Stranger in the Wharf

by H. A. Nicola

  She glanced around the bar where the few visible staff were busy clearing away the remnants of rush hour. The stranger was heading towards her with something thick, dark and full-bodied, and what appeared to be a bottle of his preferred ale. He placed them down in the space she had cleared on the table and ran his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time since his approach 20 minutes before.

  “Again, thank you. I really appreciate you coming. Not keeping you from anything, am I?”

  “I’ve got some time before the school run…”

  “You’ve got children?” He enquired without an ounce of surprise in his voice.

  “Three.”

  “Wow. You don’t look like you have three children. You look amazing.”

  Perhaps it was the lingering bewilderment at the fact that she was sitting across from a complete stranger in the middle of the day, enjoying good quality wine, totally unexpectedly that she found herself smiling knowingly at his compliment, giving no real indication of acceptance or denial, almost as though he was telling her something unnecessarily.

  The conversation quickly changed course as he expanded on the details of the corporate matters that had played a part in the upset of his day and doubtless added to the assortment of grey running through his hair.

  He made what appeared to be a strong attempt to refocus his mind by widening his eyes and shaking his head vigorously, in the same way that one does when trying to eradicate sleep from the eyes in the middle of an important conference, or when driving on the motorway at night. A slightly startled expression fell over his face.

  “Yeah, I was saying it’s been a rough time at work lately. Basically, I was gunning for a promotion, right?” There was a pause. “I didn’t get it…”

  She would learn that he often punctuated his sentences with the question… Right? With the hint of an accent that sounded suspiciously antipodean, which she concluded didn’t suit him, and therefore arrived at the opinion that it was something that he had picked up from somebody else.

  His face screwed up from time to time, as though he was being very careful about how much he revealed, forcing himself to hold back.

  “I’ve been preparing for it for the past year, you know, overtime, coming in at weekends, extra hours etc.”

  She listened intently whilst savouring the delicious wine.

  There was heavier sighing.

  “There are certain individuals that, you know, kind of gave me the indication that I was doing the right thing; and that, you know, it was more or less certain. A done deal…” He was wringing his hands now and grimacing.

  He fell silent, but his expression and hand gestures could clearly be interpreted as the devastating blow of the outcome.

  “I can certainly imagine how you must be feeling,” she offered tentatively, “but do you subscribe at all to the notion that everything happens for a reason? Perhaps this wasn’t the right timing. Maybe there is something that you can take from this; and the next time you go for it, you will be more prepared…”

  His eyes widened with appreciation, as though surprised by her words.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Problem is… Now I can’t be bothered…” He chuckled nervously. “Do you know what I mean? After all that hard work and then to not get the result you wanted… I just feel a bit like… oh, what’s the point…”

  Her forehead wrinkled in judgement, “But surely that’s not the right approach. Doesn’t that mean that you weren’t necessarily doing that extra work for the right reasons? That it was purely to try to please other people who you thought would have some sort of influence on your promotion…”

  He laughed and shrugged with resignation, “You’re absolutely right. That’s not good, is it?”

  She smiled at him. She appreciated that he appeared to be able to laugh at himself and wasn’t easily offended in a world where to be defensive had almost become a natural reaction. He was willing to own up to his behaviour and see the funny side.

  She could feel herself settling more in her chair and enjoying the moment.

  He paused again, and the expression of bewilderment had returned. He shook his head in disbelief.

  “I mean. You could have been anybody that I approached, but you’re actually making sense…” He was looking directly at her.

  “So do you think you will go for it again?” she asked breaking the silence.

  He sighed and teased the hair again. “There’s an opportunity to go for it next year…” He shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I’ll see what happens. I’m an accountant, right? I work for an American company. It’s a good job, I’m on a six-figure salary. So it’s difficult to decide. Do I stay put even though I’m getting to the point where I dread coming in in the mornings? Or do I go and do something else. Trouble is, if I go and work for another company, surely I’m just going to encounter the same old shit or possibly risk having to work my way up again.” He took a large swig from his bottle. “I think I’m going to get over this disappointment and then see how I feel…”

  He drew his eyes back to her face, staring intently. His searching eyes revealing unspoken questions.

  “Enough about me. I’ve really enjoyed your company today. Can we do this again sometime? I mean I’d be happy to just have a drink and look at you if I’m honest…” He chuckled leaning back in his chair to look over her again.

  “Erm… I guess I have been thinking about going out more and meeting people; but at the same time, sometimes, I think it would be fun to actually keep things quite vague. I mean I don’t want to have to reveal everything about myself. I don’t believe that that is the only way to get to know someone. I can’t bear those typical getting-to-know-you questions, you know… ‘What do you do? Where do you live?’”… She rolled her eyes in mock indignation… “But yeah, it might be nice to do this again…”

  “Can we exchange emails, and then we can talk about what we want. We can call it ‘Rules of Engagement’ or something.”

  They both laughed.

