The innocence

Tom Scott swung his silver Mercedes 'S' class, nose first, into the narrow parking bay.  He had had to park some distance from the entrance to the motel lobby.  Like many other visitors before him, he grew mildly irritated as he saw the main hotel entrance shrink into the distance in his rear view mirror. As he passed the tightly massed ranks of vehicles whose owners had parked as close to the front door as possible, he wondered why the place was so busy on a Thursday afternoon. He instantly knew the answer as he himself had at least one conference a week to attend; and then there were the seminars, business meetings, liaisons and a variety of excuses for people to get out of the office environment.

 

The rain was driving, the sort that is swirled by an angry snatching wind. It periodically sluiced at the windscreen and he knew he was bound to get wet.  He sat thoughtfully for a moment, engine running and windscreen wipers swishing away the excess water as it sloshed across the front window.  The screen was beginning to mist over.  Tom felt tired, he automatically reached for and clicked on the front window demist.  It wasn't the fact that he had left home at six-thirty that morning, driven just over a hundred miles north on the M1 in motorway spray more akin to the surfing beaches of the Cornish coast to his meeting-which hadn't gone well. No, and it wasn't the fact that he knew he needed to have headed straight back down south after Simon Stephens of Stephens and Shepherd had poured cold water over his business proposition simply because he was being overly cautious. Tom was under enormous strain and had been for many months now.  The business had been badly affected by a loss of confidence in the holiday market post the 2001 foot and mouth epidemic and September 11^th and he had had to redouble his efforts to secure new contracts to make up the shortfall.  Plans for a stock market floatation of the company that he had started on leaving university had been delayed after two long standing clients, one the biggest of his customers, had cut back due to the severe cash flow problems they faced because of the significant drop in trade.

 

Tom looked at his watch. He was early.  He hated being late.  He looked into the rear-view mirror, running his fingers through his mop of greying hair. Distinguished Chelsea, his wife of twenty-nine years, called it.  Bloody grey he called it. Although he had noted not for the first time that many women said they found him with his clean cut looks, tallish, still muscular physique, well-manicured appearance, good suits and greying thatch, distinguished. And that, he knew was a metaphor for attractive.  Until recently he would have been mildly flattered and pleased to think that any woman still saw him as attractive. That would have been as far as it would have gone in his thinking.  He was far too involved in enjoying keeping his business healthy and nurturing it towards a stock market position, strengthening his own financial security and getting a reasonable sum in the bank as a pension. Not that he intended retiring yet.  He was only fifty-one and still felt he enjoyed the cut and thrust of the business world.  Something he was very good at.  He had also, until the last eighteen months, enjoyed a wonderful relationship with Chelsea.  They had lots in common. To start with the love of two wonderful children who were now independent and happy people.  Then there was the house, a lovely 17^th century cottage in the old part of an expanding Northamptonshire village.  They had both dreamed of such a home and had lovingly restored the three-story stone building over the last decade.  They had spent many hours decorating and furnishing it and they both loved nothing better than to head off on a Sunday into the countryside to visit antique shops and seek out something special for their little nest, as Chelsea called it.  They were very particular about what they bought and more often than not returned home empty handed.  They rarely did so though until they had sampled the offerings of the local hostelries.  Real ale was another passion they shared and they liked nothing better after an antiques browse than to find a local pub with ale they had not tried before.  They had spent many a relaxed Sunday afternoon, in the pleasant company of a good pint and the drone of conversation, chinking glasses and the smell of brewed hops mingled with pub grub.  Tom loved the simple things in life.  He was the sort of person the classic Myers-Briggs personality test would describe as INTJs or itroverted, intuition, thinking, judging. Such folk are often innovators with inner vision, they are independent and individualistic (often seen as stubborn by others), they like using logic to solve complex, challenging problems, get bored with everyday routine and are organised and follow through.  Under extreme stress INTJs can overindulge in sensing activities such as over eating or become overly focussed on specific details that they normally do not notice or usually see as unimportant.

 

Tom glanced at his watch again.  Still ten minutes until the agreed rendezvous. He knew she would not be on time. She never was, not that it overly bothered him. He was just grateful to see her on the rare occasions he was in the neighbourhood.  It had been only twice in the last six months although he had tried to find sufficient reason to make it more often. She invigorated him and he felt proud to be seen with the strikingly beautiful younger woman. He had only started seeing her for these rendezvous when the Stephens and Shepherd contract came his way last year.  She had been in Liverpool for the last five years. She was twenty-nine, five foot eight, with shoulder-length blonde hair.

She had only recently moved to Doncaster after spending four years at Manchester University studying law and five years in Liverpool as a Barrister at law, specialising in corporate matters.  Her promotion to the bar had been expected. She had been an exceptional student and a very competent lawyer.  She could have done better except that she did not wish to move to London, or Nottingham or Sheffield or Leeds.  She had had enough of big city living and had had a number of disastrous relationships that had left her despairing.  She found big city legal folk shallow, self-centred and, for the large part, sexually inadequate.  She had fallen hopelessly in love on two occasions only to discover that her lovers were cheating on her and seeing other women.  She decided to look for a place to cool her heals and Doncaster came up unexpectedly.  She was determined not to repeat her past mistakes with men and was therefore resolved not to get involved in a serious long-term relationship. Doncaster was not big, but not the back of beyond either.  It was also within striking distance of the Midlands where she was born and bread, Yorkshire, which she loved and the Derbyshire Dales, which she adored.

