The Slow Waltz of Turtles by Katherine Pancol

Author:Katherine Pancol
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-10-14T09:54:46+00:00

PART IV

Reaching into her Birkin bag, Iris took out a Shiseido compact and checked her makeup. They would be at St. Pancras soon, and she wanted to look her best when she got off the train.

She had clipped in her hair extensions and applied purple-gray eye shadow and mascara. Ah, those eyes of mine! I never tire of looking at them. She pulled up the collar on her Jean-Paul Gaultier shirt, pleased that she had chosen the lilac jersey pantsuit that set off her figure so well. The purpose of her trip was simple: to seduce Philippe all over again and assume her rightful her place in the family.

Iris’s seatmate on the train couldn’t take his eyes off her. He looked to be about forty-five, with a strong features and broad shoulders. Philippe will come back to me, she thought. And if not, I’ll seduce someone else! I have to be realistic. I’m running out of options.

Iris leaned back in her seat. It had been smart to tell Alexandre that she was coming before mentioning it to Philippe. That way, he couldn’t tell her not to come. Everything hinged on this visit.

A shiver ran down her spine.

What if she failed?

Her gaze wandered out to the gray London suburbs, the little houses jammed together, the spindly gardens, the clotheslines, the broken lawn furniture, the graffiti-scrawled walls. They reminded her of the projects outside Paris.

What if she failed?

She played with her rings, stroked her Hermès handbag and her cashmere shawl.

What if she failed?

She didn’t want to think about it.

She nodded when the man next to her offered to lift down her suitcase, and thanked him with a polite smile. The whiff of cheap cologne she caught when he raised his arms to grab the bag told her all she needed to know: He wasn’t worth wasting time on.

Philippe and Alexandre were waiting for her on the platform. How handsome they look! She felt proud of them, and didn’t turn back to the man who’d gotten off the train with her but now slowed his pace when he saw that she was being met.

They had dinner at a pub at the corner of Holland Park Avenue and Clarendon Road. Alexandre told them he’d gotten the best history grade in his class. Philippe congratulated him, and so did Iris. She wondered if they would share a bed or if he’d planned another sleeping arrangement.

Philippe’s apartment looked just like the one in Paris, which was hardly surprising, since he had decorated both of them.

He set her suitcase down in the foyer. Alexandre went to bed after a polite good-night kiss, and the two of them found themselves alone in the big living room. Iris settled onto a long sofa and watched as Philippe turned on the stereo and chose a CD. He seemed so closed off that she wondered if she’d made a mistake in coming. She wasn’t sure her eyes were still as blue as ever. She fiddled with her hair. She kicked off her shoes, and folded her long legs underneath her in a pose both defensive and expectant.

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