Fragments (21 page)

The glimpse of
white caught his eyes as he scanned the packed pub from outside.
Too many people was as dangerous as too few. He preferred to
analyse the opportunities from the large display windows theme pubs
were beginning to build into their decor. She was in her early
twenties, fading tan bought from a machine. Hair an untidy mop of
curls, a better perm than it looked, dried with less care than the
style demanded. She’d had it trapped up all day, released it
without washing, the ridges from the clasps still evident. Her hair
and eyes were the same warm colour of earth. Nothing too exciting,
but a nice complement to her facial skin, which was paler than the
rest of her. She read the magazines, this one. Knew to keep sun
away from her face, even as she allowed it domain over her body.
Make up had been hastily applied, the dress showed signs of a
recent hanging in a crowded wardrobe. The single ring on her right
hand was no more than a cheap silver memento of a Greek package
tour. There was a drowsiness around her: fatigue. Her head came up
and eyes made contact with someone else in the crowd, her smile
warm and inviting. The movement of dropping her head to coyly study
her glass entranced him. She was both naive and aware, testing her
way along the path of the evening. Her face hardened as she
realised she’d been overlooked, her head shaking away the slight.
Look what you’ve missed, she was saying, look what you passed up.
He smiled.

The air was
slightly clearer as she left the bar, although it was still too
warm, too old. As if it had been used too much that day, been
dragged in and out of many sets of lungs. The greying light was
losing its unequal battle with the electric lights all around, the
street leached of its colour. It left a chill on her, made her feel
transient, transparent. She really had to get some food. She
perused a series of windows, ostensibly checking prices, really
having a good look inside to see who was sitting down, what sort of
feel the place had. Too many places were packed, overflowing with
good cheer and heated bodies. Almost in desperation she headed for
the Steak House on the other side of the Square. It was a tourist
place, overpriced and stuffy. It would not be cool to have admitted
eating there from choice but the green velvet booths would give her
some space, the air conditioning respite from the now expected
early summer. There was a small queue, which she didn’t mind. Other
places had far larger queues and she quite enjoyed the wait,
watching the life and colour return to the Square as natural light
retreated and the neon took over. As she reached the head of the
queue the maitre’d raised his head and smiled to the right of
her.

“For two,
sir?”

Startled, she
turned to find a man standing slightly to one side. His face
registered his own confusion at the question. Flustered, he looked
first to Joanne, then back to the maitre’d.

“The lady is
not with me.” He caught her gaze again and smiled at her.
“Unfortunately.”

She grinned
back at him in thanks for the compliment. He raised his arm, to
allow her full access to the head of the queue and the now
impatient staff.

“A single,
madam?”

The voice
betrayed his feelings on one of his precious tables being given
over to a single occupant on a Friday night. She nodded. He looked
past her again, to the gentleman whom he’d mistaken for her
companion.

“And you, sir,
a single also?”

The second nod
of the head sent him in a scurry of disdain as he searched through
the room for evidence of two small tables about to come free.

“It may be some
time... unless...?”

The maitre’d
allowed the word to hang in the air, hoping the two dim and sad
people cast upon his restaurant on a busy evening would come to
their senses. Joanne started to fidget, unprepared to deal with
such complications. The man stepped into the breach, silencing the
sighs of exasperation that were beginning to make their way up the
ever lengthening queue. He stood forward, side by side with her,
acting as if both the maitre’d and the queue had disappeared.

“I would be
honoured if you would join me for dinner.”

His smile won
her, the touch of self-deprecation in his humour, the secret he was
sharing with her that anything was worth getting out from under the
eyes of the officious man whose evening they were disrupting. Even
so, she hesitated.

“I promise I
will not bite,” he whispered to her, as she looked around for good
reason to turn him down, “not unless you ask me to.”

The humour in
his voice reached her again. She looked at the crowding room, the
maitre’d, the queue. She was hardly at risk. Smiling what she hoped
was gracious acceptance, she allowed them to be seated together.
Where was the harm?

