Dinner date with a difference

Early on Thursday morning, Catherine popped into the deli for her usual coffee and croissant. She seemed a little subdued, Philip thought.

“Everything alright?”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, a little too eagerly. “Just got a lot to finish before tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s your last day at the museum?”

“Yes. I don’t need to be there in person anymore and, well, I’m going home for Christmas.”

Nodding mutely, Philip turned to the coffee machine to make her latte. Now or never. The thought of not seeing her face every morning, as he had every morning for the past two weeks, eagerly anticipating her reappearance in the late afternoon, when she would call in for a bite to eat and they would chat about her work at the Dickens museum, was too much to bear. Somehow, the days would be even emptier and lonelier than before.

He placed her coffee cup on the counter but, instead of passing it to her, held onto it like an anchor. “Catherine...” he began. Above his black fabric face mask, his deep brown eyes searched hers. “Um... are you free tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. After closing. I… thought we could have more of a chat. Sit down and eat together maybe.”

“Here? Just the two of us?”

“Yes. At separate tables, of course. It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything...” Letting go of the cup, he stood back, embarrassed.

“Don’t be silly, I’d love to, Philip.” Her hazel eyes were sparkling brightly.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“See you about six, then?”

“I’ll look forward to it. Bye.” And she trotted down the High Street with a spring in her step.

***

Philip was rushed off his feet all day, only just managing to get everything cleared up by six o’clock. Catherine appeared at six on the dot, cheeks rosy with the cold, silky, light brown curls just dusting the tops of her shoulders, subtle dusky eyeshadow enhancing her natural beauty. She took off her coat, hanging it on the back of the chair. How Philip wished he could have helped her remove it and hang it up, as he would have done in normal times. To his surprise and delight, she was wearing a silvery sweater dress in a thinner fabric than usual, V-neck rather than her usual all-covering polo neck, giving him more than a glimpse of her delicate neck, collarbone and cleavage.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, blushing charmingly, “I thought I’d dress up a little, I’ve been wearing the same clothes for weeks you see, and I don’t really have anything that smart with me, but I found this dress, although it’s a bit thin really, it’s freezing out there, my feet are like blocks of ice...” Oh for goodness sake, Catherine, she thought, will you stop rabbiting on like a prize idiot.

But he wasn’t really listening. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from her. “Catherine,” he laughed shyly, “I don’t mind at all. You look... lovely.” Understatement of the year perhaps, but to express what he was actually feeling at that precise moment and the effect she was having on his affection-starved body might have alarmed her a little.

“Thank you,” she said simply, and sat down at the table, removing her mask as she did so and smiling up at him. Her lips were painted a deep red and Philip had an overwhelming urge to stride across the gap dividing them, clasp her head in his hands and kiss those lips until all the lipstick had faded to a mere trace, until their mouths were numb from passion. But he couldn’t.

“Sorry,” he said, untying his crisp white apron and running his hands through his mop of thick, dark hair, “I’m not dressed up at all. We’ve been so busy today. I’ll just go out the back and freshen up. Would you like a drink? Wine maybe?”

“Yes please.”

A short while later, he emerged from the kitchen, bearing a selection of tapas. He placed the food on the two tables, facing each other at opposite ends of the long window, dimmed the lights and lit the tea candles. Unscrewing the cap on a bottle of Saint-Émilion Merlot, he slowly poured them both a glass, the velvety red liquid swirling sensually down the sides of the goblet. Turning the CLOSED sign around, he leaned back against the door and glanced across at her, excruciatingly nervous all of a sudden.

“Aren’t you going to sit down and eat?” she laughed, admiring his simple dark jeans and chunky black sweater, which showed off his trim figure to perfection.

“Sure.” The sound of his chair scraping against the wooden floor was the only noise cutting through the awkward silence between them. How Catherine wished she could just go over to him, sit on his lap, put her arms around him and tell him how delighted she was to be here, that she’d thought about nothing else all day, that the talking could wait, they could just hold each other and revel in the nearness of each other’s warm bodies, knowing that they both felt the same way, that nothing else mattered. But words would have to be spoken instead.

“Philip,” she giggled, “aren’t you going to take your mask off?”

“Oh yes, of course,” he laughed and, finally, the mask slipped. He raised his eyes to meet Catherine’s and, for the first time in two weeks, she took in his proud, straight nose, his strong, stubbly jawline and one of the most sensuous pairs of lips she had ever seen, now breaking into a shy smile, directed solely at her. For a moment she was speechless, almost tearful.

“What’s up?” he asked. “Not too much of an ogre, am I?”

“An ogre? Hardly. Quite the opposite.” Her voice had taken on a soft, purry tone and Philip turned to meet her appraising gaze. She blushed at the intensity of his stare.

For a moment, neither spoke, unable to break eye contact. “Come on, let’s eat,” he said. “Tell me some more about yourself.”