  “You can tell me what you want, and what you don’t want. I mean a woman like you deserves at the very least some fine dining. Perhaps some high-end treats…”

  She drained the last of the velvet wine and allowed herself to consider his proposition. She had had a pleasant time; he was fairly good company if not the most positive mindset she had come across. But he outwardly expressed his appreciation of her, and that was something that she hadn’t experienced… well in a very long time. It made her feel good. She felt as though she was glowing from the inside just a little. She knew that she was generally a good judge of character and hadn’t detected any insincerity. She had long since determined in her own mind that she was going to accept herself as beautiful regardless of society’s depiction of beauty, and this had given her confidence and self-approval, but she had underestimated how good it felt to have someone else see it too.

  He was gazing at her deeply now, as if for the first time, taking in her red-tinged hair, caramel skin; slender, elegant hands and perfectly manicured nails. She presumed he had taken in her image from behind to his heart’s content whilst following her from Waterstones.

  A slow appreciative smile crept across his lips, starting at one end, gradually opening up to a full smile; revealing off white, slightly-crooked teeth, which somehow added a little to his charm.

  But his smile was closely followed by a downcast shadow and a glance at the time on his mobile phone, which she observed was far from the latest smartphone model, but it looked well-worn, basic and a little dated. Perhaps it wasn’t his main phone, she thought. Perhaps this was the designated lunchtime pick-up phone. The phone that no one else knew about and used for the specific purpose of organising clandestine lunches.

  “I’ve got to get back to the office. They’ll be wondering where I am,” he sighed with the forlorn expression of someone about to face the general practitioner, following an uncertain X-ray. “I really don’t want to go. I feel as though I’ve d
ominated the conversation. I haven’t even asked what you do. Oh, but you don’t like those questions, do you?” he chuckled.

  “I’m a carer,” she offered. Suddenly wondering why she didn’t feel like revealing that her autistic son was her charge.

  “That’s a difficult job, right? Very challenging I expect. So surely you deserve to take some time out every now and then. Are you single?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head in disbelief, “I mean, why is that? A beautiful woman like you should have men queueing up surely…”

  “I enjoy my life; I’m certainly not desperate…”

  “Oh no, I didn’t mean to imply that you were…”

  “I guess I’m just figuring out what I want…”

  He took a long gulp from his bottle without taking his eyes from her and leaned forward,

  “And have you figured out what you want?”

  She screwed her face up in contemplation. “I find myself wavering between wanting something of quality, but at the same time I feel as though I’ve missed out on a lot of… shall we say casual fun?”

  Her comment visibly piqued his interest, and the corners of his lips twitched with gleeful anticipation.

  “Now… perhaps, that’s where I come in…”

  “How old are your children?”

  “I’d rather not say anymore to be honest. I’m not sure we need to know too much about each other at this point…”

  “Absolutely. Which brings me back to our, erm… ‘Rules of Engagement’ policy. We can draw up an agreement that you’re happy with. Your expectations, ways in which I can indulge you…”

  The innuendo in his voice was palpable.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Bethany…” She picked up her glass to hide the smirk that was threatening to seep onto her face.

  He let out a huge guffaw, throwing his head back. She liked that he felt he could laugh easily around her. It made her want to relax more around him.

  “What’s yours?”

  His eyes scoured the ceiling momentarily… “Jon…”

  They were both laughing now. Somehow, their newly assigned names gave the atmosphere a decidedly arousing edge. They were both aware that once they began communicating via email, their true identities would become clear which only added to the frisson.

  The very fact that he had proposed exchanging emails, as opposed to telephone numbers, led her to ponder his domestic situation.

  There had been no wedding ring visible, not that that was definitive evidence. Perhaps he was attached but bored. Was he contemplating leaving a relationship? These thoughts were very brief in all honesty. She didn’t much care to know any details at this point as she resolutely didn’t plan on revealing many details of her own. Not because she had anything to hide. She was simply at a stage in life where she felt very protective of herself.

  He waited for her to pick up her bags and escorted her to the exit, and they stepped through the half-glazed wooden door.

  The winter sun was still shining onto the terrace as they re-joined the hustle and bustle of the business district.

  He placed his hands on her arms protectively and leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. What a gallant gesture, she thought. The few relationships that she had had in her life—namely the children’s father, and some other questionable decisions prompted by loneliness rather than good judgement—were scarcely characterised by gallant gestures of tenderness.

  He thanked her again, and then they turned and walked in opposite directions, much like the complete strangers that they were. It was several moments before she realised that seemingly lost in thought, she had passed the bus stop and was now half-way home. Thoughts of what had just happened reverberated in her head; the unexpected appeal of meeting a stranger and actually having more than just a banal conversation about nothing of relevance but rather establishing a fleeting connection—a basic understanding of sorts. The buzz had effectively carried her home; and before she knew it, she was crossing the street in front of the Canary Wharf Hilton Hotel and strolling determinedly past South Quay Station before weaving in and out of the lunchtime crowd outside Harbour Exchange Square in what seemed like no time at all. For some strange reason, she was suddenly overcome with bashful self-consciousness as she strolled through the walkway of the Square, which was littered with the usual lunch seekers. She found herself dipping her head as though her sordid plans would become evident if anyone caught her eye, utterly convinced that if she wasn’t decidedly black, her blushes would be obvious for all to see. She often pitied those women whose very emotions could be read, like an open book, by virtue of the colouring of their chest area or cheekbones.

