Page 68 of Never Too Late
‘Imposter syndrome.’
‘Exactly,’ he replied, his focus on her entirely.
‘Well, I don’t think you need…’ Her words tailed off as her jaw dropped open. Suddenly, she snapped it shut and took a step closer so that we were now in a little huddle. ‘Is that Timothée Chalamet?’ Her voice was an almost inaudible squeak of excitement.
‘Possibly, I—’ Tomas began to turn his head and received a punch on the biceps.
‘Don’t look!’ Sash whispered sharply.
Tomas scratched his jaw, attempting to cover the smile that was threatening to break on his face. His eyes cut to me and I gave the tiniest shake of my head. If he laughed, I was lost. Why is everything funnier when you’re supposed to be on your best behaviour? At least we weren’t in church. Not that that hadn’t happened before.
‘It’s a little difficult to answer the question without looking,’ he replied.
‘To my left,’ she whispered and Tomas shifted his weight in order to change position as naturally as possible whilst getting a good viewing angle.
‘Ah. Yes, it is. He did say he might attend if he was able. I believe he’s shooting a film here at the moment.’
As he spoke, the A-lister raised his gaze, saw Tomas and waved. Excusing himself from the couple he’d been talking to, he headed our way.
‘OhmyGod. He’s coming over!’ Sash’s voice was practically now only audible to dogs.
‘Tomas! Good to see you, man.’ The two men embraced with the requisite back slapping.
‘And you, Timothée.’
Sash turned to me, eyes as wide as the plates the canapés were being circulated on.
‘How’s the filming?’
‘Great, thanks. And thanks again for the invitation. You know I love your work. Anything left?’ He laughed, self-deprecating.
‘One or two,’ Tomas teased, the banter appearing natural.
I wondered if he may have just gone up a notch or two in Sash’s opinion.
‘Timothée, may I introduce a couple of special guests here tonight.’
Sash looked like she might pass out. The actor had been one of her favourites, and her biggest crush for years.
‘Kitty Collins, a very dear friend from university days.’
‘Good to meet you,’ he said, leaning in for the traditional ‘la bise’ greeting of kissing both cheeks.
‘And you,’ I replied.
‘And this is Sasha, Kitty’s daughter.’
‘Pleasure,’ Timothée said, hitting Sash with a smile that I was pretty sure she’d remember for a lifetime.
‘Hi,’ she replied, nearly dying when she too received a kiss on both cheeks.
‘British?’ he asked her.
‘Yep!’ she replied. Her exquisitely applied make-up hid the flush on her cheeks but I saw a brief reddening of her décolletage that told me she was already berating herself for not parrying back with something she considered far more clever and suave.
‘Great accent,’ he continued.
‘Kitty and Sasha have just moved to Paris.’
