Another Country Read Online Free PDF

smooth-skinned, nails neatly shaped. She took a step back.
    â€˜Here.’ The stranger held out the grey plastic case. Leela accepted it, forced herself to look at his face – all she wanted, ever, eternally, and in this specific moment, was to slide round the corner, hair over her face, all her possessions more or less attached to her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. The man smiled. He was in early middle age, dark-skinned, dark-haired, brooding, looked like he’d put his eyeliner on in a hurry.
    â€˜Excuse me,’ Leela said. She smiled, skirted him, and continued to bolt up the stairs to the third floor. She scooted past the staff room; the door was ajar and she feared Mme Sarraute, the coordinator of foreign teachers, would be standing there to watch her arrive late. As she reached room 3.14, she shoved the Carte Orange back into her bag, rooted around for the texts, and opened the door.
    Four adults in their thirties and forties looked at her, tolerant but surprised. Leela began to explain herself, first in French, then, recalling the rules, in English. ‘I know you’re expecting Miss Molloy, but she’s had to go to England for a few days. I’m taking her classes this week. I wonder if you’d mind introducing yourselves? My name’s Leela Ghosh –’ she pronounced it correctly, but they wouldn’t ‘– and I also teach here –’ pause for smile ‘– so, shall we begin?’ She turned to the man, suited, crumpled looking, on the left of the semi-circle. The students, or clients as the school preferred to call them, sat on high chairs with a flip-out mini desk. The arrangement made them look like disgruntled toddlers.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ She produced an encouraging smile.
    â€˜â€™Ello, I am Martin,’ the man in the crumpled suit said. He smiled, first at Leela, then, a little more slyly, at the rest of the group. He pronounced his name as though it were English.
    â€˜Martin.’ Leela smiled. ‘And you?’
    The stern looking woman next to him smiled. Leela saw an anxious high achiever. ‘I am Catherine.’
    â€˜Hello Catherine. And –’
    The door opened and the man from the stairs came in. He smiled silkily. ‘Excuse me, I am late,’ he said. He made his way to the empty seat near the door, took off his coat, and sat down with an air of contentment.

    â€˜Leela. Have another drink.’ The whisky, golden and vaguely rank smelling, was already gurgling into her glass. ‘It sounds like you need it.’
    She smiled, and looked at Patrick, pouring the drink, and Simon, next to him.
    â€˜Totally,’ Stella said. ‘So he just followed you onto the bus? What a weirdo.’
    â€˜I didn’t even realise, till he lurched towards me. I was trying to stamp my ticket, because my Carte Orange ran out this morning. I turned around, and he was leering at me and saying Mademoiselle. The bus braked, and I nearly fell over; he tried to steady me, but I pulled away, and I got off right then, when it stopped …’ She paused and looked around. She was aware of three people paying her attention: it made her stumble. She giggled. ‘But he got off after me and stopped me in this really theatrical way, ‘Mademoiselle, je vous prie!’ and peered at me. You know, one of those people who bring their face really close to yours? He had a very deep voice and he said, “Did my gaze disturb you?”’
    â€˜Oh Jesus,’ said Stella. Leela was aware of Patrick smiling at Stella, though he was still listening.
    â€˜Yeah, it was really cheesy.’
    Simon chuckled. ‘Then what did he do?’
    â€˜He said if I didn’t go for coffee with him he’d feel terrible, and he had something very important to ask me, as one human being to another, and would I please just drink a cup of coffee with him for a quarter of an hour. And to be honest I didn’t