The low-lit hotel bar, now wearing a dark cloak of shadow and memories, is almost empty. A middle-aged barman, immaculately presented in black and white, begins quietly humming a tune that Annalise vaguely recognises but cannot name. She is sure she heard it in a film once. The barman is bathed, almost ghost-like, in a small pool of faded yellow light, as he stands behind the counter, assiduously polishing warm wine glasses into smooth, brilliant clarity with an almost obsessive eye. Every so often he glances across to where Annalise sits and offers what seems to her to be the faintest hint of a smile. At a small booth in the corner, two women in their late twenties sit at a table, still chatting animatedly and drinking red wine. Every so often, sudden bursts of laughter break the thin layer of fragile silence, before even these, too, turn to a dull, empty echo within the empty space of Annalise’s thoughts. The women are two dancers from Prague who had come to Paris as members of a. ." I know what you meant."She hesitated and he knew that this was a pivotal moment. She might just decide that this was a bunch of sexually harassing bullshit. Or she might decide that it was worth the money to be sexually harassed. Or, maybe she liked what he was doing, just a little bit. He kind of hoped for the second option with just a touch of the third.She glanced around. She smoothed her skirt down, but she couldn't make it longer. Finally, she took the two steps required to stand next to his chair. Seeing that hesitation was better than seeing her in a short skirt."What can I get you?" she asked. Her voice was a mix of breathy want and fearfulness."Cobb Salad. No bread." Red wine vinaigrette on the side?" Good memory." I'll get that right in for you."He hadn't had so much fun in years. He opened his book and watched her over it. She glanced his way almost anxiously every now and again but he noticed that her flush hadn't receded. When his salad came, she stood next to his.
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