The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted

by William Coles

We laughed. I took the two ladies’ plates out to Julienne and Louise.

  When I returned to the pass, Giles pushed a plate of shepherd’s pie towards me. ‘There you go.’

  I took the plate. It took about a second for the pain to register. The rim of the plate was burning hot. I let out a short, sharp curse and dropped the plate. The pie cascaded over my tunic and the plate smashed on the floor.

  ‘Clumsy,’ Giles said.

  I waved my hand to ease the burn. ‘Thanks very much, Giles,’ I snapped. ‘Well done.’

  Oliver was already on his knees cleaning up the debris with a dustpan and brush. He picked up a plate shard. ‘This is hot!’

  ‘That’s because the Russian dough boy has spent the last two minutes with it in the oven,’ I said. ‘He’s such a wag.’

  ‘You should take more care,’ Giles said.

  I blew him a kiss with my red, raw fingers. ‘You’ve been a naughty, naughty boy, haven’t you, Giles?’

  ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’

  ‘Now apologise properly, Giley, or you’ll be going onto the naughty step.’

  It was another five minutes before I returned to Louise’s table, with the lower half of my white tunic now stained brown. They were all aware of the delay and eyed up my tunic, but they were too polite to say anything.

  ‘Trouble with the natives,’ I said, brandishing my spoon and fork for some timely silver service. It’s the perfect way to linger with the guests that you like. ‘How many potatoes for you?’

  ‘Three, please,’ said Louise. They watched as I went about my well-honed craft. I served the potatoes in one fluid, easy movement.

  ‘You make it look so effortless,’ said Louise. ‘I’m sure it’s not.’

  ‘Just a bit of practice.’

  ‘I’ll bet.’

  I looked at her. A spark passed between us. Whatever there was, it was at that moment that we definitely clicked.

  They had their puddings and their coffees and then paid their bill. I helped Louise back with her chair and for the first time, she stood next to me; with her in her short heels, we were exactly the same height.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Nice meeting you, Louise,’ I said. I touched her on the elbow.

  Just like a politician knows a kiss is inappropriate, a light touch to the elbow with just the fingers is perfect: not too forward, but nonetheless a very delicate stroke. It forges a subtle physical connection, and it’s real beauty is that it is equally effective on men and women.

  Mark and Julienne waved as they walked out, though Louise did not turn round. I watched her as she curved out of the room.

  And that was that. I had a met a beautiful woman, and I fancied her and there was chemistry. However, the timing was awkward. She would be off to London soon. And there was Cally, delectable Cally, and there was much that still had to be explored between us.

  As I watched Louise sashay out of the room, I felt a pang of regret. But I certainly knew it was not something that I was going to pursue. I could recognise Louise’s beauty, and acknowledged that there was chemistry between us. But that would be it, wouldn’t it?

  The usual mob went to the pub that night. The Bankes Arms must have been packed out with at least half of the hotel’s waiters and waitresses.

  I was standing at the bar, buying yet another beer for Roland.

  ‘She was lovely,’ Roland said. ‘How come none of the good-looking guests ever sit at my tables?’

  ‘Cos you’re too damn ugly,’ Janeen said.

  ‘Looked like you were getting on really well with her,’ Roland said. ‘You were even shaking her hand.’

  ‘You ought to try it some time, Roland,’ I said. ‘Women like it.’

  ‘So I just go up to the table, say hello to the guests, and then shake them all by the hand?’

  ‘That’s about it. I’m not saying it works every time, but when it works, it works like a charm.’

  ‘I’ll try it,’ he said.

  ‘You could try telling them a few jokes,’ I said. ‘Knock-knock jokes can go down very well.’

  ‘You tell jokes?’ said Roland.

  ‘Depends,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I give them a bit of poetry. Shakespeare, Shelley, that sort of thing.’

  ‘And they really like that?’

  ‘Why do you think I always get the biggest tips?’

  I was just about to pay for the drinks when I felt a touch on my elbow.

  I turned.

  It was Louise, still wearing exactly what she had been wearing in the dining room, but now with a long black coat. She had put on fresh lipstick.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. She smiled at me and instinctively I stepped towards her and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Hello Louise.’

  ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘I’m in the chair, Louise. What can I get you?’

  Introductions were made. Louise took off her coat, hung it up by the door, and joined our table.

  It was a glorious night. We had new, beautiful blood at the table, and as ever when that happens, the guys were doing their mouthy best to shine. In particular, I remember how we were teasing Louise over her future career.

  ‘You’re going to be a lawyer?’ Roland said. He was horrified. ‘What a waste!’

  Louise laughed at him. ‘What would you rather I do?’

  ‘Well, anything!’ he said. ‘Anything at all! But please don’t be a lawyer!’

  ‘What about a waitress?’ she said.

  ‘That’d be great,’ Roland said. ‘With a short skirt and roller skates.’

  ‘Or a bartender—’

  ‘Making cocktails!’

  ‘Or a chauffeuse—’

  ‘I like that word!’ Roland said. ‘Chauffeuse!’

  ‘You’re very easily pleased,’ I said. ‘But what’s wrong with being a lawyer?’

  ‘Kill all the lawyers!’