She soon came
to see that harm might have been preferable to the uncomfortable
feeling of embarrassment that settled between them as they sat
opposite each other. The sensible solution that appeared so
practical in front of the maitre’d soon gave way to confused
silence. They each studied their menus in mock concentration.
Joanne was aware that the man was probably more embarrassed than
she, wishing he had not been so gallant. She racked her brains,
trying to think of something witty and interesting to say.

“You live in
London?”

God, what a
trite thing to say! She swallowed hard, sweat breaking out on her
palms.

“Yes, yes I do.
And you?”

He had smiled
in relief at her, obviously pleased she had opened up the
communication. She felt a little better.

“Yes, oh yes.”
she nodded too enthusiastically. “For a few years now.”

She trailed
off, out of even trite things to say in response. He smiled at her
again, reassuringly. He had nice eyes she mused, a light brown, not
dissimilar to her own.

“Uhm,
pardon?”

She realised he
had spoken to her and she had missed it.

“Drink. Would
you like a drink?”

With a start
she realised that the waiter was standing next to her, order book
in hand. He was looking at her with the disdainful sufferance of
one dealing with the doltish. Had he spoken?

“The lady would
like a glass of white wine. No, bring a bottle, let me see...” He
rifled through the wine list.

She was
relieved he had spoken up, taken charge; it was nice to be taken
care of for a change. The waiter wrote the order down with a sigh
and hurried off.

“I hope you do
not mind my presumption?”

He was looking
at her again with those eyes, those beautiful dark brown eyes. She
smiled back, shaking her head.

“No, no, not at
all. I must... I must be more tired than I thought.”

She fumbled to
unfurl her napkin to cover her confusion. Had they ordered yet?

Oh, it was
going to be a fine night. He studied her with pleased indulgence.
His original assessment of exhaustion had been wonderfully proven
by how easy she had been to enthrall. After he had ordered the
food, enjoying the opportunity of filling her up with all the
enticing scents and aromas of alcohol, she had prattled away,
filling up the table with her chatter and youth. She was a delight.
Half little fox, working away cannily at her job, sorry, her
career, half a total innocent, lost in the big wide world. Her
loneliness intrigued him, made a joy of her catching. She was so
utterly childlike, unable to guess that she could have had many of
those around her if she had only played a better game at being
chased, and caught. He even liked her voice, which was soft and
rhythmical, a legacy no doubt of the voice lessons she had taken to
rid her of her working class tones. It was going to be a fine
night, a slow and even one. As she finished her dessert he asked
for the bill.

“Oh no, of
course not, I’d be delighted.” she stared into his eyes as he paid.
“Just don’t expect me to be able to dance much.”

She laughed,
entranced by the darkness in those eyes. It was so flattering,
after all, for him to keep looking at her in that way. As they
rose, collecting their things, she wondered if she’d ever seen eyes
that dark, almost completely black. Yet they glimmered so, were so
very seductive. She smiled as he opened the door to her, sweeping
her out into the street, oblivious to the blast of heat that
enveloped them.

She was aware
of a vague feeling of disquiet as they walked across the Square.
She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, what time it was.
Fumbling, she looked at her watch, to be met in turn with his smile
and those eyes. She forgot why she had wanted to know the time,
returning his smile and wondering if she was boring him with her
chit chat. He seemed so relaxed in her company and she responded to
his confidence. He hailed a taxi and she found herself staring at
the West End as it passed. She felt warm, rested, secure. He smiled
and nodded at her, patting her hand, caressing her shoulder. It was
all so very wonderful, so very exciting. To find such a companion
by sheer accident, to have such a relaxing evening in the face of
the earlier disappointment. She studied the lights as they passed,
wondering if perhaps she’d had a bit too much to drink. There was
something niggling at the back of her mind, something
uncomfortable. She tried to put it away from her as the cab
stopped, she didn’t want to lose him for lack of giving him her
attention.

