When the musicians took a break, I walked my dancing partner back to her seat, then went back out to where Simon, oblivious of my presence, sat smiling vaguely, still staring into the distance. I waved a hand in front of his eyes but he didn’t react. I followed his gaze and I saw . . . her.
She was sitting alone at a table that had been hastily added and so had no tablecloth or napkins. I glimpsed her as she appeared and disappeared between the swaying dancers. Suddenly I knew why Simon – who could usually be relied on to turn any social event into a circus – seemed so serene. The mere sight of this girl had left him speechless.
She was wearing a pale, figure-hugging dress and elbow-length gloves; her black hair was pulled up into a chignon. With a smile as delicate as a wisp of smoke, she gazed out at the dancers without seeing them, her chin perched on her gloved fingertips, absorbed in her own thoughts. From time to time she vanished behind the shadows that whirled about her, only to re-emerge like a nymph appearing from a lake.
‘Isn’t she beautiful?’ Simon gasped.
‘She’s magnificent.’
‘Just look at those eyes. I’ll bet they are as black as her hair. And her nose! Her nose, it’s perfect . . .’
‘Easy does it.’
‘And her lips, Jonas, have you seen her tiny rosebud lips? How does she manage to eat?’
‘Hey, Simon, come back down to earth!’
‘What would I want to do that for?’
‘Because it’s a long drop from that cloud of yours.’
‘I don’t care . . . For a beauty like that, I’m happy to take a tumble.’
‘And how exactly do you plan to win her over?’
At length he looked at me, and I saw a sad smile steal over his face.
‘You know perfectly well I’ve got no chance,’ he said. The sudden change of tone was heartbreaking, but he soon rallied. ‘Do you think she’s from Río Salado?’
‘I don’t think so. We would have seen her before now.’
‘You’re right.’ Simon smiled. ‘I could never have forgotten a face like that.’
We both held our breath as we watched a young man saunter over to the girl and ask her to dance, then both of us let it out in a sigh of relief when she politely declined.
Fabrice came back from the dance floor bathed in sweat, dabbing his face with a handkerchief. He leaned over to us and whispered:
‘Have you seen the girl sitting on her own, at the far end of the terrace?’
‘You bet we have,’ Simon replied. ‘I don’t think there’s a man here who can look at anyone else.’
‘I’ve just been dumped because of her,’ Fabrice explained. ‘The girl I was dancing with nearly gouged my eyes out when she caught me looking at her. Have you any idea who she is?’
‘She must be visiting family,’ I said. ‘From her dress and the way she acts, she looks like a city girl. I’ve never seen any girl around here who looks like that.’
Suddenly the girl turned and looked at the three of us, and we froze as though we’d been caught trying to steal her handbag. Her smile broadened a little and the brooch on the neckline of her dress seemed to flash like a lighthouse in the darkness.
‘Isn’t she stunning?’ Jean-Christophe said, appearing from nowhere. He took the empty chair, spun it round and straddled it.
‘There you are,’ said Fabrice. ‘Where did you get to?’
‘Where do you think?’
‘Have you and Isabelle been fighting again?’
‘Let’s just say that for once, I sent her packing. Can you believe it? She couldn’t decide what jewellery to wear. I waited in the living room, I waited in the hall, I waited outside, and mademoiselle still couldn’t decide which brooch to put on.’
‘So you left her there?’ Simon was incredulous.
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Congratulations!’ Simon got to his feet, clicked his heels and saluted Jean-Christophe. ‘It’s about time someone told that priggish bitch where to go. I salute you!’
Jean-Christophe tugged Simon’s arm and pulled him down. ‘Sit down, you’re blocking my view, you big lump.’ He nodded to the girl at the table. ‘Who is she?’
‘Why don’t you go over and ask her?’
‘With the Rucillio clan over there in the corner? I might be stupid, but I’m not crazy!’
Fabrice crumpled his napkin, took a deep breath, pushed back his chair and announced:
‘Well, I’m going.’
He didn’t even have time to get up from the table before a car pulled up and the girl got to her feet and walked towards it. The four of us watched as she climbed into the passenger seat, and flinched when she slammed the door.
‘I know I’ve got no chance,’ said Simon, ‘but I have to try. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to take my glass slipper and go round every girl in the village until I find one my size.’
We all burst out laughing.
Simon picked up a teaspoon and unthinkingly began stirring his coffee again. He had stirred it three times now and still had not taken a sip. We were sitting on a café terrace in the village square, making the most of the glorious weather. The sky was clear and the March sun spilled its silver light over the avenue. Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves. In the silence of the morning, broken only by the babble of the fountain, the village heard an echo of itself.
The mayor, shirtsleeves rolled up, stood watching a group of workers paint the curb of the pavements red and white. In front of the church, the priest was helping a carter unload sacks of coal, which a boy was stacking against the wall. On the far side of the square, housewives stood gossiping around the market stalls, watched over by Bruno, a policeman who was barely out of his teens.
Simon set the teaspoon down.
‘I didn’t sleep a wink at Dédé’s last night,’ he said.
‘Is this about that girl?’
‘You catch on fast . . . I’ve got a serious crush on her.’
‘Really?’
‘What can I say? I’ve never in my life felt the way I feel about this dark-haired girl with the mysterious eyes.’
‘Did you find out who she is?’
‘Of course! First thing I did the morning after the party was track her down. The only problem is, I found out I’m not the only person interested. Even that brainless moron José is hanging around her. You can’t have a fantasy in this godforsaken town without a bunch of cretins gatecrashing it.’
He swatted an imaginary fly with a brutal, angry gesture, then picked up the spoon and went back to stirring his coffee.
‘I wish I had your blue eyes, Jonas, and your angelic face!’
‘Why?’
‘So I could try my luck. Just look at me: I’ve got an ugly mug, a pot belly, a pair of stumpy legs . . . I’ve even got flat feet.’
‘Girls aren’t just interested in looks . . .’
‘Maybe, but as it happens, I don’t have much else to offer them. I don’t have a vineyard or a wine broker’s or a fat bank account.’
‘You’ve got other things – your sense of humour, for a start. Girls love guys who can make them laugh. And you’re honest, you’re sincere, you’re not a drunk, you’re not two-faced. That stuff means a lot.’
Simon batted away my compliments.
There was a long silence. He bit his lip and looked awkward.
‘Jonas,’ he asked, ‘do you think love trumps friendship?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well . . . I saw Fabrice flirting with our vestal virgin the day before yesterday . . . It was down by Cordona’s wine cellars. Fabrice was leaning on the hood of his mother’s car, arms folded, looking cool . . . and she didn’t look like she was in a hurry to go home.’
‘It’s only because Fabrice is everyone’s favourite person in Río Salado these days. Girls, guys, even old men stop him in the street – he’s our poet.’
‘I know, but I didn’t get the impression they were talking about literature, and it didn’t look like a one-off thing.’
‘Hey, peasants!’ André called to us, parking his car across the street. ‘Why aren’t you down at my diner initiating yourself into the glories of pool?’