Afternoon Tea for Two Would Be Lovers

Jean enters the lobby of the Connaught Hotel and heads for the namesake bar. Her Saint Laurent heels precision-clicking on the marble, her stride restricted by the St. John tweed sheath dress. I have the saints with me. I deserve a frisson of excitement. I know John is a duplicitous bastard. His overnight disappearances point to only one conclusion.

Her step pauses as the gilt and gold of the decor, silver of the mirrored walls and the smell of beeswax and leather strike her senses.

She takes the interruption of her course to scan the room for Malcolm. She spies him sitting at a corner table. He looks up from his Financial Times, his eyes take her in and hold her gaze. As if drawn by a silken thread her feet and hips work in harmony, her catwalk poise to tantalize Malcolm as she sashays closer.

He rises, they touch cheeks, his hand on the small of her back, stroking upwards as she seats herself.

“Hello Malcolm,” Jean’s words tremble.

“Hello Jean,” he smiles, his eyes don’t leave hers. He takes her hand and brings it to his knee, clasping it as though it might escape at any moment. She leans into him, their faces close enough to feel the whispers of breath on lips.

The waiter arrives, propriety forces them to pull back. Jean notices Malcolm already has tea.

“Good afternoon, madam, may I suggest a pot of Darjeeling?”

“Yes, thank-you.”

“Very well, madam. Will you be having the cream tea with us today?”

“Malcolm, shall we?” she asked him, not sure whether she wanted the answer to be yes or no.

“Not for me, Jean, but please go ahead.”

“No, thank you, just the tea, please.” Yes, that’s the right decision, we aren’t here for actual cake eating, after all.

When the waiter has gone, Malcolm takes Jean’s hand, lightly this time but the quivering inside her starts up again. Can he feel it? He must hear the drumming of my heart, oh dear lord, why is it so difficult to breathe?

“How are you?” she asks.

“The better for seeing you, Jean, I miss you.”

“Oh, Malcolm, I miss you too. What are we going to do?”

“What can we do? Enid’s not a bad sort, you know.”

“I know, I like her too, Malcolm. How can this feel so right but be so disloyal?”

“That’s just it, Jean, Enid doesn’t deserve to be betrayed, she deserves to have a loyal husband, but I find myself thinking of you when I’m with her.”

“I think of you all the time too, Malcolm. John doesn’t notice me anymore, he has his bits of fluff instead. We haven’t kissed for years,” oh god, I sound bitter.

“Enid’s very involved with her causes, not much time left for me. I miss the cuddles. She spends all her warmth on the people she thinks need her.”

“Poor you,” she squeezes his hand.

“Yes, poor me, this sounds like the ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ cliché. I never thought I’d hear myself say it.” A pained look appears in his eyes, he tries to hide it but he knows Jean saw it.

“You still love her don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Poor you,” poor me, I thought we might have something, I mustn’t fall for a man who still loves his wife.

The waiter interrupts with the dislodging of a fake frog from his throat. They unclasp and place their hands in their respective laps. They wait for the tea ceremony to be set up.

At last, the waiter stops fussing and leaves them.

“Shall I pour?” he asks.

“That would be lovely, Malcolm,” good grief, I’d rather he asked me to go upstairs with him. “Your wife doesn’t realize what she has. If you were mine, I’d …”

“If I were yours?” Malcolm places the teapot carefully on the table and takes her hands. He pulls her to him. She lets him.

He’s going to kiss me.

“Would you like me to be yours?” he whispers, his lips tickling her ear.

He didn’t kiss me. We’re in the Connaught Jean, get a grip. Yes, yes, I would like to be yours, Malcolm. She pulls away.

“You love your wife, Malcolm. I don’t want to hurt Enid. Have you tried to tell her how you feel?”

Malcolm leans back in his chair and squares his shoulders.

“She is indifferent, I have tried everything to reignite her love for me.”

“Everything? And she hasn’t returned any of your advances?”

“Not one. I think it might be time to surrender.”

“What do you mean?” Surrender to me? Or to Enid?

“I’m going to ask for a divorce.”

“Oh,” to me, he’s going to surrender to me! No, wait, is he? He could just mean he’s going to give up on trying to save his marriage.

“Yes, I think that’s the right thing to do. You see, there’s someone else.”

“Oh, there is?” there’s someone else? Does he mean me? Please mean me.

“Yes, I think I’m in love with her. But she’s married too.”

“She is?” he does mean me, doesn’t he?

“Yes. But her husband hasn’t kissed her in years and I think she should be kissed at all times of the day and night and in all manner of places.”

“Oh!” Jean leans in and closes her eyes.

Malcolm’s lips press hers, as his hand strokes the curve of her neck.