Sylvain was on the ladder now, too, balancing on one foot so that his face was even with hers. She blinked sleepily into his eyes, sapphire blue in the dim light.
‘Hey,’ she murmured. Her thoughts were still fuzzy – the moment felt unreal; dream-like. She hadn’t been this close to him since the winter ball. She could feel the warmth of his leg against hers, smell his distinctive cologne. ‘I must have fallen asleep.’
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ he said. For a second he stayed where he was, his face so close she could see flecks of violet in the blue of his eyes. Then he jumped down to the floor in a graceful, athletic move. ‘I was delayed by one of the guards who wanted to ask me a million questions about whether I knew if someone had left the school building after curfew last night.’
‘What?’ Instantly wide awake, Allie leaned forward to see him better. ‘Do they know it was us?’
Sylvain shook his head. ‘They don’t know who it was. But they know someone was there. We must be very careful now.’
The prospect of danger seemed to excite him – the colour was high in his cheeks and he bounced on the balls of his feet as if he had too much energy to simply stand still. A curl had escaped from his wavy hair and tumbled forward over his brow.
Seeing it reminded Allie of how she’d felt the first time she’d run her fingers through Sylvain’s hair – the thrill of the forbidden. And the effect it had had on him. The way his arms had tightened around her waist; how he’d pressed his lips more firmly against hers.
It had all felt so different from kissing Carter.
So was that romantic love? She asked herself now, hopelessly. Or the other kind?
Climbing down from the ladder, she stretched her arms above her head trying to wake up her muscles. ‘Cool. I’m ready when you are.’
Watching her, he gave a bittersweet smile. ‘I wish that were true.’ Then he pivoted and headed down the aisle of books. ‘Come on. We should go.’
Dropping her arms, Allie rushed after him so hurriedly she stumbled over a stack of books someone had left at the end of the aisle.
‘Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry…’ she muttered.
‘What did you say?’ Sylvain shot her an inquisitive look.
‘Nothing.’ Allie shrugged. ‘I was just quoting a line from a film I like.’
‘Do you like films?’ He looked genuinely pleased at the idea. ‘Which is your favourite?’
As always happened whenever someone asked her favourite book or film, Allie’s mind went blank – it was as if she’d never seen a film in her life. Everyone was always trying to impress everyone else with their great taste. So it took her a second to realise she’d just quoted a line from one of her favourite movies.
‘I like It’s a Wonderful Life,’ she said. ‘I mean, I used to watch it with my family every Christmas before… I mean… It’s pretty good, I guess.’
What she meant was, she used to watch the film back when she was happy. Before Christopher ran away and her world fell apart.
He looked at her seriously. ‘I think it is an amazing film – one of my favourites. I love Jimmy Stewart.’ His accent made the name sound adorable – ‘Jeemee’. They’d made it to the door and he held it open for her as he warmed to the topic. ‘I love films – when I’m at home I’m constantly watching movies – I particularly like old movies in black and white. They seem better than modern films, although I don’t know why.’ He cast a sideways glance at her. ‘Have you seen Jules et Jim?’
Mutely, Allie shook her head. It sounded French and sophisticated. Of course her parents wouldn’t have had that around.
‘It is by Fran?ois Truffaut, a great French filmmaker – I think perhaps the best ever,’ Sylvain said as they stepped into the grand hallway. It was quiet at this hour and the polished oak panelling shone in the low light. ‘You remind me, sometimes, of the actress in it. Your hair… other things…’
His words made warmth bloom in Allie’s chest, uninvited. It was nice being compared to a French actress who was probably beautiful and mysterious as French actresses always were. The casual conversation served to distract her from worrying about the work ahead of them and she wondered if Sylvain had brought it up on purpose. It struck her that no one at Cimmeria ever talked about ordinary things any more. It was always Nathaniel, Jo, Isabelle, Lucinda, death. It felt almost odd to discuss something normal people talked about.
‘I’ll have to watch it,’ she said. ‘If you love it so much, it must be good.’
Jules et Jim, Allie said to herself, trying to memorise it. Jules et Jim, Jules et Jim, Jules…
‘Maybe we will watch it together some day,’ he said and gave her one of those Sylvain smiles that made her feel like no one else existed in the world except the two of them.