Before we fell asleep, we had cleared the bed as best we could of all the debris of bread and oil and ham, and then with Cally soft in my arms, we lay there as the candles flickered in the wind, and I watched as she closed her eyes with a contented smile upon her face.
We made love again in the middle of the night. The rapture of waking while it was still dark, and as I fumbled to get my bearings and work out where I was I realised that I was with Cally, and that she was in my arms and that we were by the sea, and that, very simply, everything was on offer. I kissed her and kissed her again and gradually she groaned and opened her eyes, and remembered that it was me, and then she grabbed at me and she took me with all the earnest energy of a woman consumed by desire.
I was in love.
Cally woke at sun up. She always woke early. She kissed me awake, and I squinted at her and at the scene of our debauchery. One candle was still burning.
‘Good morning,’ I said.
‘Hello,’ she said.
I looked at my watch. It was not even six.
‘Do we have time?’ she asked.
I loved that. Oftentimes with a new love, there can be some awkwardness in the morning. But with Cally, there was none of that. We started our day in the best way possible way by reaffirming each other.
Afterwards, we raced naked into the sea, and though there were dog walkers about on that early morning beach, we waved at them as we charged delirious into the sea. It was cold and it was heady and it was good to be alive. The saltwater washed away the alcohol and the night’s depredations. By the time we walked back hand in hand to the beach hut, we were reborn.
We towelled each other down and we kissed, and then Cally sat naked on the edge of the bed and watched me dress.
‘I like you,’ she said.
‘I like you, too,’ I dusted the sand off my toes and pulled on a sock.
‘I like being with you. You give me energy. And I’ve not had so much of that recently.’
‘No?’
‘No. I want to see more of you.’
‘What about in three hours’ time, after I’ve served breakfast?’
She laughed at me. She had finished towelling her hair and was brushing it with an elegant Mason Pearson hairbrush. I remember the name; they’d been making hairbrushes for over one hundred and twenty years. My mother used to use them.
‘I’d love to see you after breakfast,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got to sort out the horses and I’ve got to go up to London. Some essential pieces of necessary boredom that I have to do, and an exhibition that can’t wait any longer.’ She tugged at a knot in her hair. The knot wouldn’t give. She gave another tug and then ignored it and went on to another shank of hair. ‘I’ll be three days. I wish it was less.’
‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ I said. ‘Brimming with ardour.’
‘How do I get in touch with you?’
‘You could write,’ I said. ‘The only person who’s written to me in the last three months is my father, how sad is that?’
‘Or you could call me,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you my numbers, here and in London. If I’m not in, just leave a message.’
‘Sounds good.’
As I tied up my laces, she wrote her numbers on a piece of paper, along with her address. She lived in Holland Park.
‘Thank you,’ she said. She stood next to me and stroked my hair. I liked her doing that almost more than anything else that had occurred between us. I stayed quite still and closed my eyes. I don’t know what long-forgotten memory she had tapped into, but I luxuriated in the feel of her fingers upon my scalp.
‘Yes,’ I said.
Her hand trailed to the nape of my neck.
‘In three days?’
‘I can’t wait.’ I stood up and hugged her. Cally was naked, while I was now fully clothed. I cupped her breast and kissed her and then I walked out of the beach hut and strode off along the sand. After a short distance, I turned back. She was watching me.
I was overcome with adoration for this extraordinary force that had come into my life. ‘You’re the best!’ I called out to her.
She flapped her hand down in mock disparagement, then blew me a kiss and waved, and when I next looked back, she had gone.
I’d never known a woman like Cally before. As I walked up the hill to the hotel, I was sated and serene. There was dew light on the leaves and the sand crunched underfoot. Compared to my past lovers, she was so calm and at one with herself. What I did I care about the age difference between us? It was Cally, the woman, I wanted. Whether she was forty-four or twenty-four, it made no difference to me.
Yet, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself to the contrary, Cally’s age did make a difference. I wasn’t ashamed of her. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be seen out in public with her. But I was nevertheless aware that I was not quite ready to start trumpeting my love to the world. It would be different, I thought, if I’d fallen for a girl my own age. But as it was, with this woman twenty years older...
I had already divined the need for circumspection. I think that Cally knew that too. It wasn’t that we weren’t proud to be in each other’s company; and neither of us were ever much swayed by other people’s opinions. And yet, right from the start, we both of us knew that as soon as our love became public knowledge, then it would lead to complications. Of course, these complications could all be dealt with – true love conquers all – but certainly at first we both of us realised that it would be easier all round if we kept things quiet.
At least that was my intention.
But in that tiny little goldfish pond that was the Knoll House Hotel, I was rumbled almost immediately. Looking back, it now seems utterly ridiculous: young Kim endeavouring to sneak unseen into his hotel room, only to be accosted at almost every turn.
It started as I was walking back on the main road to the hotel, with my head still filled with the night before.
A large black Citroen drove past. I didn’t even notice it until it pulled up a few yards ahead of me.
The passenger window rolled down. It was Anthony.
‘Give you a lift?’
‘I’m fine thanks, Anthony. Just going for a walk.’
