Lucas ordered a coffee from another waiter and watched as the girls got their drinks. They were chatty and friendly with their waiter now, maybe even knew him; it shouldn’t have mattered but Lucas was relieved all the same.
He got his own coffee and started his pretense of reading the newspaper, a token effort because neither she nor anyone else was looking in his direction. He took it for granted now, even resented it, but in the past his ability to be inconspicuous had amazed him. He’d done a hit in a crowded restaurant in Hamburg, and not one person had given an accurate description of him afterwards. They’d even disagreed—tall, short, blond hair, red hair, glasses, sunglasses, definitely not wearing glasses at all. It was like they’d all been hypnotized and told to forget him.
Lucas had been watching for ten minutes or so when they were joined by another girl and two boys. The girl and one of the boys were clearly brother and sister, the third the sister’s boyfriend. There was more banter with the waiter.
Maybe this was where they came to hang out. He thought briefly about doing the same each day, but in a cafe like that even his face would become familiar. He’d take it easy. When they left, he’d stroll back to the car, then go back to the hotel. And he’d go to the house again in the morning, hopeful of catching a glimpse of Madeleine herself.
Then he’d decide how to approach the girl: in person or by letter. Madeleine would intercept a letter, of course, but he could get around that. He’d wait until he saw her friend approaching and give her the letter, ask her to give it to—who? The least he had to do was find out her name.
He grew annoyed now that he was sitting so far away. Yet their voices were just audible and he strained to pick up one of them addressing her by name. He could hear only a jumble of French vocabulary, though, all vaguely familiar but meaningless. And as he watched he became mesmerized by her face, her expressions—smiles, thoughtful glances, a playfully knitted brow. It made him sad to think he hadn’t seen those expressions mapped out across her childhood.
Those years were lost, all the years when he might have read stories to her, seen her through the milestones: birthdays and swimming and riding bikes, the things he imagined fathers doing. But she’d done those things without him and he’d killed probably a hundred people during the blameless span of her life.
His eyes shifted briefly and he twitched nervously as he realized the brother was looking at him, a bemused look on his face. The kid leaned over to say something to the others and Lucas lifted his paper, just enough to obscure his face.
He couldn’t believe he’d been spotted looking at her like that, annoyed by the interpretation they were bound to put on it. His heart was lurching, knowing that they were probably looking across at him right now, trying to get a glimpse of his face.
Having seen the confident, proprietary air they’d had with the waiter, he couldn’t even be certain they wouldn’t come over. He laughed edgily, struck by the irony of his cowering behind a newspaper in fear of five smart-looking fourteen-year-olds. And he sat like that for five minutes or so before leaving, casually keeping his face turned away from them.
He still felt an adrenaline buzz as he walked back to the car. He’d seen her. She was beautiful, someone with nice friends, popular. And with the adrenaline came a longing, a consuming need for this to be a beginning, not an end.
It was selfish. He couldn’t imagine how she felt or if she even knew about him. For all he knew, her life was happy and full, and his appearance might be as shattering a blow as a death in the family. He was thinking only of himself, he knew that, but he had to find a way to her. Suddenly, with all the power of a spiritual revelation, he couldn’t see a reason for being alive otherwise.
After dinner that night he sat in the bar with his book, his newfound optimism making him want to be around other people, even if it didn’t stretch to actually wanting to talk to them. He hadn’t been there long when an elderly lady sat at the next table. Lucas pretended not to see her smile as she sat down.
He heard her order a Bellini, her accent Scottish, Edinburgh maybe, and was conscious of another brief exchange when the drink was delivered. He concentrated on his book and was surprised when he heard her speak a few minutes later.
‘Excuse me for intruding, but is it your first time?’ He looked up, assuming that someone else had sat down, and caught the full force of her smiling, inquisitive stare. He had no choice but to answer that most banal of travelers’ questions.
‘Not my first time in Paris. First time in this hotel.’
‘No, dear, that’s not what I meant at all.’ She smiled, pointing at the book. ‘I mean, is it your first time reading Pride and Prejudice?’