her. She’d think he was a complete idiot. God, this menu was long. Where were the rolls? He was starving.
    It took everyone a long time to order, and then thefood took a long time to arrive. Someone put a plate of avocado and bacon salad in front of Anthony. He ate it. Edward ordered a lot of wine. It was red. Not as good as the champagne, but Anthony drank it, anyway. It wasn’t so bad once you’d had a glass or two. Someone put a plate of veal in a strange, sticky sauce in front of him. He wasn’t really feeling hungry any more, he decided. Then he drank three glasses of mineral water in quick succession and felt better. Edward ordered more wine. Anthony decided not to have any more. But then he had some profiteroles and a lot of Cointreau in a large tumbler, which didn’t help. Cointreau, he reflected, was really better in tumblers than those little glasses it usually came in. He should remember that – always have your Cointreau in big glasses. Better still, mugs. Big mugs. Julia was speaking to him.
    ‘Here’s a present. Merry Christmas.’ She pushed a cigarette packet across the table to him.
    ‘Oh, thanks. I don’t smoke.’
    ‘It’s empty.’
    ‘That’s all right, then.’
    ‘Put it in your pocket, like a good boy.’ And she leant against him, searching the inside of his jacket for the pocket. He could smell the soft skin of her arm as she moved; not perfume. Just skin. And softness. She laughed and looked at him for a moment. He looked back, wondering what he should say. But at that moment the bill arrived, and it was given to Edward to divide up. This process, conducted with the aid of a propelling pencil (whose point kept breaking) and a pocket calculator (which Edward was well beyond using efficiently), took some fifteen minutes, and spiralledinto a series of rows over who had had what and whether Piers, who hadn’t had a starter but had had cheese and biscuits, should pay extra or less. Those who hadn’t had any liqueurs then demanded a discount, and then someone pointed out that service wasn’t included, and the whole thing began all over again. Anthony eventually found himself, after complex negotiations which no one could follow, writing a cheque to David Liphook for