VIP. Carrie Duffy

She tried to stand a little straighter, relaxing her shoulders, as though she could fool people into thinking she really was confident and successful – not shy, terrified Alyson Wakefield from a run-down terrace in Oldham.

      She didn’t realise that men looked at her not with disdain, but with naked desire; that the distant look in their eyes was nothing to do with disinterest and everything to do with imagining what she would look like in a wisp of black lace from La Perla. If she’d known what they were really thinking, Alyson would have been horrified.

      “Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

      Alyson started; she hadn’t realised she’d reached the front of the line. She heard someone tut behind her and leapt forward self-consciously, ordering a tea which she grabbed before scuttling straight back to her seat.

      The guy who’d spoken to her had his head down, scribbling in a Moleskine notebook. He looked up as she slid in opposite him.

      “I’m sorry,” he apologised, as he closed the notebook and put down his pen. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”

      Alyson smiled, wishing they could start again. He must think she was a complete idiot. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Really.” She tried to speak confidently, meeting his eyes for the first time. They were a deep brown, and sparkled when he looked at her.

      “I’m Javier,” he told her. His voice was deep, his accent rich – Spanish or Portuguese, Alyson guessed.

      She hesitated for a moment before replying, then told herself not to be so stupid. “Alyson,” she replied. “And yes, it’s my first time to Paris. Have you … have you been before?”

      “Yes, many times,” Javier nodded. “I love to travel, and Paris is a beautiful city – although it’s some time I was last there. I’m a writer,” he explained, “And to write about life, you have to experience life – that is what I believe. So yes, I like to travel, to visit many different cities and people …” He broke off, his dark eyes dancing. “I’m sorry. I think I talk too much.”

      “No, not at all,” Alyson insisted. “It’s fascinating. I’ve never really travelled at all, but I’d like to.”

      “Well, Paris is a very good place to start.” He smiled at her, and Alyson could feel the heat rise in her face. She was so unused to all of this – chatting with a man, having a normal conversation. He was so much more mature than the boys at school, the ones who yelled crude things as she passed them in the corridor, teasing her ruthlessly to bring out all her insecurities.

      “Have you been staying in London?” Alyson asked. She spoke quickly to hide her embarrassment, trying to ignore the feeling of warmth growing in her stomach and spreading through her body.

      “Yes,” he nodded eagerly. “It’s a wonderful city – very modern, and majestic. But the weather is so cold!” He looked so outraged by this last statement that Alyson couldn’t help laughing. “I’m like a bird,” he continued, by way of explanation. “I must fly south to find somewhere warmer.”

      “Do they have good weather in Paris?” Alyson asked innocently, taking a sip of her tea.

      Javier shrugged. “A little better than London, maybe. But I won’t stay for long – a few days, perhaps a week or two. Then I’ll make my way down to Spain – my home country,” he explained with a grin. “My family are in Madrid, but I have friends in Barcelona so I’ll stop there. And I hope to be in Morocco by the end of the month. After that … what’s the expression?”

      He broke off, and Alyson watched him as his brow furrowed in thought. She felt strangely disappointed that he wasn’t going to be staying in Paris. It was completely irrational, she knew that – half an hour ago, she’d never even spoken to him before. But there was something about him she found intriguing: to have the confidence to travel the world, moving from country to country like a free spirit, making casual acquaintances on trains and writing about what you found … He was so interesting, so adventurous.

      Well now she was making her own adventure, she thought determinedly.

      “Ah yes,” Javier began, suddenly remembering. “I will go where the wind takes me.”

      The train shot out of the tunnel, and Alyson whipped round, eager to see what was outside the window. Her face fell as she looked at the view. She could feel Javier watching her.

      “Is something wrong?” he asked

      Alyson opened her mouth to speak, wondering how to explain herself. “I didn’t think … I mean, I just expected something else. The landscape, I mean …” she broke off, shrugging helplessly. The scene outside was depressingly similar to the one she’d left behind in England – the same flat, muddy fields and overcast skies. She knew it was crazy, but she’d somehow expected France to look visibly different; a glamorous, exotic Technicolor world, like Dorothy leaving Kansas and arriving in Oz.

      Javier smiled sympathetically, the look of disappointment on her face all too obvious. “It will be different in Paris,” he reassured her. “It’s a magical, beautiful city – nothing like this,” he finished, waving his hand dismissively at the window.

      “I hope so,” Alyson whispered. She’d come here looking for a new life, and so far nothing had gone to plan. She just hoped she hadn’t made a huge mistake.

      ***

      The Gare du Nord was enormous. Alyson stared round in awe, gazing at the huge, arched windows and the vast green columns stretching up to the vaulted roof. All around her people hurried past, dragging suitcases behind them as they dashed to make their train. Nearby, a couple exclaimed in a language she didn’t understand, clearly delighted as they rushed towards each other and embraced, like a scene from an old-fashioned movie. Everything felt so … French! The announcements over the tannoy in a rapid Parisian accent; the signs outside the cafés for Orangina and croque-monsieur; the massive billboards advertising shows at the Opera Bastille and portables and TGV trains to Provence. Alyson loved it instantly.

      It was incredibly inspiring, and more than a little intimidating. Every sense was on high alert as her body was bombarded by new sights and sounds and smells. Could she really do this, she wondered, a horrible wave of doubt creeping over her. There were so many people here that she felt completely insignificant, just one person in a city of millions. Was it really possible that she could carve out a future for herself here, with friends, an apartment, a career?

      Instinctively, she moved closer to Javier. He’d accompanied her from the train, carrying her suitcase through to the arrivals hall.

      “Can I help you find a taxi?” he offered.

      “It’s okay,” Alyson shook her head. “I’ll take the metro.” A taxi seemed far too extravagant, especially as she had no idea when – if at all – she would find a job. She had to make her father’s money last as long as possible.

      “Where are you staying?” Javier asked.

      “I’m booked into a hotel in the Fifth for a few nights.” It was a tiny, two-star place she’d found on the internet. The reviews were horrendous, but the rates were dirt-cheap. “You?”

      “The Eighteenth – the other side of the city.” Javier’s tone was apologetic. “It’s not the best area but …” he shrugged. “It’s very lively. There’s a real mix of people, many different nationalities … You’re sure I can’t help you?”

      “I’ll be fine,” Alyson assured him, with more confidence than she felt. Their hands brushed as she went to take the suitcase from him, and she felt her stomach contract sharply.

      “Well, it was great to meet you,” he told her softly, his eyes lingering on her face. Then he leaned towards her and Alyson felt a sudden stab of panic. He was going to kiss her! He was about to—

      Javier bent down, their skin barely touching as he kissed lightly her on both cheeks, and Alyson felt a wave of humiliation wash over her. What