The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted (16 page)

‘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.'

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 the 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.