The Connoisseur

Chapter 9 - Telling Tales

It didn’t come easily.  After showering and dressing she didn’t have the answers.  The heating in her small room was too much, and it was a beautiful winter’s day outside, bright and bleak all at once.  The cold air would clear her head.

After dodging Julie and escaping the house, she walked to the nearby park and found herself a bench.  Sometimes, when she needed to retreat, she would go to the botanical gardens, full of secret paths and exotic trees.  This park was very different: flat, muddy, and close to the noisy road.  Children cheered and whooped as they played on the rusting swings close to her, and a football match was taking place on the other side of the field.  Most of the men were a little worse for wear around the waist.  Good for them, thought Sophia, reminding herself to go for a run soon.

She let the chill creep into her coat sleeves and collar, and she thought.  Where could Alexander have taken her?  It had to be somewhere classy, somewhere with a free bar.  Perhaps a fancy opening or a private event.  But it couldn’t be here in Crossham; the town was too small to hide an event like that, and Julie would go sniffing for details.

The story formed in Sophia’s head: Alexander had taken her to a private opening at a gallery in the city.  It was very him.  Of course, it wasn’t the sort of event to be advertised openly on the web; that would nip Julie’s investigations in the bud.  The rest she would bluff.  Easy.

As she left her bench and walked from the park, a quiet voice in her head wondered how easy it would be for the next date, and any more after that – but then her head filled with images from the past, places they might go, wonders they might see, and she laughed aloud, spinning on the spot when no one was looking.

*

“Kim was so right,” said Julie, filling her flatbread with more shawarma and piling on the hummus.  “It’s like a kebab, but respectable.”

“And you can drink wine with it,” said Roz.

“Jules drinks wine with all her kebabs,” said Adam.  “I’ve seen you, coming out of Abrakebaber at three in the morning with a doner in one hand and a fresh bottle in the other.  I think they have a supply of pinot grigio for her behind the counter.”

“One cache at every takeaway,” said Julie.  “You’ve rumbled me.”

Sophia smiled.  She and her friends were eating together at San Polo’s, the town’s new Lebanese restaurant, to celebrate their run at the theatre and the end of the autumn term.  The food was wonderful, the light spices sizzling in the smell of the restaurant and just tickling the tongue when she ate, but she couldn’t help feeling that something was missing.  It wasn’t the flavour, the atmosphere, or the company.

“Sophe?”

Sophia snapped around, smiling at Roz.  “Sorry.  Miles away.”

“You okay?” said Adam.  “Nothing wrong with yours, is there?”

“Oh no, the food’s fantastic.  I’m just...you know.”  She shrugged.  “End of term, end of the run.  All that.”

“It was a great run,” said Roz.  “You all three were fantastic.  I mean that.  So don’t be too downhearted.”

Sophia smiled at her.  “Thanks Roz.”

“It’ll probably be the last time we’ll star in anything here,” said Julie.  “We should let the undergrads have their fun with the leads.”

“You two can be the grand old dames of the company,” said Adam.  “Sitting in the wings with your Oscars, bossing the leads around.”

“I hope not,” said Sophia.