  ‘It’s a steady job, swimming in money—’ I said.

  ‘It’d bore the hind legs off a donkey!’

  ‘Louise,’ I said. ‘Roland is being wilfully provocative because he fancies you—’

  ‘I fancy everyone!’

  ‘I know you do. Anyway,’ I continued. ‘ I must apologise for his behaviour.’

  ‘No need at all,’ she said. ‘Law can seem a little dull.’

  There were about eight or nine of us sitting around a table that was meant at best for six people, and it was a tight squeeze. I was sitting between Louise and Annette; both had their legs firmly pressed against mine. As we talked and as we drank, there stayed an unspoken awareness that, from thigh to knee, our legs were squeezed tight together. Shoulders and arms, too. We were so hug-a-mug around that tight table that we could not help but touch each other. Annette, of course, was with Oliver, and I knew that, but it felt good all the same to feel her leg pressed to mine.

  As for Louise, this was a different experience altogether. Throughout our hour in the pub, I did not give one single thought to Cally.

  She sipped her spritzer and at the same time I sipped my beer. Our elbows nudged. In silence we looked at each other, as neurones fizzled and connections were made.

  ‘My round,’ said Louise. It was a huge round and she bought drinks for the lot of us. She remembered everyone’s drinks first time. I joined her at the bar.

  She smiled at me.

  ‘I’m glad I came,’ she said.

  ‘Bit of a squeeze round the table,’ I said. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘That’s the best bit.’

  Now, if you give me enough time, I can always come up with some sort of riposte for any situation. If somebody insults me, they’ll get it right back in their face, with a bit of extra spite for good measure. If somebody compliments me, then that’ll be returned with added topspin. I am very rarely lost for words. But there, at the bar with Louise, I could think of nothing to say.

  She took three pint glasses to the table and I followed with the rest of t
he drinks on a tray.

  I sat down at the table next to Annette and Louise squeezed herself in next to me. But this time, immediately, she pressed her foot firmly next to mine.

  We looked at each other. We drank and our eyes never left each other, and the drinks were returned to the table.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘It is the best bit.’

  ‘What would it be like if we were all sitting at a table for two?’ she said.

  ‘Probably even better.’

  ‘I’d have to sit on your lap.’ She tilted her wine glass to me. ‘Cheers.’

  The subject returned, yet again, to Louise’s career. She was planning on having a couple of months off before spending a year at Guildford Law School. After that, she had set her hopes on getting a job with one of the big London solicitors.

  ‘That’ll be back breaking,’ I said. ‘Do they start you off on seventy-hour weeks?’

  ‘Eighty, minimum,’ she said.

  ‘That’s my big problem with the law,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t matter how high you get up the tree, you still have to put in the massive hours. Even when you’re senior partner, you—’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘You have found out my weakness. I don’t know what I want; I don’t even know how to find out what I want.’

  ‘What’s the hurry?’

  ‘That’s what I keep on telling my stepmum, though she doesn’t seem to be quite so receptive as—’

  I broke off. Louise had kicked off her shoe, and her stockinged foot was very softly stroking my ankle.

  ‘Me?’ she said. ‘Now what are you going to do?’

  For the rest of the night, we looked; we connected. We both knew that we wanted each other.

  I was flooded with a tumult of conflicting emotions, questions. Would it be there, then, that very night? Would it be right, would it be wrong? We had only just met. Should we? Could we?

  Time was called and we were thrown out of the pub, and with that last lingering warmth on my thighs I stood up together with Annette and Louise.

  We said our goodbyes outside the pub. Louise kissed everyone on the cheek. The rest of my motley crew stumbled off down the lane, their shouting laughter drifting into the night, as Louise and I stood alone in the darkness.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to South America with my parents,’ she said, before adding, ‘I’m sorry to say. A last family holiday.’

  ‘What a shame. You’ll come back to the hotel when you’re home?’

  ‘If you’re still there.’

  ‘If, of course, I’m still there.’

  We were both suddenly tongue-tied and awkward.

  ‘Well, goodbye,’ she said. ‘You’re just what Julienne said you’d be.’

  ‘Very sweet of her,’ I said. ‘But you’re the gorgeous one round here.’

  We moved together and we clung to each other, like lovers who know they are about to be parted for a long time. She kissed me, but not quite on the lips. Two firm solid kisses, one on each cheek, missing my mouth by millimetres.

  ‘Can I give you a lift?’ she asked.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine thanks.’

  I watched as she went over to her Mini, but I did not follow. She opened the door. ‘What’s it like being a warlock?’ she called.

  ‘What’s it like being a temptress?

  ‘Have I cast a spell on you?’

  ‘You certainly have.’

  She waved as she climbed into the car. I had never seen such a tall woman get into such a tiny car. She made it look both effortless and sexy, and I could feel wave after wave of raw desire washing through me.

  CHAPTER 12

  I don’t do guilt. I don’t know if it is a bad thing. I don’t know if it is a good thing. But I do know, I do not do guilt.

