Forty Shades of Pearl Read Online Free Page B

beginning to sound like a chat show host.
    “I think my carbon footprint is bad enough as it is – no, I rarely travel by private jet or helicopter. Although, now you mention it – not a bad idea for Rex,” he says, deadpan. “It would be way more comfortable for him to travel that way. What about you?” he asks. “Private jet?”
    “Not unless you count the water-jet thing on my toothbrush private.”
    His defined lips curve into a subtle smile. “You haven’t told me much about yourself, Pearl.”
    Oh no. What do I say? Luckily, he’s European. I’ve noticed they rarely ask you directly what you do for a living; they consider it bad manners.
    “Well,” I begin, “I like writing. One day, I hope to pen a screenplay.”
    “Really? I love theatre. I don’t know much about screenplays or movies, but I adore going to the theatre. Actually, I prefer a good play to a novel. Molière, Voltaire, Jean-Paul Sartre, Camus. We have pretty bad translations of Shakespeare into French – they just don’t do him justice – another incentive to perfect my English. I’ve seen some great plays in Paris and London. My sister used to be an actress. She got me into plays. Theatre is her passion.”
    “It sounds as if you two are really close,” I remark, amazed at how sophisticated he is, and how well read. He seems so much older than his years.
    “I guess we are.”
    “So when you’re not going to the theatre, or working, or zipping about in your beautiful classic cars, what do you do to relax?”
    “Let’s see. I love rock-climbing.”
    “Not so relaxing, though.”
    “Not physically, but for your mental state of mind, it’s great. You have to concentrate so hard on what you’re doing – it cleanses the mind from all the clutter. A bit like meditation. Not that I meditate, but you know, I can imagine. It’s not a team sport, it’s boring for any spectator – it’s about personal satisfaction, personal goals.”
    “You sound as if you’re very accomplished at it.”
    “I’ve climbed a bit. Rock climbing involves strength, control and finesse. Using the muscles in your arms and legs to pull yourself up a sheer rock-face takes strength¬ and control. Using your brain to place your hands and feet so that your muscles can do their job — that's finesse.”
    I study the finesse of his chest, his lithe, tanned arms, and see where he gets his worked-out physique from. But he’s not overly muscley, not exaggerated. There’s no bull-neck there, no bulging, bulky biceps. He’s long and lean but not too slim, either – he has definite substance.
    “I tried rock-climbing once,” I tell him. “I was terrified but I could see the attraction to the sport. It was fun, I’d love to try it again someday.” I’m aware that I’m fishing and he takes the bait.
    “Really? Would you like to come with me? My sister hates it. I can never get anyone to go with me.”
    “Your girlfriend doesn’t like rock-climbing?” I hear myself spurt out and wish I had a mouth-plug.
    “My girlfriend?”
    Oh no, he does have a girlfriend, after all.
    “I’m unattached,” he lets me know.
    I sigh with relief and hope he hasn’t heard my body heave gratitude. I sip a long, long mouthful of cappuccino through my straw. “I’d just love to come rock-climbing with you.”
    I notice he’s watching my mouth clamped around the straw, and I feel self-conscious. I wipe my mouth – fearful that I have foam on my upper lip and it looks like a moustache.
    “Great,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. How about the weekend?”
    “You mean this weekend, or next?”
    “That’s right, today’s Friday. It’s all a bit last minute and I have something on tonight so it might—”
    “What?” I ask, panicked he’ll change his mind.
    “It’s too hot to climb midday in summer, so I usually set out very early. I mean, I often spend the night there – makes it easier. But it’s already Friday so—-”
    I am waiting. My breath