Page 20 of Oyster

After greeting us at the turnstiles, an usher led the way to a row of plush seats directly behind PSG’s management team and coaching staff. On Florian’s left perched a gorgeous young US actress with a new movie coming out, surrounded by a bunch of glamorous giggling friends. Max, his eyes out on stalks, knowledgeably informed me she was dating one of the PSG players. On my right lounged a suave government minister, deep in conversation with the ex-manager of the French national team.

Mon dieu, we had stepped into a parallel universe.

“You’re a dark horse, Nico.” Busy taking surreptitious photos to send to Charles, Florian nudged my arm. “Come on then, spill the beans. Who is she, and what the hell did you do to her? It must have been a hell of an orgasm.”

“Jeez, Flor. My baby brother’s standing next to you!”

“Max is a man of the world, aren’t you, Maxi?” Florian clapped him on the shoulder, and my brother blushed, shuffling his feet. His ears had pricked up, though.

Alors, they could think what they liked. The absolute truth would blow their minds. I offered a damped-down version of it. “Um… nothing that exciting. A woman I met last week gave them to me. I helped her out, and she sent me these tickets as a thank you. I had no idea we’d have prime seats.”

Florian’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “Ismeta euphemism?”

He knew me well. “No, connard. We’ve talked a few times. That’s all.”

“I bet it’s that lady you rescued on the beach, isn’t it?” Max craned his neck to peer around Florian as if he couldn’t quite believe so many stunning women sat within touching distance. “Any port in a storm, Nic.”

Cheeky bugger. I reached into my jacket for my wallet.

“I couldn’t possibly comment. Here, stop ogling what you can’t afford and fetch me and Florian a beer before kick-off.”

“I’m surprised beers don’t get delivered in crystal goblets to this row,” Florian observed, making way for Max. “You never told me you’d rescued someone. A damsel in distress?”

“He’s exaggerating, as usual. It was nothing.”Merely the singular, most extraordinary experience of my life.

“Well, I like her way of showing appreciation.” Florian held out his phone to me. “I told Charles I’d send him some pics. See if you can get the goal net and that umpire in the background.”

“He’s called the referee. Umpires are for tennis.”

“Stop being so pedantic. As if Charles knows the difference.”

Obliging, I smirked as a red-faced and apologetic Max squeezed in front of the row of young women. Bringing him out had been an excellent idea.

“I think you shouldmeetwith this mystery woman more often,” Florian added. “You might get tickets to the Champion’s League final next. Are you going to tell me who she is?”

“Mais, non. I think you know me better than that. But she’s…” Apparently, my words were bypassing my conscious brain today. “I’ve arranged to see her again. She’s nice. And interesting.”

Akin to describing the outer layer of an oyster shell as "a bit chewy."

Florian pounced, eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree.

“Nico! You’ve never said that about any women you go out with!”

“What, that she’s nice? I must have done. Damning with faint praise, isn’t it?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Not that I can remember. You’re finally maturing, mon ami.”

Fuck it. There was a limit to the number of secrets a man could hold inside. Especially when one was running out onto afootball pitch not twenty metres away, to roars of approval. My heart was running even faster. “We’ve only met up a couple of times, but there’s something about her I like. And not just giving me these tickets. I doubt it will come to anything, what with what’s going on at home and everything. And she doesn’t live on the island. I haven’t got time to…”

“Non, non, Nico!” Florian tutted. “Stop with the excuses. You don’t get to pick someone on a day or a time that suits! Love is like an ocean wave; it doesn’t choose which patch of sand to cover. This woman might be the special one, the love which comes without warning. Sometimes we fall in love with the most unexpected person at the most unexpected time.”

Did I mention my Florian was an old-fashioned French romantic?Love.He tossed that word about like a ping-pong ball, when we all knew it was a stick of dynamite. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Whoa, whoa! Who said anything about love? I said I’d met her and liked her, that’s all. We’ve had coffee together.”The first time she was drunk, and the second she offered me cash for silence. And by the way, she's stretching out her newly healed hamstring over by the centre circle.“I showed her around the oyster farm.”And now she’s adjusting her laces.

Florian rubbed his hands together in a gleeful manner as if already plotting my future betrothal. “That all sounds very promising.”

“It doesn’t necessarily mean she likes me! As you’re always keen to point out, I’m a smelly oyster farmer. She’s a rich Parisian.”And retying her hair in a tighter ponytail about fifteen metres away.

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