Dearest Kit

Chapter Nine

Hi there! So I'm not totally sure how many people are still reading this, but for those who are, here's the chapter you've probably been waiting for! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think. 

Thanks, 

Lily x

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   The tube journey from the station to the restaurant was the hardest, because it gave me time to think about what was about to happen. I was sure that I was making a mistake, that he wouldn’t like the way I looked, or he would have changed his mind and wouldn’t be waiting there for me at all. I hoped he was, I wanted more than anything to feel his arms around me, and after all our weeks of emailing each other, I felt like I deserved it. We knew each other better than anyone else, we needed each other. 

   The intercom called out that the next stop was Green Park and I let go of the pole I had been gripping onto, wiping my hands on my trousers and moving towards the doors. The train pulled up to the platform and I struggled to keep my balance before the doors pulled apart. Crowds piled out of the small carriage and headed towards the escalators in one large wave. I followed the crowd and swiped my oyster card over the barriers, wriggling through them and emerging out onto the busy street. It was spitting with rain and I swiftly pulled an umbrella from my bag, opening it out over my head to avoid any makeup malfunctions. I could feel my heart quivering in my chest. 

   I knew my way around London pretty well, and I was aware of just how easy it was to get to The Wolseley from the tube station. I just had to follow Piccadilly down until I passed the restaurant on my right, which, I was sure, would have a rather distinctive front. I had been there for breakfast a few times with my family, but I could not remember it’s exact appearance. 

   The streets were grey, the concrete and the cloud and the fumes making everything look sad and drab. I didn’t mind it so much, this kind of weather, I had become used to it after all the years of living in England. It made me feel safe and at home, walking amongst all these strangers, brushing past these faceless, nameless people. I felt anonymous. 

   I reached the restaurant in less than ten minutes, moving through the busy city with broad strides. There was a doorman there to give me a hand with the umbrella and open up the front doors for me. I left him with the soggy thing and slipped inside, feeling the warmth wrap around me, beginning to thaw me out. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get rid of the damp, caused by the drizzle. 

   “Can I take your coat, ma’am?” A waiter in a slick, black suit hurried forward, his arms outstretched. I was a little taken a back but nodded, smiling at him as he helped to pull the heavy, wool overcoat gently from my shoulders. It was only then that I had a chance to take in the restaurant’s decor. 

   The floor was made up of an arrangement of black and white tiles, put together in an art deco, geometric pattern. There were large black, chandeliers hanging from the tall, domed ceiling, which in turn, was supported by sturdy, black pillars. The whole thing looked like something from an old black and white film, or an Agatha Christie novel, some kind of Parisian tearoom from the 1930s. There were tables set up throughout the large hall-like room, as well as a more private area raised on a balcony at the far back. I loved it, and he knew I would love it, that’s why we were meeting here. 

   The maitre die was watching me with a strange curiosity, waiting for me to come forward and ask to be seated. I took a deep breath, fighting against the urge to look out around the restaurant until I saw his face, fighting the urge to forget all this and run away, back to the station, back in time. I walked up to the formally dressed woman standing at the front of the venue, holding my shoulders back so my long hair flowed past my shoulder blades.