He inspected me slowly. ‘And don’t tell me: you’ve been walking right through the night.’
I laughed him off and continued on my way. But then, as I walked up the hotel drive and past the staff entrance, who should I see but Tracy, bright eyed and cheery as she went in for her breakfast.
She laughed when she saw me. ‘Dirty stop-out?’ she said.
I grinned innocently. ‘What a wicked little mind you have in that pretty head of yours, Tracy,’ I said.
‘Those flowers must have worked a treat,’ she said.
‘Tracy, darling Tracy. I am shocked – shocked – that you see me out for a morning walk and automatically think that I’ve been with a lover.’
‘It’s a lot more likely than you getting up early to go for a stroll.’
I waved her on and stole quickly to my room, only to be hammered by Janeen just as I got to the door.
‘Been out shagging have you?’
I looked at her. She was just off to the dining room, looking good in her waitress’ uniform, brazen and brassy.
‘If only.’
She came over and sniffed me. She was so close to my neck that she almost kissed me.
‘So who was she?’
‘What, you can smell her on me?’
‘Smell her? You reek of it!’
I wasn’t sure whether she was bluffing. But it made no difference; I was never going to admit that I’d spent the night with Cally, or anyone else.
‘You’re just judging me by your own depraved standards.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ she said, and then she flicked my crotch with her middle finger. ‘But I certainly know there’s a good reason for a guy having his flies undone first in the morning.’
I looked down, amazed. And of course my flies weren’t
undone at all. ‘Made you look!’ Janeen crowed with laughter as she went on her way.
By the time I had showered and shaved, it would be fair to say that news of my tryst was all round the dining room. By the time breakfast was over, it was right round the entire hotel.
Annette and Oliver ran me to earth as I stumped back past the playground. In truth, although I had offered to see Cally after breakfast, I was now relieved that she’d not taken me up on my offer because I was absolutely shattered. I had gone through breakfast in a daze and all I could think of was getting back to my grey bunker and sleeping till noon.
‘When are we going to meet her?’ Annette said. As ever she was holding hands with Oliver. She had a wild rose tucked behind her ear and looked quite beautiful. They were sickeningly in love and did not care who knew it.
‘When I’m good and ready,’ I said.
‘Is it Cally?’ Oliver asked.
‘Cally?’ I was striving for a tone of slight bemusement. ‘Oh, Cally. No, it’s not Cally.’
‘Really?’ Oliver said. ‘I thought Cally was sweet on you.’
‘She’s very attractive,’ Annette said.
‘Yeah, well,’ I said. ‘Cally is hot, and maybe she is sweet on me, but it’s not her.’ I wonder now why I fought so much to keep Cally’s identity hidden. I suppose I thought that once Oliver and Annette knew, then the rest of the staff would know. Then it wouldn’t be long before I became a figure of fun, mocked for dating not just a guest but a much older woman, and then mocked a again when she eventually dumped me (which I was sure that she most assuredly would).
‘So when are we going to meet her?’ Annette said.
‘I told you,’ I said. ‘When I’m ready. When she’s ready.’
‘I think it is Cally,’ Oliver ignored me completely and spoke to Annette. ‘It is not one of the staff, so it has to be a local woman.’
‘Why does she have to be local?’
‘I don’t think you went up to London yesterday,’ Oliver said. ‘The last time I saw you, you were going down the drive at lunchtime with a big bunch of flowers.’
‘Okay, so I didn’t go to London.’
There was no respite. ‘But if she is a local, which she must be, then why would you not want to introduce her to your friends?’
‘He’s a bit shy,’ Annette said. ‘It’s definitely Cally.’
‘It’s not Cally!’
‘Swear on your father’s life?’ Annette said.
‘All right, it’s Cally.’
‘So it is Cally?’
‘Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.’ I was floundering, a young buck wallowing in quicksand. ‘Anyway, is this any of your business?’
‘Of course it’s our business,’ Oliver said. ‘You are one of our closest friends.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘Okay, it was Cally.’
‘Cally?’ Oliver said.
‘Cally!’ Annette said. ‘I think she’s lovely.’
‘Yes.’
‘I am surprised it has taken you so long to get together.’
‘Some of us didn’t luck out quite as quickly as you two did.’ I said. ‘Look, please don’t tell anyone.’
‘We won’t tell a soul,’ said Oliver.
And, to my immense surprise, they didn’t.
I called Cally from the hotel payphone after lunch, but she wasn’t in. I left a stuttering message on her answerphone.
I had two days by myself, buoyed up on this wave of euphoria, and I did what any other swain does when they are alone and in love, and played back my most magical moments with Cally. That first kiss in the stable; the way her hands had snaked under my shirt; how for a whole afternoon she had teased at me; her body, naked, available and charged with desire.
It did not take the other waiters long to notice the change.
‘Are you on drugs?’ Roland said.
‘He’s not on drugs, are you, puss?’ Tracy said. ‘He’s in love.’
‘I wish I could find someone to love,’ Roland said.
‘Not for want of trying,’ I said.
‘We’ll find you someone nice,’ Tracy said.
