Page 121 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz
‘Ruby, Hazel said there’s someone to see you. He’ll meet you in the café if you can go up there now.’
Ruby questions me with her eyes and I give an almost imperceptible nod, smiling when I see the flash of comprehension hit home. She turns and rushes from the dressing room.
32
Ruby
Slow down, Ruby. He may not be here to talk. Quite the opposite. This could be a final goodbye. And if it is, it’s his loss.
There is no sign of anyone in the café, so I lean against the bar, my back to the seating area, determined I won’t be discovered scanning for his entrance. The staff are busy preparing interval drinks, but one smiles and crosses to serve me. I order a cold drink, staring out of the window at the darkening Paris sky as I wait. There’s a band of tension flickering across my forehead.
A familiar voice calls from behind.
‘Ruby?’
I swing round. ‘Max, you came back.’
‘I wanted to speak to you before I left. I’m catching a flight soon. My taxi’s on the way.’
I glance down at his suitcase, and my stomach sinks as I force a smile.
‘I tried to get you on your phone…’
‘Yes, it’s…’
‘At the bottom of the River Seine, I know.’
‘How?’
‘Gnasher-Asha. She told me before the start of the show.’
‘Asha didn’t tell me she’d seen you. Mind, we were dead late getting back and only just got on the stage in time.’
‘“Dancin’ Fool” was brilliant, by the way. Clarissa snuck me in to watch it. The new dancer was amazing.’
The waitress delivers my drink and I take a sip as we stand, saying nothing.
‘Ruby, I… think we should make a date to talk, when you get back.’ Max’s phone buzzes and he looks at the screen before adding, ‘Ah. The taxi’s outside.’
‘Fine by me. But Max, I can tell you now, I am not apologising for anything that happened before we met. Believe it or not, I don’t do lies and deceit either.’
‘Right. Sorry, I must have sounded like a right judgemental prick.’
‘Just a bit.’
Max grabs the handle of his suitcase and I put my hand on top of his.
‘Wait. Are you on the late flight to Manchester?’
‘Yes.’
‘Max, two things. One, we can talk this over tonight if you’re willing? Because, as-it-happens-two… Monica needs to get back to the UK tonight if possible. Could you change your ticket to her name? I mean, that is…’
‘You want me to surrender my flight ticket to Monica? Saint Monica who has ignored you for the last two weeks and let me believe you were cheating on me while having an affair with her husband?’
I put my hands on my hips and start to say, ‘It’s OK, don’t bother…’ when I see his eyes are twinkling.
I shake my head and gently poke my finger into his chest in mock annoyance. ‘Yes. The same Monica who knows it all happened way before you came on the scene and who knows it was a right frigging mistake… the same Monica who, when she spoke to you, wanted to lash out at me… so making her not-quite-so-bloody-saintly…’
