Free La Suite by M. P. Franck

see some of what he was there for, rather than be
dragged round yet another outlet for imitation Murano
glassware.
    It was almost
midnight when James stood. “Thanks for listening,” he said. “I’ll
sleep better for it. Good night.”
    Shortly
afterwards, Gaëlle and Jérôme also headed for their own room. “He’s
lacking in self-belief, our James,” Jérôme commented as they went
up the stairs.
    “ Yes, he is,
but then I don’t think he’s aware he’s a rather attractive young
man. I can do without meeting his friend Poppy tomorrow. I’m going
on an early waterbus. I bet she won’t be an early riser,” Gaëlle
said, turning off the light.
    Once Jérôme was
away to his conference the following morning, Gaëlle took a shower
and thought about what to wear. She wasn’t planning on visiting any
churches, so she could afford to wear something less conservative
than the previous day. The fewer clothes the better, she decided,
in view of the weather. Eventually she opted for a pale green
tee-shirt that reached a little above mid-thigh, together with a
shawl that she tied round her waist as a skirt. She did her makeup
and set off. It was later than she’d anticipated, but she still
hoped to avoid the voice. Her heart sank when she saw them waiting
at the bus stop. James flashed a quick smile at Gaëlle, as if
afraid that Poppy might notice. By the time Gaëlle reached the
crowd at the vaporetto stop, she couldn’t avoid knowing that it was
imperative for Poppy to go to Murano, as she was sick of old
paintings. The voice, like nails on a blackboard, set Gaëlle’s
teeth on edge. She was about to move to the back of the queue and
wait for the next boat, when she felt someone tug at her arm. She
looked down and saw that the hand belonged to an elderly Italian
woman, dressed in black, who indicated that she would welcome some
help to get over the step and into the boat. Gaëlle smiled and
relaxed as she assisted the lady, unable to understand a word of
the little woman’s thick dialect. She made sure she was as far as
possible from Poppy and James for the trip to San Marco.
    By one o’clock,
she was ready for some lunch, and had found a little trattoria. She
had ordered and was waiting for her food when she saw James,
wandering along and obviously unaccompanied. She waved to him.
    “ All alone?”
she asked.
    “ But with
some peace and quiet,” he replied. “I put Poppy on the vaporetto to
Murano, so I’ve been able to do what I’m really here for. It’s just
as well, because we leave this evening.”
    Gaëlle patted
the seat beside her, for James to sit down. He refused her offer to
buy him lunch, but was happy to have a glass of wine. For the
duration of the meal, Gaëlle heard all about Poppy, how she was too
good for James, too pretty for James, too everything for James, it
appeared. The only evidence offered for this was Poppy’s conviction
that it was so. It almost spoiled Gaëlle’s appetite.
    “ I’ve never
had a beautiful girlfriend before. Uninteresting men like me don’t
usually get a look-in with beautiful women,” James
concluded.
    “ James,
that’s bullshit,” Gaëlle said firmly. “Any woman with a smidgeon of
taste would tell you so. You’re an attractive young man, and you’re
certainly a far more interesting person than Poppy. I think it’s a
major error for you to allow her to decide what and who you are.
You deserve better than that. Now, I’m going to the Doge’s Palace
this afternoon. Will you come with me?”
    “ You’re sure
you want me?”
    “ I’d love
it…if Poppy will allow you to escort an older woman, of course!”
Gaëlle added, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
    “ She’ll be
off doing the shops again, once she gets back from Murano,” James
said. “It’s just as well, because she’d be hopping mad to think I
was talking with another woman. Especially an attractive one like
you,” he added, colouring up slightly.
    “ I’m sure
you know a lot more