  The builders’ boards surrounding the newly erected Baltimore Tower were starting to come down, revealing beautifully landscaped designs surrounding the unusual multi-storey structure, indicating that it was clearly nearing completion. She found it incredibly exciting to see these new development blocks popping up. What to others may be considered an eyesore or a sign of overdevelopment was a symbol of progress and prosperity to her, signifying a new phase and chapter. The Tower, which according to the advertisements incorporated both apartments of varying sizes, and all the facilities of a modern hotel, was 40 storeys high and was designed with an irregular outline, so that the building appeared to spiral its way to the top. The balconies were huge and semi-circular, and she could only imagine how exquisite the interior was, and the magnificent views available from such celestial heights. She made a left turn behind the children’s adventure playground and approached her own building which was tucked away in the corner of a large private square. As she was reaching for her fob that unlocked the main entrance glass door, the familiar sound of her email alert sounded several times, indicating that she had either received several messages simultaneously; or that she had just come out of a dead signal spot, and the device was now catching up.

  She rushed inside willing the elevator to reach her fifth-floor abode, so that she could find out if one of the notifications was from the stranger.

  She hurried along the corridor to her door, key at the ready. She never failed to appreciate the contrast from the dazzling white of the communal hallway, with its cobalt blue linoleum flooring, to the dimly lit cosy ambience that she had managed to create inside with its brown and bronze hues and clever lighting, made all the more of an achievement because she had done it all herself. Even the wall of chocolate-brown floor to ceiling curtains in the living room had been particularly challenging to execute single-handedly, as they proved to be exceptionally heavy and needed reinforced curtain fittings. The wallpapering, which she had never attempted before, evidenced to the keen eye, by uneven matching on the odd, poorly applied sheet, added to her sense of pride as she was still very pleased with the overall effect and the transformation from the stark white, and in her opinion bland apartment, to the tinted almost Moroccan feel that she stood in today. Now all she had to do was continue the theme to the rest of the apartment.

  She dropped her shopping bags on the kitchen counter and reached for her phone glancing furtively at the recent notifications.

  She tapped on her email app and quickly discarded of the usual daily pop-ups one by one, so that the one with the name that she didn’t recognise made its way to the top of the list.

  She took a deep inhale of breath and then opened the email.

  It was addressed from Kenneth Halpern-Smith, associated with the email address Khs2002@outlook.com. The title read: RULES OF ENGAGEMENT. And there, in all its splendour, was a detailed itinerary of a proposed second meeting.

  He addressed her as ‘Queen’; and by the first sentence, she was hooked.

  Chapter 4

  Rules of Engagement

  "…Jon intends to whisk Bethany to a secret location, one in keeping with her regal status, where he can take in her awesome beauty at close quarters and undress her first with his eyes and relieve her of the Agent Provocateur claddings that he surpri
sed her with earlier and thoroughly enjoy how the garment, though strategically sparing, will completely emphasise the delicious curvature of her body.

  He is particularly curious to discover precisely how the black-lace garment, complete with rose-red tassels, will complement the bronze of her skin.

  So tell me, Queen, what can I do to enhance your pleasure? I am totally at your service.

  Jon…"

  She hadn’t quite expected him to get straight to the point. This was a new one on her. On the one hand, it indicated that this was a man who knew what he wanted and didn’t want to play games. This was a good thing surely. She had always appreciated people that were unapologetically themselves. Totally unafraid to say… this is me. But was she ready to jump head first into this new experience? Clearly, she had indicated as much. She must have somehow given off some vibe of wanting adventure. Something new. Perhaps let slip some kind of dispirited resignation that she had reached this stage in life without taking full advantage of opportunities. Not fully embraced the notion of life being short and seizing the day. He was taking her at her word.

  So now she knew his real name. Kenneth Halpern-Smith. Funnily enough, he looked more like a Jon than a Kenneth. Though it had a certain ring to it. Evidently, he was impatient for her response.

  "I’m sitting bored in my office. The minions surrounding me are annoying. Longing for some exotic company.

  How are you fixed on Tuesday? Meet me at the North Circular Greenwich Hotel at 2:00 p.m."

  He was obviously accustomed to communicating with little regard for a reply.

  “Hey! Can you meet Wednesday rather than Tuesday?”

  She consulted her phone diary to check that she hadn’t any prior arrangements. Wednesday was usually a day she kept free for her son’s school, as they fervently encouraged parental participation in any events that they were organising. Her phone calendar confirmed that she was free in two weeks’ time.