Distant love
A single red rose
I needed to select my restaurant with care. Somewhere to unwind, somewhere to forget the shortcomings of the day, a place where I could be anonymous, loose myself, regroup and perhaps with the help of a good bottle of wine unwind. My first meeting in London at John Laing's head office had been a disaster and my budget hotel in Bayswater could not provide the comfort and solitude I craved to recover my equilibrium once again.
Rejecting advice from the receptionist I was soon beginning to realise that I had been foolish, I had forgotten that it was Valentines Day. My idea of a pleasant solitary meal in convivial surroundings was already looking like a pipe dream on one of the busiest evenings of the year. An evening when one should be wining and dining the love of ones life and not crawling into a corner in central London to mull over the days shortcomings. Depressingly it was also just another reminder that there was no one special in my life at this time.
My long term girlfriend had only the month before dropped me in favour of a much better prospect and I was, on this night for lovers, very much on my own. I would have given a lot to have sympathetic female ear to whisper into on this night of nights but there was nothing for it I would just have to cope with my own company. In the midst of this thought I passed Wrights, the well known Oyster and Fish Restaurant, and with memories of happier times plunged through the door.
"Yes Sir - we indeed do have a table!" The guy on the desk happily informed me. Perhaps things were looking up at last.
There were three happy couples on my right and a table away another pair were ordering their meal. Red heart shaped balloons had been hung from the ceiling their red tails dangled into the diners. The charged atmosphere seemed to accentuate my isolation. Even the waiter rather pointedly removed the other place setting from my table laid originally for two. He gave me a rather sympathetic glance, I had already been told that I had less than an hour to enjoy my meal. The restaurant was fully booked for couples!
To complete my sense of isolation the remaining table on my left was now rapidly being occupied by a foursome. Was I the only single male eating on my own on St Valentines Day. Could I cope with this obvious slight? In an atmosphere charged with romance would I have to slip away to my lonely hotel room feeling rejected?
The unobtrusive accordion music, planned to accompany conversation, grated with my mood. Even a couple with young children seemed out of place on this special night reserved for lovers. Next to me an attractive oriental girl was engaging her boyfriend in an animated conversation. Her face framed with jet black straight long hair was full of expression as she complained about her bosses latest transgressions. Her partner sitting impassively opposite only seemed to feign interest, perhaps he'd heard all this before.
His check shirt sat uncomfortably with his charcoal grey suit. He had clearly come straight from work. Little time to change into something more suitable for the evening, the casual shirt a token effort to relax after a week meeting deadlines. She, on the other hand, had clearly had time to dress for the evening. Her blouse exposed her shoulders and left enough naked flesh to excite the onlooker. It also proved that her lovely brown complexion extended well beyond her face.
Looking further around, on the table in front of me another girls narrow shoulders reflected every thing she said. Sometimes drooping with remorse, sometimes animated with excitement. While I couldn't quite hear her conversation the muscles in her back were somehow so expressive they seemed to communicate her feelings far more effectively than words. I didn't mean to eavesdrop but couldn't help being fascinated by the unique semaphore that gave me such an insight into the ebb and flow of her conversation.
Her companion, opposite however, gave little away. It was almost as if he felt that their inter course was already sufficiently public and that some intimacy needed restoring. If I wasn't captivated already, without a break in her conversation she suddenly reached behind to capture an errant hair that had escaped its restraining band. Skilfully with one movement of her left hand she gathered in the loose strand and with her right coming into action for the first time tethered them within an elastic band.
Her natural grace was breathtaking, it was as if she had been born without any of the human awkwardness that afflicts us all. I had yet to see her face but was already smitten with her poise and grace. I needed to get a grip. Perhaps the charged atmosphere was affecting me. Before I could recover my poise, however, she turned and looked directly at me. Her brown eyes full of mischievous laughter locked on to mine with an intimacy that was breathtaking. I had to immediately look away as if blinded by the sun. A shaft of light so bright I somehow couldn't cope with its brilliance. I was overcome with a turbulence I had never experienced.
I indeed needed to get a grip, get out of here I was loosing control. How could this girl I had never met, spoken to, or imagined be having this effect on me. Always wary of public expressions of emotion I was overcome with remorse. In my anxiety to escape I had risen abruptly upsetting my chair and sending the water jug, the only thing delivered to my table so far, crashing to the floor. As I tried to retrieve the largest broken shards of glass she was suddenly beside me under the table to help.
Her closeness was overwhelming, she seemed to intuitively realise that she was the cause of my confusion and was anxious to make amends. I opened and closed my mouth to say something but my voice box was not functioning in her presence. To stop further efforts she just put her index finger over my mouth and whispered that it was OK. In a wild moment I wondered if she constantly managed to strike men dumb and was quite used to the phenomenon. By now her boyfriend had joined us under the table to help with the broken glass retrieval. The spell was broken. No doubt he was motivated to also keep an eye on his girlfriend.
I won't bore the reader with my escape from the restaurant, the mumbled excuses about not feeling well, loss of appetite and so on. My last glimpse of the true cause of my discomfort stood at the door of the restaurant, yes she accompanied me to the door as I left and stood framed in it as I hurriedly departed.
As I looked back at her she was indeed stunningly beautiful and as we parted she mouthed the words – “I’m sorry.”