She shook her head. “You know lots about me. Tell me about all the places you’ve been to, all the mountains you’ve climbed.”

As they ate, Philip told her how, after university, unable to decide on a career and itching to see the world, he’d headed off to the Alps to work in a hotel during the skiing season and rapidly developed a deep, enduring love for the mountains. He spent the next few years travelling all over the world, conquering every peak possible – from Mont Blanc to Kilimanjaro, the Himalayas and as far as the Peruvian Andes. She listened in amazement as he regaled her with tales of his incredible exploits and near-death experiences.

“Wow! How did you fund all this?”

“Oh, we worked our way round the world – in hotels, as ski instructors or mountain guides,” he said casually, sipping his wine, savouring the sharp fruitiness on his tongue and the deeply relaxing sensation spreading through his body.

“We?”

“Yeah. I mean Liz. We met in Peru one summer and... well, we were together for about five years. She’s a real daredevil. Crazier than me actually.”

“Oh I see,” she said, looking down at her plate. “This is delicious by the way.”

“We split up over a year ago, Catherine,” he added, noticing her frown. “We’re still friends, but to be honest, the only thing we had in common was the adventure stuff. Half the time we were on different continents anyway. Last winter she phoned me from Chamonix – I was in Australia at the time, scuba diving – and told me she’d met someone else, a ski instructor called Julien. French guy.”

“Were you upset?” She studied his face in the dim candlelight.

“For about ten minutes,” he grinned. “It had been on the cards for a while.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs. “When the pandemic started, she came back to London, to be near her family. So, ironically, we ended up in lockdown together. That’s a bundle of fun, I can tell you, spending lockdown with your ex. When my sister became ill and needed someone to run the café, I was very glad to get away.”

Catherine was silent for a while, tracing patterns on the tablecloth with her finger. “I split up with my boyfriend during lockdown as well. Tristan.” Philip let out a barely audible sigh of relief.

“He’s a graduate student like me, medieval literature. Last spring, he asked me to move in with him so that we could still see each other, but I realised I couldn’t think of anything worse.” She giggled. “Terrible of me, wasn’t it?”

“Well, perhaps it was for the best,” smiled Philip. “So you went home to your parents’ farm?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward, a small smile playing on her lips. “I have an embarrassing confession to make. Two actually.”

“Go on.”

“First, I’m scared of heights.” He smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Secondly, I’ve hardly ever been abroad. France once or twice, a week in Spain.” She pondered. “Oh, I went to Wales once.”

He laughed. “That doesn’t count.”

She raised her hands in the air. “Well, I’m a country bumpkin. We never went on holiday as a child, we just ran around the farm all summer. And then I’ve been too busy reading books.”

“And I haven’t read enough,” he countered.

“We don’t really have that much in common, do we?” she said quietly, laying down her fork.

He regarded her with affection. “Do you think that really matters? We both went out with people who shared our interests and it didn’t exactly work, did it?”

Catherine’s eyes met his. “Is that what you want? To go out with me?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more. But it’s not exactly good timing, is it?”

“No,” she said sadly. “It wouldn’t be right to put my family at risk, especially with this new variant they keep talking about.”

“I understand. But we can keep in touch, can’t we? Swap phone numbers? Perhaps we’ll be able to meet up in the spring, once the restrictions are lifted.”

“I’d like that.”

***

They walked the length of the High Street very slowly, reluctant for this evening to ever end but, far too soon, they found themselves in front of the building where Catherine had been staying for the past two weeks. They turned to face each other in the chilly gloom. “Take off your mask,” she said, “let me see you one last time.”

“Okay. And you.”

They stood some distance apart, under the flickering beam of the old-fashioned lamplight, drinking in each other’s features, imprinting them in their memory.

“Will you come and say goodbye tomorrow, before you go?”

“No.” Her voice was breaking. “I think it’s better like this. Don’t you?”

“None of it’s better. None of it. Catherine, I...” He exhaled. “I really, really want to kiss you. Just once.”

“Close your eyes and imagine you’re kissing me. I’ll do the same. Hold my hands.”

Gloved fingers entwined, they both shut their eyes tight. No sound could be heard except the distant roar of traffic and the screech of foxes. Eventually, she broke the silence.

“Well? Is it good?”

“It’s bloody amazing.”

She giggled. “It is, isn’t it? Bit longer?”

“Yes please.” Another minute passed.

“Mmm, that was nice,” she smiled, opening her eyes. “I shall remember that.”

She buried her head against his chest, clutching onto his coat. He let out a deep sigh, softly caressing her curls. Suddenly, she reached up on tiptoes and fleetingly brushed her lips against his. “Goodnight,” she cried, hurrying inside.

He stood in the darkened street, waiting until she was up in her room, then turned to wave to her in the window before making his way home, wondering if he would ever see her again.

**********