‘What about you?’ Roland said.
‘I’ve got a boyfriend, as you well know, Roland,’ she said. ‘But if I ever dump him, I’ll give you first refusal.’
‘I thought I was on first refusal,’ I said.
‘Saucy!’ she said. ‘You’ve got your own girlfriend now. Who is she?’
‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ I said. ‘And even if I did have one, I certainly wouldn’t be telling the hotel radio.’
They looked at me and then both fell about laughing. ‘So have I really got first refusal, then?’ Roland asked Tracy. I was, for the moment, already forgotten.
So after months of wandering alone through love’s Gobi Desert, it seemed for once that I was in an oasis. I had a modest but enjoyable job; I had time to myself in the mornings and the afternoons; and, although it was still early days, it seemed that I had somehow acquired myself a girlfriend. An affable, kind, easy-going, low-maintenance girlfriend, who just happened to enjoy sex just as much as I did.
But would it last? Well might I have asked, because inevitably – just as night follows day – shortly thereafter another very desirable woman was to enter into my life. But the timing of Louise’s entry into my world was not great.
It was supper time in the hotel and I had been busy with some sportsmen when Roland directed my attention to three people being escorted to one of my tables. I recognised Mark and Julienne immediately. The woman who was with them was striking. I first saw her from behind. She was tall, at least as tall as me, but she held herself like a Hussar, broad shoulders, very squared. Sheer silk tights, a short dark skirt and elegant court shoes set off her amazing legs. She wore a tight floral basque; her lovely brunette hair in a gamine crop gave a delicious glimpse of tanned skin at the top of her back.
I waited a minute for the three of them to take their seats before going over. I still hadn’t seen the woman’s face, but I knew that I wanted to; I couldn’t take my eyes off her legs.
I sauntered over to their table. They were by one of the windows. Mark was in ebullient form, joking to the women.
‘Good evening,’ I said. ‘Hello Julienne; hello Mark.’ For the first time, I turned to their guest. ‘And hello Louise.’
We looked at each other.
She was an absolute knockout. Her face was a perfect match to her sensational figure. Her cheekbones were flawless, while her lips formed a laconic smile. Her level green-grey eyes never left mine.
‘Hello Kim,’ she said. She extended her hand, and we shook. I’d never shaken hands like this before with a guest; it was as if to say that we were meeting as equals. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘I’m afraid it’s all true,’ I said. My eyes never left hers. I don’t think I even blinked.
‘And you have some career advice for a young graduate?’
‘Come and work at the Knoll House, but only if you’re absolutely desperate.’
‘It looks like great craic,’ she said, using the Irish.
‘We do have that,’ I said. ‘And a fair amount of alcohol.’
We had not let go of each other’s hands. I continued to look into Louise’s eyes. She had poise, that’s what it was. She was serene; not placid, but a woman who would for ever remain unruffled.
‘And you drink here?’
‘We usually go to the Bankes Arms.’
‘Where I had my first drink.’
‘Where they’ve got the world’s smallest snug.’
‘I know all about it.’
‘Do you now?’
Before she finally let go of my hand, she gave it a light squeeze. I didn’t know quite what it meant, but I guessed that it meant she liked me.
Throughout the transaction, I had barely looked at Mark or Julienne. They wanted to drink claret, but Louise wanted a spritzer. As I went away to get the drinks, I could overhear Julienne
saying, ‘I told you.’
As a waiter, it is very easy to strike up a quick, frothy relationship with a guest. That is our stock in trade. We have smiles and banter; our sole purpose is to ensure that dinner is convivial and good natured.
But although we can quickly learn to lark with our guests, it is difficult to move from that stage onto weightier matters. It’s like making a fire. You first start off with the kindling and the little twigs, and then when the fire is drawing well, you move onto the larger pieces of wood. And if you don’t move onto larger pieces of timber, the fire will never generate any real heat. That’s how it is in conversation. We waiters are very good with tinder and kindling, but we never move on from that and it means that our workaday conversations rarely have any bite. We are for ever locked in the light and the frothy.
So I delivered the various plates and drinks to Louise’s table and I busied myself topping up the glasses.
‘What’s the best thing about working here?’ she asked.
‘Talking to people like you,’ I said.
‘Really?’
‘I love it,’ I said.
‘You’re quite good at it.’
‘Good at it?’ said Mark. He drank his wine. ‘How can you be good at chatting to people?’
‘Louise’s right,’ Julienne said. ‘He’s very good.’
‘You could be a politician,’ Louise said.
‘Or a door-to-door salesman.’ I winked at her.
In the kitchens, hostilities between Giles and me had recently abated, though there were still the occasional outbreaks of verbal hostility.
That evening, when I went in to fetch the mains for Louise’s table, it was Giles who was at the pass. Even though it was summer, Giles was still as white and pasty-faced as ever.
‘What do you want, Little Boy Blue?’ he said.
‘The mains for Table Five, my little dumpling,’ I said. ‘Would you like me to come blow your horn?’
Janeen, who was behind me, joined in the badinage. ‘It’ll be the only thing he gets blown this month.’
The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted Page 16