He'd seen it at breakfast and now he was seeing it again at lunch. The fallout from the party last night was obvious for anyone who knew to look. People talking in whispers, winces. Clair even spied a couple of people resorting to carrot or tomato juice. Good Lord.
He was actually pretty fine. His dad was a prick, but he was a French prick and that meant Clair had been brought up with the whole wine at meals thing. He knew how to pace himself. Oh, he'd been smashed before (mostly to piss off his dad, to be honest) but the fun of lowered inhibitions wasn't worth the pain of the hangover in the morning. Especially as Clair's inhibitions were already so low.
So last night, he'd only had two and a half drinks, total. Chased with a litre of water before he went to bed, and compared to everyone else today, he was looking positively chirpy.
He spied Charlotte Waldorf trying desperately not to be noticed. It wasn't that odd that she had her face in a book; she usually had her face in a book. It was the way she was holding it, not the casual studying-while-eating pose, but more an if-I-don't-see-you-maybe-you-can't-see-me one.
Why would Charlotte not want people to see her? It could only have something to do with last night, so Clair walked across and slid onto the bench next to her.
"Hi, Lottie," he greeted, keeping his voice low since she had that whole muggle obsession and probably wouldn't have known to take a hangover potion.
"You and Christian left in a bit of a rush last night."
Of course, Clair knew they'd left to stop Ace breaking up the party, but he was willing to let her think he thought they'd been looking for somewhere more private than a closet.