She had made the trip to the motel twice in the past six months as she preferred to get out of the town as at all of the places she liked in central Doncaster there was a risk of bumping into someone who might know her.  She guarded her privacy jealously and liked to keep work and her private life apart.  She rarely socialised after work with colleagues and wherever she had lived she had cultivated a good mix of non-work friends.  She felt this was healthy otherwise all they talked was shop and who was getting into bed with whom.  No her private life was her affair and she would damn well keep it that way.  And work was work.  She put a lot into her work and knew that she was good at what she did.  Success brought with it many freedoms not enjoyed by everyone in the work place and of course a salary that contributed to a most agreeable lifestyle.  She knew the meetings with Tom were few and far between but she really enjoyed these snatched liaisons.  She could stop being the successful lawyer and just be herself, she could talk about anything and knew it could not get back into her normal social and working circles.  Tom treated her with great respect, accepted her vulnerabilities but never played on them. He was gentle with her when she felt fragile and challenging when he felt she needed to confront or consider further her chosen way.  Their relationship was a warm one but not choking and Tom would listen without judgement.  He rarely offered advice but she knew it was sound when he did.  He had so much to say and although he never sought her legal advice over his own business matters she liked at times to ask about his business and offer suggestions.  Most of the time they made amiable small talk and discussed their shared love of the opera, art and rugby football.

 

The rain had eased off as Tom saw the metallic blue Jaguar glide into the car park. His heart beat faster and he felt his tummy 'smile'.  A feeling he knew he reserved for exceptionally special people in his life.  She was slowly cruising the massed ranks of cars, keenly trying to spot a space.  Tom pulled the key from his ignition, stepped out of the car, locked it using his infra red key fob and walked to the middle of the isle so that she could spot him. He waved and pointed her towards an empty bay, two cars further down from his own.  She saw him and waved back like an excited schoolgirl before  competently and confidently reversed her Jaguar into the space to which he pointed. She jumped out and threw herself at him, kissing his face repeatedly.  He held her in a long loving embrace before gently letting her go and looking into her face.

"God it's good to see you again.  I've missed you since last time".  He said

She laughed like an excited schoolgirl

"Me too" she said as she readjusted her blouse which had been untucked in the intense embrace.

He waited until she pointed her key at the car and sent the signal which tripped the locking mechanism, then took her hand and walked her towards the hotel entrance.

"Sweetheart, I'm afraid that I have to get back to the office by three at the latest, bit of a crisis on I'm afraid." She apologised.

"Ohh! I had rather hoped we could spend the afternoon together...Never mind it is just so good to see you." he replied slipping his arm round her shoulder, puling her close to him and kissing her on the top of her head.

They walked to the hotel lobby his arm circling her as they laughed and chatted warmly. 

"I've booked us a table in the restaurant" said Tom "We can take our time if you don't have to be back till three."

"That will be nice." she replied snuggling up to him warmly

The restaurant was relatively quiet. It was a good place for a discrete, relaxed lunch mainly frequented by business people, like Tom, who were away from home. Hoi polloi who were attending conferences generally had a package that included a buffet either in the Ruberry Restaurant, catering exclusively for buffet type meals, or set up in their conference suite. The Lakeside Restaurant, overlooking a man-made lake, catered mainly for hotel guests or those wanting a better standard of fare.

The Maitre d' met them at the entrance, he had a thick Spanish accent, tanned swarthy skin and well manicured hands.  After discretely giving them the once over and checking that they indeed wanted a table for two, he steered them to a corner by the window where they could sit in full view of the lake. All of the tables had generous space between with many screened by large mature plants that gave the place a Kew Gardens feel. He had watched them arrive in the car park in their separate cars, had noticed the quality of the vehicles and had seen the close contact between them.  He had noted that he wore a ring but that she didn't.  He had long since stopped judging people under such circumstances and after making some notable errors in his earlier years in the catering and restaurant trade he now acted with caution. He decided that the couple in front of him would prefer a less busy area in his well-run restaurant.

He offered the table which was accepted gratefully and sat the guests before presenting them both with a menu and Tom the wine list. He asked if they wanted a drink while they made their selection from the a-la-carte menu. Both chose a non-alcoholic beverage and he deduced that they would be driving after their liaison.  He gave a small bow as he left the table and the smartly dressed older man with distinguished greying hair and equally sharply dressed and very desirable younger woman to make their selection.  His instinct told him that she was a well educated, professional woman and he a well enough off businessman.  Philippe Carreras was usually good at working out the people who frequented the hotel and restaurant.  In this case, he could tell from the relaxed nature of them both that they were confident people and that they were not worried about being seen together. He thought them probably some distance from their normal haunts. Neither looked around the restaurant as some couples who bore guilt, in case they were spotted together did. He thought the girl attractive and he admired her taste in men.  He himself favoured older men with the dignity and maturity that he saw in Tom.

