by Jim Jennings
***
If ever there was a time when Laurence needed a sight to restore his spirit, it was now. It was lucky for him then that Brigitte was standing at the bottom of the museum steps looking astoundingly beauteous in a red summer dress that sat on the knee. She had a flower in her luscious, long hair which was at this time hanging loose down her shoulders and draped over her chest. Laurence emerged from the swivel door in his grey suit and upon seeing her, his grumpy frown altered into a rapturous smile. He almost skipped his way over to her such was his happiness to see her again. But Brigitte did not look at all happy to see him. In fact, she looked as if she was about to deliver bad news.
‘I guess this is farewell then?’ She smiled reluctantly staring deep into his eyes, eyes that were rippled with tears.
‘Farewell?’ Laurence was stunned. His heart felt like it was on a skewer. ‘I thought you wanted to come back to London with me?’ Only last night Brigitte had stated her intentions to come with Laurence to England as his guest, though he secretly hoped she would develop into something else by the end of their trip.
‘I’m afraid I cannot come with you to London. I must stay here in Paris and leave you to your adventures. As much as I like you, and believe me I do, I cannot keep up with these escapades of yours; it isn’t me. I can’t live like this. I set out to recover the box, and that’s what I’ve done,’ She never lifted her eyes off the rain soaked pavement as she delivered her words, words which were like an epitaph to their relationship. Laurence tried to reason with her, tried to tell her that this was just a one-off occurrence but words failed to arrive at his lips. He placed his arm gingerly on hers in desperation and she closed her eyes. She warmed to his touch but then slipped away, stepping backwards to the edge of the curb, where Laurence now noticed a taxi was ready and waiting, the engine running impatiently. Brigitte’s oval lips formed a cruel circle, ‘But I know in my heart that I will see you again. I do not believe it was accident that we met. You could say the Gods themselves fated it to happen. But for now at least, it is over. The last few days have been so fast…’ Brigitte’s alluring eyes were full of tears.
Right on cue, a flood of rain fell from the heavens and Laurence could not tell whether the water that fell between him and his beloved was rain or tears. He stroked Brigitte’s cheek and smiled wryly before saying, ‘Look, don’t beat yourself up.’ At the recollection that these were the very words she had first said to Laurence, Brigitte’s skin seemed to shine and fill with warmth. She smiled now, and Laurence took a mental photograph for her sadness seemed only to add to her beauty, and she had never looked more wondrous than in this heart-wrenching moment.
‘Take care of yourself, Laurence. I’ll be thinking of you always, worrying about you.’ Laurence took hold of her right hip, placing his right hand round the small of her back and pulled her close to him. They observed each other’s faces one last time and closed their eyes. Laurence leant in and put his lips against hers tenderly. It was perfect, it was short, but it was also farewell. Like a sad puppy left by its master at home; he sees the master going but can do nothing to prevent it, and is forced to watch and not to weep, so too did Laurence try and keep his own tears at bay as Brigitte descended into her taxi and out of Laurence’s life. The rain fell in increased hostility, almost mocking his sorrow. With his head bowed in resignation, his heart well and truly in the dumps and his feet as heavy as lead, he turned and left.
***
He was tired, oh so very tired. Laurence Swift sat in a melancholy state in the first class lounge of British Airways flight BA0145 to Heathrow from Paris and reflected on his journey. The trip had given him what he had always wanted; adventure, romance, excitement and the chance to be a hero, the hero. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dissatisfaction and unhappiness that draped itself over him like a long trench-coat. It was all over now and he would slip back into the shadows of nothingness. From zero, to hero, and back down to zero. He had won the Tour de France, saved civilization from annihilation, gained an immense fortune, met a whole host of exciting people, fallen in love and for once had had it requited, even though he had only a broken heart to show for it. Laurence looked around him; none of these people would ever know what he had done, or who he was, and even if they told him, they would never believe him. He thought about all he had done and put aside his feelings of sadness and disappointment. After all, he had saved the world, and that was something to be proud of. But what was he to do next? He picked up a travel magazine that advertised a holiday to Peru on its front cover.
***
After a short flight, Laurence flicked the light switch of his hotel room and, removing his blazer, got into bed.
The phone rang.
The End