  I know plenty of people who do feel guilt: men, women; practically every Catholic that I’ve ever met. They not only feel guilty for their sins, but they feel guilty for even thinking about the mere possibility of sin. What a wretched time they must have of it, with this constant mental self-flagellation, as if life isn’t tough enough already without having to beat yourself up over something as fantastically subjective as a misdeed.

  I, however, have never suffered from guilt. This doesn’t mean that I am without moral compass. But for whatever reason, there is no guilt gene within me. I mess up, I do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, and I move on. There is no insidious demon inside me that forever whispers that I have behaved badly.

  But although I do not do guilt, I’m also not very good at lying. I’m not an actor and don’t have the skills to make my lies look breezy and effortless. Lying is especially difficult when you are telling stories to a woman who is possessed of some uncanny sixth sense.

  So the next day, I woke up knowing that Cally was coming back to Dorset, and knowing that I would be seeing her. But I also allowed myself to revel in the memory of Louise in the pub, her leg pressed against mine and the beautiful hug when we parted.

  I called Cally after lunch and, as ever, I got through to her answerphone. I was leaving a long, rambling message, when she suddenly picked up.

  ‘It’s you,’ she said. She sounded tired.

  ‘It’s me. How was London?’

  ‘Full of disease and back-stabbers. How are you?’

  ‘I am so looking forward to seeing you again.’

  ‘Nice to hear that my feelings are reciprocated. So what mischief have you been up to while I’ve been away?’

  A fleeting thought of Louise, beautiful, available, wanting me to kiss her.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Nothing at all.’ Perhaps I said it too quickly; perhaps it just came out wrong. ‘Just playing with Darren. Just the usual.’

  She sighed. I wouldn’t have put it past her, even at that very early stage in our relationship, to have divined that only the previous night I had been dreaming of another.

  ‘Dear, dear Darren,’ she said. ‘He means well.’

  I was suddenly piqued. ‘Why did you go to the pub with him that night last week?’ I asked.

  ‘Why do you think?’

  ‘Do you fancy him?’

  ‘Dear me, Kim, you know so little!’ She laughed. ‘Maybe I went to the pub with him so that you might finally be goaded into action!’

  ‘Really?’ I was incredulous.

  ‘Didn’t you know that is we women who call the shots?’

  ‘You… you schemer!’ Here I was imagining that we’d got together through happenstance and coincidence, yet Cally had had it all planned out from the very first.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what happened last night?’ she said.

  ‘Happened last night?’ I said. I could sense immediately that my voice had started to sound rather hollow. ‘Nothing happened last night.’

  ‘I’ll believe you,’ she said, before adding. ‘Though thousands wouldn’t.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I said. I was still nettled by the thought of her drink with Darren just being a ruse to ensnare me.

  ‘It means whatever you take it to mean.’

  ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say.’

  ‘Oh, well…’

  There was a silence between us, as we both paused, like a couple of heavyweight boxers, a little bruised and now taking stock of each other.

  ‘Can I see you?’ I said. ‘Can I see you tonight?’

  ‘Ah,’ she said, and again there was a pause. ‘Don’t come today. I’ve picked up something vile and I’m shattered. I want to be at my best for you.’

  ‘I’ll take you any way I can get you.’

  She gave a very soft laugh. ‘Let’s end this conversation now,’ she said. ‘Call me tomorrow, and we’ll see if we can be any nicer.’

  It wasn’t what I’d hoped for. I’d hoped, I don’t know, for an urgent call to action, and an insistent demand to be at her home or at her beach hut within the next ten minutes.

  In
stead we’d had our first tiff, and Cally did what I would learn she always did when there was bad blood. She withdrew to wait patiently for the heat to simmer down.

  I wondered if I should have told her about Louise, if I should have confessed straight up. But it was always going to be sticky and I disliked confrontations with women. I don’t know how Cally would have taken it; though in all probability, she’d have laughed it off. She knew me better than I knew myself, and she certainly knew that a young man in love was always capable of having his head turned by the sight of a pretty girl.

  So I had been told to stand easy, and my ardour had to be put into cold storage for the next twenty-four hours. It’s never a great feeling when you’re primed and full of expectations only to be told that your shot at the moon won’t be happening after all.

  When tomorrow came Cally tried to fob me off then, too.

  I called her after breakfast. She sounded like she was still in bed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked.

  ‘Not brilliant.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some fruit.’

  ‘No please don’t,’ she said. ‘I look dreadful.’

  ‘I don’t care about your looks. I just want to see you.’

  ‘Do you really want to see me?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’

  ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave the back door unlocked.’

  My feet had wings. No other words could have got me moving so fast. A young man in love will stop at nothing when he is on a promise and the very thought of Cally naked in a bath had me scuttling back to my little breeze block snug for fresh clothes. I stopped off in the dining room to filch some apples and grapes. One of the chefs spotted me as I was putting them into my knapsack. I gave him an airy wave, and then I was out in the sun and loping down the road towards Cally’s home. By the time I got there, the sweat had soaked through to the back of my shirt.

  I rolled into Cally’s courtyard with my anticipation sky high. The very last person that I expected to see was Greta. She had obviously just rung the doorbell and was now walking back to her car.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. She was quite taken aback at seeing me at Cally’s house. ‘Kim. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just popped over,’ I said.