Illegal Liaisons Read Online Free Page B

waiters, people in jeans but on stiff legs, a host with the handshake of a wet fish and a hostess with the face of Cinderella’s sister. Were they having a good time here, or working?
    He grabbed a carrot and nibbled it quickly.
    “You’re not from the Commission?” The question sounded like an affirmation.
    Next to him stood a woman he didn’t know.
    “It’s that obvious, is it?” he sighed.
    She laughed and held out her hand.
    “Andrea.”
    Much later, he noticed that her hands were different from the rest of her body; they were wide, as if older, which she tried to disguise with a neat manicure. He hadn’t noticed at the time because Andrea was only just emerging from a haze of unfamiliarity. Tall and slim, she turned to take a canapé. Her buttocks were small and so round that he wanted to knead them.
    “And don’t worry about those people.” She smiled, pointing at the undulating human circle. “Look, those on the outer circle are trainees …”
    Jonathan looked at the twentysomethings whose faces were turned toward the center of the circle.
    “… those closer to the center are higher-ranking officials. See the bald one on the right?”
    “The bullet head?”
    “He’s sharpening his teeth for the position of minister’s adviser. While the fat one with a muff of hair is angling for the still warm place of a colleague who was promoted to another department.”
    “And the man everyone’s looking at?” asked Jonathan, indicating the center where a tall, slim, gray-haired man was standing. The charisma emanating from him could be felt even at a distance.
    “He’s the head of cabinet for the Justice Commissioner.” Andrea smiled.
    “He’s boss of them all?” Jonathan was lost.
    “He’s their god.”
    The circle shuffled as the head of cabinet for the Commissioner retreated, shaking the outstretched hands as he went.
    Andrea glanced at her watch.
    “It was nice to meet you,” she said.
    Jonathan felt an unexpected wrench within, a child’s voice screaming, “I want!” Perhaps it was the trace of a Swedish accent in her practically perfect English?
    “What do you do?” he asked in desperation.
    “I work for Swedish television. And you?”
    “I write.”
    “Articles?”
    “Books.”
    “Ohhh!”
    Jonathan slipped his hands into his pockets. He loved this sort of reaction. He knew from experience that he ought to enjoy it to the full because it generally preceded another, less desirable one that began with the question: “And what do you write?”
    “Fairy tales.”
    He usually bore the phase of “losing face” manfully but this time he added equivocally, “I was recently offered a job to run a course in creative writing in Brussels.”
    “Ohhh!”
    “But for financial reasons I suppose I ought to try for a place in the Commission …”
    “Your course sounds more interesting.”
    “You don’t want to know how much they pay.”
    “You wouldn’t want to do what you don’t like.”
    He squinted at Andrea and saw more of her: brown hair and beautifully sculpted lips.
    “Look at that pâté,” she said, and he reluctantly turned his eyes to the table. “Some people love it.”
    “It’s
foie gras.”
    “I think you’d feel like those overstuffed geese in the Commission.”
    He turned his eyes from the pâté and looked at her again. Final promises to phone were being exchanged among the group of officials but he was suddenly short of words. The silence between them grew thick.
    “Are you …” Jonathan began but right then somebody stopped short beside them.
    They both turned. It was the head of cabinet for the Commissioner.
    “Simon, meet Jonathan.” A professional smile appeared on Andrea’s face. “Jonathan is a writer and a lecturer in creative writing. Jonathan, this is Simon …”
    The man’s handshake was energetic. Although Jonathan knew nothing about male beauty, he immediately knew that this man, although over fifty, put most men in the shade. And that