Philippe was attentive to all of the customers who came into the restaurant.  There was an art to running such a place and there was a very delicate balance between intrusion and neglecting patrons.  They should feel unhurried and able to enjoy privacy while never feeling as if kept waiting.  Philippe kept his staff vigilant while he himself excelled at judging and anticipating when to attend to a customer and when to give them space.

He watched like a hawk, ready to swoop when its prey shows itself.  He saw the grey haired man advise the girl on her selection from the menu, he noticed that he had chosen a fine Burgundy to accompany their meal of venison. He saw the large, careful hand at one point during the main course reach across the table and stroke the side of the girl's face with deep affection. On several occasions he heard the girl laugh, a warm relaxed laugh that seemed to wash like sunshine round the room.  Philippe noted that neither hurried their meal, more intent upon their discourse and the intensity of their being together. He recognised the depth of the couples love for each other. He had seen many comings and goings in his time and he always felt he knew the genuine people who gave their attention to their partner rather than casting around catching the eye of third parties in a bored flirt. These two were exceptional.  The girl ate very delicately but obviously liked her food. The man had well-honed manners, was clearly red blooded from the zeal with which he chewed the juicy chunks of deer flesh, and never wavered in his attentiveness. 

 

Philippe was fascinated by them and stepped in when the table waiter had cleared the first course away to ask if they were enjoying their meal.  They were both gracious in their replies and yes they would like to see the desert menu.  Philippe snapped his fingers unobtrusively over their heads and the waiter returned with the desert menu. He took it from the waiter and described the house speciality before withdrawing again to allow the selection to be made.

 

The busy period for the restaurant had come and gone. The buzz of conversation had subsided to a library whisper.  A second cup of rich Italian after dinner coffee was slowly being savoured.  After consulting his partner, the man had said they did not require anything more but the bill which now sat inside the plush leather folder on the side of the table and from which protruded the edge of the man's gold credit card signalling its readiness. 

 

The couple appeared to be in no hurry and were still chatting warmly and from time to they would make physical contact across the table.  Now and again the deep voice of the man would drift across the floor when he raised it in excitement or laughter.  Most of the time the conversation was low and intimate.

 

The waiter whom Philippe had cautioned to avoid rushing to collect the card was now given a subtle nod.  He approached the table, picked up the folder, thanked the man and retreated to the cash point. He returned excusing himself and placed the hand held machine upon the table in front of the man and asked him politely to enter his pin number. The man broke off conversation and entered the four digit code with graciousness, making eye contact and giving a warm smile to the waiter before accepting the proffered card and receipt and continuing his conversation.

 

A full fifteen minutes more elapsed after the copy receipt was given and received and the waiter thanked, before they stood up to leave.  The woman rose and the man stepped round the table to pull her chair out.  He placed his arm round her shoulder again as they walked to the coat stand to retrieve her jacket.  The man took the expensive short jacket from the stand and held it while the young woman deftly slipped her slim torso into it in a single move. She had a lovely figure.  The man kissed her proffered cheek then slipped on his own jacket.  Philippe thought him lucky to have such a beautiful young woman to lunch with and he let his mind stray for a few moments. He wondered about the man's wife.

 

Tom thanked Philippe as he guided his companion gently to the door.  They walked to their car park spaces in bright sunshine and broken cloud. The rain had stopped and the wind had dropped.

 

Tom held her close squeezing her shoulder firmly but gently.

 

"Thank you for a wonderful lunch." He said with genuine affection, "I've really enjoyed it. Can't wait to see you again. I'm only sorry you can't stay today."

"Oh it's been great. I just love being with you. " She answered with a caressing tone " I only wish we could spend more time together."

 

She unlocked the Jag and he stooped to pull open the door for her. She turned and kissed him affectionately and slid into the driver's seat.

 

He closed the door, waved to her and stepped back so that she could pull out of the parking bay. The Jag moved powerfully and smoothly out of the space and turned right, following the faded, white painted arrows that pointed to the exit.  Tom waved energetically.  She had only gone a few yards when the break lights came on and Tom heard the hand break ratcheted up.  Her electronic window slipped silently down as Tom stepped beside the car and leant towards her tilting head. Her lips were full and delicious, encased in expensive lip-stick that is sold for its ability to withstand the rigours of daily life. She brushed her long shiny hair out of her eyes and threw back her head at the same time; she looked at him with a worried expression.

 

"You won't forget to remind mum I'm bringing Sally to lunch on Saturday will you?  See you then Dad" She said joyfully as she pushed forward the gear stick, eased up the clutch and drove off.

Reviews

[Claire Twinn]

Hi John,
A great story, with some beautiful metaphors (especially her smile).
I like the way you shift to the waiter's viewpoint, but he sounds very wise so would surely spot a father/daughter relationship a mile off?

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Hi Claire, posssibly but I guess we all miss stuff and more to the point had you guessed it?