An Affair of the Heart
“Copyright & Notes”
Copyright 2016 Chris Forward
First edition published by Chris Forward Publishers 2016
The text of this publication, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.
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ISBN
Edited by Yvonne Dimbleby for Chris Forward Publishers
E Mail – [email protected]
Ebony & Ivory (Novel)
Two Kinds of Courage (Novel)
A Fistful of Diamonds (Short Stories)
An Affair of the Heart
“Author’s Foreword”
I was once told the genre of short story writing is the most difficult to master, and a field that is reserved for literary luminaries such as Jeffrey Archer and Frederick Forsyth.
“An Affair of the Heart” is one of nineteen short stories from the anthology dubbed “A Fistful of Diamonds”
As always, I will let you the reader be the final adjudicator on whether this mastery has been achieved.
It’s free to read and feedback is appreciated.
Chris Forward 2016
If you enjoy this short story, take a look at Chris Forward’s other free stories.
Icon (A Free Short-Story)
The Great White Ball of Fame (A Free Short-Story)
Essence of a Woman (A Free Short Story)
The Road to Abaddon (A Free Short Story)
A Timeless Profession (A Free Short Story)
One Night in Bangkok
A Scabbard Full of Vengeance
All available at Smaswords.com
An Affair of the Heart
A Short Story
Written by Christopher Forward
I first saw Caroline Mortimer when she was sitting across from me in Marcel’s restaurant. I always frequented Marcel’s when I was in Paris because its ambience and food were out of the top drawer.
My work as a sales representative for Ridgeley’s brought me to Paris four times a year. It always struck me as odd that I was flogging toilet bowls, washbasins and baths to a country that I thought had invented the stuff! Coals to Newcastle would have been an apt description if it weren’t for the fact that the French could not get enough of Ridgeley’s product.
Ridgeley’s had started out as a small garage business. Eventually evolving into the biggest company of its kind in the country, it now operated out of a large factory on the outskirts of Margate in Kent.
I joined Ridgeley’s when I left school and had worked my way up to be the best, and most senior, sales representative in the company. It may sound big-headed, but I had a knack of talking the hind leg off a donkey. In my line of work that was a terrific attribute.
Anyway, back to Marcel’s before I digress any further. I made a point of always visiting this lovely restaurant, because it overlooked the River Seine and had the cathedral of Notre Dame towering in the background. The scene was like something artists painted and then sold on the banks of the river.
I was in a cheerful mood because I’d just sealed a deal for Ridgeley’s that would see them supplying half a million pounds worth of their product to a French construction firm. After I’d eaten a lovely dish of lamb cutlets braised in red wine, I washed it down with a superb bottle of French claret.
The restaurant was busy every evening and I was just hoping Marcel’s would retain its present ambience and not succumb to becoming a tourist trap. Marcel, always the genial host, had the look of a typical French bistro owner. He was short in stature, bald on top and had a moustache that Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot would have died for. This was all topped off with the traditional white apron and wide, welcoming smile.
I had known Marcel for the last six years and he gave me an expansive greeting whenever I visited. He would always make sure I had my usual table, which was situated quietly away in a corner with a commanding view of everything and everyone around me.
It was my last visit of the year and with it being early December, the restaurant was reasonably quiet. That’s when I noticed her! Sitting at a window table was an apparition that could have easily graced the pages of Vogue. Her long auburn hair hid a face that could have matched porcelain. Her body was svelte and had curves in all the right places. There was one problem though! She was sitting with an old man who had the looks of Charles Dickens’s Ebenezer Scrooge!
I didn’t think too much more of her, until I heard raised voices coming from their direction. When the man got up and threw his napkin down on the table in an obvious gesture of disgust, I could see the girl was on the verge of tears. It was when the man left that she glanced my way as if to check if anyone had noticed. She was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, but was quick to glance away when she caught my gaze.
Motioning Marcel to come over to my table, I made an instant decision that would have far reaching consequences. “Marcel, would you ask that young lady if she would like to join me. I think she could be in need of some company.” I was taking a fat chance, but what the hell!
“Of course, Monsieur,” Marcel said in his distinctive French accent. “Shall I bring another bottle of wine if the lady agrees?”
I could see he was sceptical of the chances of my success and so was I, but I just replied with: “Yes please, Marcel.”
While I was watching Marcel talk to the girl, she turned and looked my way. I just raised my glass with a friendly smile and hoped she would consider my invitation. When she got up with a noncommittal look, I really thought my chances were zero.
However, this changed when she picked up her coat and made her way over to my table. As she walked over, Marcel gave me a quick wink as if to say: “I’ll get the wine.”
I was out of my seat in a shot and welcomed her with: “Good evening, Mademoiselle. Thank you for consenting to join me. I fear you may be in need of some company?”
The beauty I had seen from a distance was equally impressive close up. All she said, as I pulled out a chair for her, was: “Thank you, Monsieur. I don’t normally accept invitations from total strangers. Nevertheless, there is always a first time for everything, Oui!”
Caroline, as she introduced herself, lightened up very quickly. The next few hours flew by as we talked to each other like we had been friends forever. I could see she was only too happy to unburden her thoughts and I just listened like an attentive acquaintance should.
She shocked me to the core when she said the man she was with was her husband, and the look on my face must have prompted her to offer an explanation.
“Maurice and I were married five years ago. I was young and impressionable while he was a rich widower. I enjoyed his company in many ways, not only because of the money. Unfortunately, we drifted apart over the last few years owing to the large age difference between us. What you saw tonight was one of the many arguments we’ve regularly been having.”
This sounded too close to home, because my wife and I were walking the same road. Ten years of marriage to Karen, with no children in sight, had led her to become a nagging bitch who frequently berated me over my long trips away. It had come to the stage where I could not wait to get away from her.
“Away again, David Cole! If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you had some floozy hidden away somewhere.” Those sort of put downs were common for Karen and I j
ust bit my tongue before saying nothing. It was not worth getting into an argument anyway, since I found it so unbearably soul-wrenching. I had loved that woman once, so I just kept my own counsel.
How Caroline and I ended up in bed that evening still remains a mystery. I’m sure the three bottles of claret we drank had something to do with it. That night we shared together would be the start of a relationship that would span many years.
It was like our coming together had released a pent up frustration in both of us. The sexual act was out of this world and I somehow knew that I would never come across another woman like this in my lifetime.
Our affair would last six years before things conspired against us. Ridgeley’s had by now branched out all over Europe and I was put in charge of their Paris office. Under normal circumstances I would have been over the moon, except for the fact that Karen had made it clear she was coming with me.
The night I broke the news to Caroline was like accepting the inevitable. Marcel’s was extremely quiet and after I had done the deed, Caroline looked like she had lost everything. “You do know I love you dearly,” was all she said before walking out of my life.
Over the next few months, I was like a
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