Page 133 - What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours
P. 133

—


               DAY WAITED to hear about Flor and Hercules. She felt a bit sick but that was just
               obstructed emotion, a sensation the Dayang Sharifs of this world know all too
               well. Spring was definitely in the air, even as early as February. Everyone except
               Day was in some sort of romantic relationship—Marie with a townie who rode a
               motorbike, Willa with a curator at the Fitzwilliam, Theo with a guide who led
               tours of Dickensian London, Ed and Grainne with each other, and now

               Flordeliza with her Bettencourt boy. Day’s only hope was that Hercules
               Demetriou would come out of this story sounding so greasy that Day’s physical
               response to his proximity would be mercifully dulled forever.
                   (The other day she’d passed him and a few other boys she suspected were
               Bettencourters on King’s Parade, apparently conducting a survey that involved

               soliciting the opinions of women. “More like ranking them,” she muttered, and
               Hercules had smiled at her and said: “Sorry, what was that?”
                   “Nothing. Hello.”
                   “Hi. Listen, do you want to—”
                   “Sorry, I can’t. Bye!”)
                   Flor wasn’t talking about Hercules, but about a third-year at her college
               named Barney Chaskel, a boy she hadn’t pegged for a Bettencourter because,

               “Well, he’s sort of low-key and makes fun of his own obsession with conspiracy
               theories and . . . he’s sweet.”
                   “Sweet?!” came at her from every corner of the room. Day asked it loudest,
               more with curiosity than incredulity. Hilde said: “Flor, aren’t you going too far?”
                   “Look . . . on the way over I actually thought about presenting all this as if I’d
               seduced him on purpose to get info, but the truth is I didn’t know Chaskel was a

               Bettencourter until this morning! I said I had to run to a Wench meeting, and he
               was like . . . surely not the Homely Wenches? And I was like, yeah, the very
               same, and then he went, ‘How funny, I’m a Bettencourter . . .’”
                   “‘How funny’ . . . ? This ‘Barney Chaskel’ thinks our decades of enmity are
               just a bit of fun . . . ?” Theo wondered aloud.
                   “Flor,” Marie said, in sepulchral tones. “So far this is the tale of our enemies
               evolving into ever more superficially pleasing forms. You mentioned that this

               was also a tale of possibility?”
                   “Flordeliza, if there’s a twist introduce it now or there might be beats in store
               for you . . .” Ed added.
   128   129   130   131   132   133   134   135   136   137   138