They were in
the sudden quiet of a back street. She smiled as he opened the cab
door, inviting her out with a dignified flourish. He was so
romantic. She thrilled inside, a secret smile of pleasure at the
thought. In the shadow of tall buildings the air was cooler,
cleaner. As he paid the taxi driver and his face bent away from
hers, she felt her mind once more straying. There was something she
was worried about, what was it? It was lost as he smiled again,
encouraging her to walk with him. He opened a door, ushered her in.
There was the faintest scent of citrus, something tangy. Small,
enclosed, yet neither intimate nor comfortable. Where was she? It
was a lift, moving silently up. She giggled as she watched the
lights on the panel flicker. Oh dear, she had better not have any
more to drink. She didn’t want to appear sozzled, leave a bad
impression. The disquiet returned as she stood outside a heavy
wooden door, her companion pressing buttons on a glittering steel
panel. Something about what he was doing made her realise how
expensive the door was. Expensive doors were heavy, solid:
immovable. That door was expensive.

She turned, to
look back for the lift, see if she could work out where she was.
His hand reached down and touched her chin, pulled it gently
towards him. He kissed her then, for the first time, and the ground
swayed under her feet. Oh yes, this was it, this was it! He was the
one, the one she had been waiting for, longing for. She smiled,
leaned into him, felt his clothing against her. Smooth, sensual.
The door opened and she was walking inwards, his hand gently
covering the small of her back. She could feel his coolness through
her dress, excitement flooding her. She took a step forward,
hesitated, stopped. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.
It was dark where they were heading. She turned, to move back, but
his hand was on her shoulder, cool and demanding, what was it she
wanted to say? She opened her mouth to speak, and he was there
again, kissing her, swallowing her up. There really wasn't anything
wrong; it was all rather exciting. She was as light as a feather,
dancing, being carried through the air by his charm. Pale colours
flowed around her, lights moving as they walked. The stars above
her head were swirling, dancing with them as they moved. Dark green
splashes of colour whizzed by. Her head lolled back, losing contact
with his body. He tipped her forward again, and she snuggled onto
his shoulder. This was so very fine, so very very fine.

The feel of the
bed coming up from under her sent the warnings ringing out again.
That was what was wrong, had been wrong since the restaurant; those
damn bells. When were they going to stop that damned clanging? She
tried to sit up. A mouth fastened over hers, drew out her breath,
pulled at her, tugged something from her. What was she doing? All
she could focus on was the cool mouth that was draining her of
warmth. No, that wasn’t right, she was enjoying this. His mouth on
hers, drawing, sucking. Imagined so many times before, she knew it
was to have been warm, comforting. Not cool. But this mouth was
cool, almost cold. Her surprise at that thought almost surfaced,
but at the same time a hand started a soft, circular caress on her
right breast. Joanne found her senses slipping into the heat and
drive of the man floating somewhere above her. There was that cool
mouth again, his salty taste, his hands, rough but welcomed, so
very welcomed. His mouth lifted away from her, leaving her empty.
Disappointment shook her body, she moved to follow after him. A
tongue rested lightly on her neck, teasing, a hand moving over her
stomach, rubbing downwards, pushing her back on the bed. Her
trembling intensified. She had never imagined it could be like
this. Back car fumblings and quick passions in parents’ beds,
hurried to make sure they weren’t caught, had never been like this.
This was what she’d waited for, dreamed for. This is what she’d
known was in her path, one day. No silly stationary cupboard
humping for her: no office tensions had yet caused her to drop her
standards. Her body caught fire, the sharp, contracting pain in her
groin catching her by surprise. The pain was intense, as she curled
around the thought of loving him, being breached by him. She
groaned and arched her back, truly slipping beyond her own
awareness. There was only that tight, cutting pain, the burning in
her breasts, the need for more. Her legs opened.