Free The English Boys by Julia Thomas

about on rainy autumn days to take his mind off the bone-numbing chill.
    He didn’t notice the girl at first. She sat on a bench several feet away from him, a small thing wearing a sundress and sandals with an enormously wide-brimmed hat on her head. She hardly moved. In fact, it was almost as if she were asleep behind the dark sunglasses she wore. Yet, even though she sat so still, something about her arrested his attention. When she suddenly moved to look at him, he realized he’d been staring.
    â€œWhy aren’t you inside, like everyone else?” she asked.
    Daniel made an expansive gesture and smiled. “I’m taking this all in, of course. It’s far too nice a day to spend it indoors.”
    â€œThat’s what I think, too.” She removed her sunglasses and placed them on her lap. “What were you doing in France?”
    He was surprised at her directness, almost as much as he was by the enormity of her deep brown eyes. “Business,” he said, shrugging. He didn’t get personal with people he didn’t know.
    â€œI was day-tripping. That’s a fun word, day-tripping, isn’t it? I went shopping and treated myself to lunch.”
    â€œAlone?” he couldn’t help but ask.
    â€œYes,” she admitted as she stood and walked over to stand by him at the rail. “I had a look around Calais. It was my first trip to France.”
    She could do a good job better than Calais, he thought, although his answer was more civil. “There are a lot of nice things to see in France.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure there are. Maybe one day you’ll show me.”
    In spite of himself, Daniel smiled. “We’re to become great friends, are we?”
    â€œOf course. And it’s not because you’re a film star that I’m adding you to my list.”
    â€œYour list?” he asked, uncomfortable now that she had recognized him.
    â€œYes, my list. I’m putting you on because you have a nice face.”
    â€œAs do you,” he replied, wondering if he could make a graceful escape. He didn’t chat up strangers. One never knew what they might want. Suddenly a Pimms with Hugh and a molded plastic seat sounded almost appealing.
    â€œI’m Tamsyn,” she said, adjusting her hat. “Tamsyn Burke.”
    â€œThat’s a good name,” he said. “Not the sort someone could forget.”
    Her face, with its large eyes and Cupid’s bow lips, was not forgettable either. There was something about her. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her a little bit longer. After all, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Nothing was more wretched than taking a day trip to Calais on one’s own.
    â€œSo, did you see the sights?” he asked. “The Hotel de Ville is very nice. A classic example of Flemish Renaissance architecture, if I’m correct.”
    â€œYou’re bound to be,” she said. “But I’m afraid I was more interested in flower stalls and poky little junk shops. And there was a café, facing the Channel, with the wind ruffling the edges of the umbrellas and the smell of the fishing boats coming in from the sea.”
    â€œAnd most people just think Calais is a good place to score cheap booze. It’s nice to see someone who can appreciate it for its intrinsic value.”
    â€œYou’re laughing at me,” she said, in such a way that he wondered if she were laughing at him. “So, what shall we see in Paris when we go?”
    â€œOh, Paris,” he mimicked, trying to imagine an adventure with this improbable girl. “That depends on your personality. You see, if you’re the serious type, we’d walk through the P è re Lachaise looking for É dith Piaf’s grave, or spend interminable hours in the Louvre uncovering the mystery of why there are so many portraits of Josephine Bonaparte. Or perhaps we would sit at Les Deux Magots drinking bad coffee