drawer.
‘You do realise I’ve opened a seventy quid bottle of fizz that you can’t pay for.’ Goodbye customer service, hello pissed off barman. His earlier smiling obsequiousness had been replaced with sharp-eyed cynical scepticism.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She shrugged and rolled her eyes at him with a half-laugh. ‘Of course I can pay for it. Your card machine can’t be working properly. I’ve travelled all over the world and this has never happened before.’
‘It’s happened now.’
She opened her purse again. ‘Look, I’ve got euros. You can have those.’
The barman’s lip curled. ‘Do I look French? Does this place look like we’re in Spain? Does it say euros accepted here?’ He paused, lifting his chin with a pugnacious sneer. ‘No. It does not.’
He didn’t have to be quite so mean. ‘Look, it’s a genuine mistake. I can afford it, easily.’ For goodness sake, her stepfather owned a vineyard and estate outside Epernay and her monthly allowance would more than cover the cost of several cases of vintage Dom Perignon.
‘Doesn’t look like it from here.’
‘I’ve tried to pay. It’s not my fault nothing is working and you won’t accept euros or my bank card. I really don’t know what you expect me to do.’ Siena kept her tone low and reasonable, trying to ignore the curious glances and open stares being sent her way.
‘Obviously,’ the man’s voice had got much louder, as if he deliberately wanted to humiliate her, ‘I want you to pay up.’ He leaned over the bar towards her, his eyes sparkling with sudden malice. ‘Otherwise it’s going to have to be a police matter.’
Her heart rate rocketed. Her palms were suddenly clammy. She’d never been in this sort of situation before. His angry face reminded her of Yves when he didn’t get his own way.
‘Enough.’ Jason’s voice cut through with strident authority, making her jump. ‘She’s not exactly a hardened criminal and you are being unnecessarily unpleasant. Stick it on this card and while you’re at it, I’ll have a large glass of house red and a pint of Becks.’
The barman frowned and took Jason’s card, shooting Siena a look of disgust.
‘Thank you,’ she said letting out a huge breath, she hadn’t realised that she’d been holding on to. The relief was almost painful. ‘That’s really kind of you. I will pay you back. I promise.
‘I’m sure you will.’ He shook his head. ‘Prick.’
‘I suppose he had some right to be cross.’ Her legs felt slightly shaky.
‘He didn’t have to be such a dick about it or be so horrible. I hate bullies and I hate men that bully women even more. Are you OK?’ He studied her face with a penetrating look and she very nearly said, ‘You wouldn’t like Yves’.
Instead she nodded ducking her head, not wanting him to see her face.
His voiced softened and nearly finished her off. ‘Why don’t you go join the others, send Ben over and we’ll bring the drinks back?’
Giving him a tremulous smile, she did as he suggested.
It wasn’t until she’d almost finished the first glass of fizz, she started to felt more like herself again. Everyone else had loosened up too. The volume in the bar had increased five-fold since they’d arrived and it took considerable effort to wriggle through the crowd to get to the very plush toilets.
‘So Siena,’ Ben came and stood next to her, ‘Jason says you live in France. How come your English is so good?’
‘Because she’s English, you pillock,’ Jason ribbed him.
‘Are you?’
Siena nodded her head, amused by the relationship between them. ‘But I’ve lived in France since I was seven.’
‘What?’ Jason sounded startled. ‘But you’re Laurie’s sister. She grew up here. Went to school here. How does that work? ’
Siena shrugged. She’d rather not air the family laundry in front of an audience.
‘So say something in Frog,’ said Ben, completely oblivious to the nuances of the conversation. ‘It’s a real turn on when women talk foreign.’
Across the other side of the table, Claire rolled her eyes. ‘Only to a cretin.’
Ben ignored her. ‘Go on.’ He bounced in his seat, his enthusiasm infectious.
‘What do you want me to say?’ For some reason she felt self-conscious and Claire’s hostile stare wasn’t helping.
‘Anything. I dunno. Something like voulez-vous couchez maverick moi?’
‘That is French, you numpty.’ Claire’s scathing words spilled out.
‘I think you’ll find it’s avec moi,’ interjected Jason with a reluctant smile.
Siena sneaked a peak at him, it wasn’t the first time he’d taken the sting out of the other girl’s sharp observations.
‘Whatevs.’ With a good natured grin, Ben added, ‘Come on, speak some Froglish. Geddit? Because you’re half and half.’
‘Ben, grow up,’ snapped Claire. ‘You’re so stupid.’
‘Bonjour Ben. C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer,’ Siena blurted out, wanting to defuse the toxic atmosphere Claire seemed determined to create. Temptation shimmered like a naughty fairy for a second. It would be quite cool if she said in French, ‘stop being a bitch,’ but Siena had a feeling that with his probing looks, which seemed to see right through her, Jason would probably get the gist.
‘Phwoar. Say some more.’ Ben moaned in pretend delight completely oblivious to the other girl’s displeasure. ‘What’s it mean?’
Siena punched him on the shoulder laughing, as Jason shook his head and the others all burst into gales of laughter. Lisa giggled like a loon. Only Claire remained unamused. She tutted.
‘Ça ne veut rien dire en particulier,’ she obliged.
‘So, what are you saying? Something really sexy I bet. It had to be. Maybe I should learn French, pull the birds. I could get one of those lesson things on my iPod. Learn while I’m at work.’
‘Oh God, please don’t,’ said Jason with a heartfelt groan. ‘It’s bad enough when you’re murdering Coldplay with your headphones on.’
‘I could teach you,’ offered Siena.
‘Seriously?’ Ben bounced in his seat like an overenthusiastic puppy. ‘Couple of chat up lines? That would be so cool.’
‘She’s not going to be here long enough,’ said Jason.
‘No,’ said Claire with a derisory snort. ‘Besides she’d be in her eighties before you picked it up.’
Ben’s face crumpled for one swift second before a cheerful mask slid into place as he said to Jason, ‘So boss, what’s the plan for Monday?’
Embarrassed for him, Siena pulled out her phone on the pretext of checking it for messages. Scanning it quickly she stuffed it back into her handbag as a fresh conversation started up. More missed calls, all from the same two numbers. She couldn’t bring herself to even text them, knowing it would unleash a flurry of communication. Normally her iPhone never left her side but lately she wanted to bury it at the bottom of her bag. She couldn’t visit Facebook, go on Twitter, post on Snapchat or Periscope. Everyone was asking where she was, with some impertinent acquaintances drawing their own conclusions. No she wasn’t in Switzerland having a secret abortion nor on an exotic island in the Pacific with a well-known tennis pro and most definitely not in hiding after a botched eyelift.
Lisa let out a squeal.