Chapter Thirteen

The Awkward Encounter

The night she received the message that mentioned the month of May was drawing to a close, she decided she would broach the subject of the barricades.

She'd never mentioned it first, even though it had always been there at the back of her mind. She'd always let him mention it, and had also avoided mentioning the dreams she'd had where he had died.

But now she'd realised that the date of the rebellion was drawing ever closer, she realised she had to bring it up at some point, especially considering the warning that the verse of Jean Prouvaire must not end.

Clementine went to sleep as early as she could, wanting to get the conversation over with as soon as she possibly could. She woke up in Jehan's room, on his bed, but alone. This hadn't happened since the first night she'd arrived; ever since then, he'd always been waiting for her, or already asleep.

She waited for a few minutes, wondering when he was going to arrive. The room was dark, with no candles or lamps lit, and the room was deathly silent and still. After a good fifteen minutes, curiosity got the better of her and she left his room.

The rest of his flat was small, sparsely decorated, but filled with books of all types. She found herself sat on an armchair by the window, flicking through a French translation of Jane Austen in the dark, wondering where on earth Jehan was. She tried her best to read the small print by the weak, pathetic light that came through the bare window, but it wasn't long before she had to give up on that venture and put the book to one side.

She was chewing on her thumbnail when she heard a door open and shut, and voices – more than one voice, all belonging to men, and all of them were familiar. She recognised Jehan's instantly, and knew that the rest probably belonged to his friends from the café.

There were a few brief moments where she panicked, uncertain of what she should do, but before she could even act on this panic the door opened and Jehan walked in, closely followed by four of his friends.

The room wasn't dark enough that she couldn't be seen at all, and there were a few noises of surprise from Jehan's friends. The man himself stopped in the doorway, mouth gaping open.

"Clementine?" he said, bewildered. "Are…I thought…Shit, I forgot the time!"

She'd had her feet up on the chair, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she quickly put them back down on the floor and sat forward.

"Sorry," she said.

In a very hurried fashion, Jehan lit some lamps, and that was when Clementine began to feel very awkward indeed. Jehan had seen her in skimpy nightdresses, so when she'd gone to bed that night in tiny shorts and a vest top she'd only thought that Jehan would see her – not four of his friends, two of whom were definitely ogling.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said, at first trying to pull the hem of her vest top down to try and cover her thighs before she realised it was revealing more of her chest. She gave up on the futile gesture and instead rested her hands on her knees. "Should I…?" she gestured in the general direction of his bedroom.

"I think Jehan should introduce us to his delightful friend," one of the men said, a curly-haired fellow with a wide grin.

"This…" Jehan put his hand to his forehead. "This is Clementine."

The room became tense all of a sudden as he spoke, and then he cleared his throat. "Clementine, this is Courfeyrac," he said, gesturing to the curly-haired man, "Bahorel," this time he indicated a broad man with a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once, "Combeferre," now to a man with floppy hair and glasses, "and Joly," he finished, the final one being a tall, thin gentleman who kept on tapping his cane to his nose.

Jehan stepped closer to her, and his voice dropped a few octaves. "I really am sorry about this," he said, then his eyes dragged over her form. "Gods, I am sorry," he suddenly exclaimed, shrugging out of his frockcoat and handing it to her. She pulled it on, glad for the modesty and the warmth it brought.

He turned his back on her as she did so, clapping his hands together. "Maybe we should go to another room?" he suggested.

Clementine desperately wished she could just wake up. Unfortunately, it did not seem to be working that way for her tonight.

"I think we should stay right here," Courfeyrac responded in a singing voice, walking around Jehan and dropping down onto one of the threadbare couches. "So, Clementine, how did you meet our dear friend?" he asked, one eyebrow raising into his hairline.

"It's…" she stared at Courfeyrac. "It's complicated."

The other three joined Courfeyrac on the couches. All of them stared at her as if she had sprouted horns from her head, or wings from her back.

"Jehan has told us a lot about you," Combeferre said in what Clementine thought to be a diplomatic voice. "We had been wondering when we'd get to meet you."

"He's mentioned you a lot, as well," Clementine smiled, keeping her eyes on Jehan. He gave her an apologetic sort of smile.

Courfeyrac was staring at her with a curious expression on his face. "How complicated is the matter?" he said, in a tone of voice that suggested he did not quite believe her.

"We, um, bonded over Aeschylus," Clementine said, holding the frockcoat tight around her body.

Behind his friends, Jehan's eyes looked heavenwards. Combeferre smiled at her.

"You enjoy Aeschylus' plays, then?" Combeferre said.

"I don't mind him," Clementine replied. "But I'm more of a Sophocles girl myself. Antigone is my favourite Greek play – no, tragedy, I suppose, overall I think I would say that Thesmophoriazusae is my favourite play, possible misogynistic interpretation aside – I'm really sorry, I'm babbling, I do that when I'm…well, you know," she finished, feeling incredibly awkward.

"A classics fan, then," Courfeyrac said, clapping his hands together in a display of apparent excitement. "Has Jehan been teaching you Latin, then? Or possibly Greek?"

"He has no need to do either," Clementine responded. "I dare say I could teach him more about Ancient Greek than he could me."

"Bold words, there!" Courfeyrac beamed in Jehan's direction. "Where did you find her? I rather think I want one."

Clementine scoffed under her breath. "He didn't find me anywhere," she said. "I also don't think that you're going to find someone else like me on the streets of Paris."

Jehan stepped closer, to stand next to her armchair. "I think you four should leave," he said. "This is a rather – unexpected situation, for all of us, and Clementine is very tired."

She was actually felling wide awake, but she was grateful for Jehan's attempt to make her feel more comfortable.

Combeferre got to his feet, closely followed by Joly. "We understand," Combeferre said, turning a rather pointed gaze upon the other two, who remained sat down. "We'll talk to you tomorrow, Jehan, carry on our discussion. Clementine, it was nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," Clementine said.

Bahorel grumbled under his breath as he stood up, folding his arms over his broad chest. Courfeyrac sighed heavily, but made no mood to stand up.

"You're no fun," he pouted in Combeferre's direction.

"Courfeyrac," the other man said, the one name spoken as a complete and utter warning.

Courfeyrac sat up in a manner that suggested it was a lot of effort for him to move. He held out one hand towards Clementine. She hesitated for a few moments, before shaking down one of the sleeves of the huge frockcoat she wore and putting her hand in his. She'd began to try and shake his hand, but she'd only moved their conjoined hands upwards once when he drew her hand up to his mouth and pressed the softest of kisses to the back of it.

Beside her, Jehan made a rough sort of noise in the back of his throat. Courfeyrac dropped her hand immediately.

"I hope to see you again, Clementine," Courfeyrac said. "As for you, Jehan, I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Jehan showed his friends out of the house. Clementine could feel that her cheeks were flushed from Courfeyrac's unexpected attentions, and she shrugged off the frockcoat in an attempt to cool herself down. She draped it over her bare legs, and waited for Jehan.

He came back in rubbing his hands over his face. "I am so sorry," he said.

"Stop saying you're sorry," she replied. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Jehan, it was my fault, I shouldn't have left your room."

"I wasn't expecting you until later," Jehan frowned. "But even then, I wasn't thinking. It slipped my mind…We were – talking about something important." She could still hear the note of an apology in his tone, and she rolled her eyes.

"Jehan," she said. "I don't mind. Besides, I found your friends entertaining."

The beginnings of a scowl passed over Jehan's face. "That is one word for it," he said. "But I wasn't particularly entertained."

Clementine smiled to herself.