Lilian Peake - Stranger Passing By

‘Hi,’ a plump blonde young woman said to her reflection. ‘You new here?’

Crystal answered the familiar question.

‘That all?’ The young woman’s eyes dwelt enviously on Crystal’s heart-shaped face. ‘Wish I had your complexion. And your looks. They’re just great. Your hairstyle suits your face. It’s what’s called oval, isn’t it? And there’s nothing wrong with your nose at all.’ Ruefully she rubbed her own, which had a tiny turned-up tip. ‘In fact,’ she studied Crystal enviously, ‘everything in your face goes with everything else, if you know what I mean. Lucky you. Not like me. My nose is the wrong shape for my cheekbones, and my chin’s kind of quarrelled with my mouth.’

‘Thanks a lot for the compliments,’ Crystal answered, ‘but you look more than OK to me too.’

‘I do?’ The girl looked down at herself and sighed. ‘I keep dieting, but my extra inches must love me—they just won’t leave me,’ she tossed over her shoulder as she left. ‘My name’s Shirley, by the way, Shirley Brownley. What’s yours?’ Crystal told her. ‘Crystal—nice.’

Following her out, Crystal found herself in a secluded corner of a lobby that led back into the ballroom. The whole tempo of the evening had, it seemed from her quick glance into it, speeded up.

The music had evolved from the soothing to the lively, and was plainly designed to bring couples on to the floor. A glimpse of the roving multicoloured beams that swung across then alighted on the gyrating dancers told Crystal that it had succeeded.

Feeling the extraordinary need to halt in her tracks, Crystal glanced around. Something, she felt with a curious shiver, was tugging at her, preventing her from joining the dancers. Her eyes were ensnared by two others, glinting pin-points of reflected light, owned, she saw, by a man who leant against a trellis-work threaded through with leafy sprays from a climbing plant.

On its way to his mouth, wrapped hygienically in a paper napkin, was a roast chicken leg, while beside him on a ledge was a pile of the same delicacy. Next to that was a partly empty bottle and a glass containing wine.

Crystal was only half aware of the man’s repast, which he was plainly enjoying, since most of her attention was riveted on the man himself. He was tall and broad and business-suited, a faintly mocking smile highlighting a handsome, if slightly arrogant face.

She found herself moving towards him as if he were playing a line and she was caught by the bait on the end. Little by little, he reeled her in. This can’t be happening to me, she thought, finding it quite impossible to free herself from his snare.

A few paces distant, she found herself pausing.

‘Yes?’ she heard herself whisper.

For heaven’s sake, her rational self lectured, you’ve never seen him before. What are you doing, talking to a complete stranger, and a man at that, when he hasn’t spoken a word to you?

He smiled, fully this time, and Crystal’s heart did a kangaroo leap. Holding her eyes, he reached for the plate of chicken drumsticks and held them out. She shook her head, so he felt behind him for another plate, of savouries this time, offering these to her.

‘I—I’ve eaten, thanks,’ she managed, her mouth peculiarly dry. The plate remained extended. They looked so inviting, those savouries, that the appetite she had scarcely indulged during dinner because of thinking about her ‘ordeal’ to come became rekindled, and she accepted one with a murmured, ‘Thank you, but—’

But what? she asked herself. He hadn’t so far uttered a word. She had done all the talking. Go back to the ballroom, her reason urged as she consumed the savoury. ‘Th-thanks,’ she added as he thoughtfully passed over a paper napkin. Extract yourself from this incredible situation and pretend it never happened, her reason was commanding, badgering her mercilessly.

‘Have another,’ the man offered, adding as she hesitated, ‘go on, spoil yourself.’ Like a lightning flash speeded up, his glance raked her, then was gone. ‘You have no need to worry about surplus weight.’

He had spoken at last! As if she had passed control of her reflexes over to the stranger, she took another, and he smiled, and once again she perceived that mockery was not far away.

‘Didn’t they feed you properly at dinner? You’ll have to complain to the management.’

‘I just wasn’t hungry.’ She frowned. ‘Weren’t you there?’

‘I arrived too late. I’ve just flown in from North America—Canada, to be exact.’

‘Ornamental You actually paid for you to take a trip to North America? I didn’t think they were that generous—or so I’ve heard.’

‘Excuse me.’ He selected another drumstick with a fresh paper napkin, and proceeded to demolish it with a series of quick bites. ‘I don’t eat airline food,’ he added between mouthfuls, afterwards adding a few savouries for good measure.

‘Which means you must be starving!’ she exclaimed.

His eyes did another quick, almost imperceptible reconnaissance of her person. ‘I am. And you are—?’

‘Crystal Rose.’ A quirk of his eyebrow forced her on to the defensive. ‘I have romantic parents.’

He laughed, and again Crystal’s heart leapt. Who was this man that he could affect her so much?

Taking a handful of paper napkins, he cleaned his fingers and picked up his glass. Then he put it down. A tray of drinks passed within sight. ‘You’re not a teetotaller?’ he asked. As Crystal shook her head he beckoned to the waitress. ‘Drink with me, Miss Rose,’ he said softly, lifting himself upright and moving towards her. With his glass he touched hers. ‘To the past. And to the future.’ He touched hers again. ‘May the two never meet.’

The wine was the same as that which she had drunk during the dinner, but it had miraculously transformed itself into nectar.

‘What did your toast mean?’ she heard herself asking as the wine decanted itself to every part of her. She finished every drop.

He put down his empty glass, taking hers. ‘Dance with me, Miss Rose.’

It was more an order than a question. ‘But I—’ ‘Don’t know you,’ she almost said, then contradicted her reason. I’ve known him all my life , she told it reproachfully.

Taking her hand, he led her into the ballroom and on to the dance-floor. The music had softened in quality, insinuating itself into the limbs, making them languid and flowing, the mind hazy. Yet Crystal found to her consternation that her heart was hammering, her skin jumping at the stranger’s touch.

The lights swooped and selected, rested, then moved on. ‘Why—?’ she began, her throat oddly parched. ‘Where—?’ She tried again. ‘Who—?’

His mouth took the law into its own possession, descending on hers, compressing, demanding, caressing, cutting off the question and momentarily robbing Crystal of breath.

Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Had there been a fleeting message in his dark gaze? Or something in his expression? Could it, she wondered, have been her subconscious mind linking with his, divining and intermingling with the thoughts that his contained? Or had it been someone passing and whispering to her? She didn’t know, but from somewhere came the words, He’s out of your reach... Crystal broke contact and looked around. There was no one near them.

‘You shouldn’t—’ she began, but those lips were back, tasting faintly of wine, playing with hers until they parted on an admonishing gasp, the arms around her having slipped to her waist. It was no use, she told herself helplessly, she was caught in this stranger’s magnetic field—hadn’t he used it to draw her to him?—and there seemed to be no way in which she could escape.