constantly. The footpaths restricted, pedestrians were compelled to traverse a narrow walkway. Workmen stood idly in their bright yellow jackets and their impossibly small safety helmets insecurely perched on their heads, constantly waiting for concrete to dry. Big green concrete conveyers made their ponderous way through the narrow streets forcing the chaos to escalate further. Disgruntled people threaded their way recklessly between cars and buses reduced to a one lane crawl.
Street smells assaulted his nostrils, delicate mists of perfume from passersby; stale sweat from bodies not masked with cologne and the ever pervading stench of diesel and exhaust fumes.
His walk was accompanied by the raucous tattoo of jackhammers and vehicle horns, their blasts painful to the ears. Thankfully he pushed open the door of The Banyan Tree restaurant. He stepped from the strident street sounds into the subdued atmosphere of the well-ordered interior. Scarcely any outside noise penetrated and he felt the quiet ambience enfold him as a warm dry towel enfolds a frozen shivering swimmer.
The busy lunchtime rush was almost over and he observed several empty tables for him to make his choice. This restaurant was sheer bliss, an oasis of sanity and well-run efficiency. He selected a small discreet table set for two in the least crowded area. He sat on one chair with a sigh of relief and placed his briefcase on the other. It was a ploy he had used many times to prevent anyone sitting at his table when he wanted to be alone.
He loved his job, keeping up to the mark and ahead of it when he could. He revelled in the constant challenge of trying to anticipate the futures market. The triumph he felt when his predictions were proved correct more times than not. He was constantly watching unpredictable world market figures fluctuate; no two days or two weeks ever brought the same results.
As he leaned back, he felt his body start to unwind and relax as the taut muscles one by one began to ease. Making a conscious effort he unclenched his hands from the menu. Madeleine, the waitress, appeared. She knew Ryan and instinctively recognised when he was in a talking mood and if he wasn’t, kept her comments to a minimum. He ordered a drink and when it arrived he held the sides of the ice-cold glass. He felt it equalise his temperature, dissipating the feeling of being a string in a harp ready to snap if touched.
“Thanks, Madeline I needed that today,” he nodded his head at the glass. She gave him her brightest smile. “My absolute pleasure,” she trilled.
He indicated he was not in a hurry as he placed his order, a well-done steak with tossed green salad. He sat back and idly surveyed the other diners.
A sprinkling of business men; it was easy to spot those who were trying to clinch a deal. The procurer leaned forward eagerly, sometimes with arms on the table, as if by sheer will power he would pin the other person in one spot until he was able to obtain their compliance.
The client, urbane, smiling, sat well back in his chair, hands playing with his drink. He could have been sitting by the side of a pool watching the lovelies strut past. The air of subtle indifference took years to master.
Ryan’s gaze wandered further to a group of four women. Obviously high powered achievers he guessed to be able to lunch at The Banyan Tree. Two of the older women were immaculately coiffed to a tossed casual look. One of the other women, slightly younger, spent most of the time running her fingers through her hair endlessly. It was distracting, not at all restful and Ryan remembered several women he had wined and dined who had the same annoying habit. The fourth woman, not much more than a girl really, sat directly opposite him.
It was her stillness and her look of intense concentration that first made him aware of her. Her face turned away from him as she kept her gaze fixed intently upon the older woman who was speaking.
As Ryan watched she turned her head in his direction. For a moment he forgot to breathe. He literally felt a jolt in his stomach. The face he gazed upon was a vision of perfection. Her features beautifully proportioned. Smooth fine eyebrows which he thought from the distance could have been brown. Huge expressive eyes, he wished that he could see their colour. Well-defined cheekbones reminding him of lovely drapes framing a laughing mouth; Ryan could not believe that he was describing her lips to himself as “smiley lips”.
He was aware of his own mouth softening as he felt absurdly like laughing. From where he sat her mouth seemed to be forever beginning a smile.
He wished he had chosen a table nearer to the women, wished he had spotted them earlier. If he moved now he would look ridiculous. The restaurant was discreetly but adequately lit for dining. It was not helpful if one wanted to know the colour of the young woman’s hair. It looked dark and thick. Lustrous was the word that leapt into his mind. He smiled; he was beginning to think like a television commercial for shampoo. Her hair was caught up on one side with a kind of comb. Quite an old fashioned style, simple in a way compared to the other women seated at the table.
It suited her, as did her lace blouse. Her hair shone with good health and Ryan wondered how it smelt. He was sure it would be something like cinnamon or apples, he was equally sure it would not be highly perfumed.
There was something about her that drew his gaze again and again. The words inner beauty came to mind. But it was more than that; it was her complete absence of contrivance.
Madeleine came with his lunch; he was not aware of it until the aroma from the steak drifted up toward his face and reminded him that he was hungry.
He had brought some notes to check whilst he was waiting for lunch to be served and he propped them up against the small vase in the centre of the table. That way he could observe the girl over the top of the notes without being blatantly obvious.
She didn’t appear to talk a great deal, more of a listener he concluded. She gazed intently at her companions as they continued to speak and wave their hands to give meaning to their conversations.
Unexpectedly she looked between the women and met his gaze fully. Ryan knew he should have looked away, dropped his gaze as in a diner’s discretion.
A piercing shaft of connection shot between them. It was as if they were the only two people in the room. Ryan sat mesmerized unable to look away, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. His hand poised in the air with a cube of steak speared onto his fork. It felt as if minutes passed, he was saved as the food fell with a splash into the remnants of his drink. It distracted him and was glad she had not seen the incident happen behind the propped up notes.
He spent the rest of his lunchtime wondering how he could approach the other table. Ryan hadn’t had this problem before; he could usually come up with an appropriate pick –up line. He just didn’t want to be inappropriate; contacting the young woman had become paramount. He mulled over. “Would you like a drink?”
That was so bad it made him smile.
What about, “Hello ladies, you look as if you are celebrating, enjoy a champagne on me!” Even worse.
He thought about asking Madeleine if she knew the group, but there had been enough subtle hints from the attractive waitress for him to be aware of her personal interest in him; therefore that was out of the question. Besides he liked the restaurant and didn’t want any complications.
The girl captivated him with the way she was eating spaghetti, daintily, winding the long slippery strands around her fork before placing them in her mouth. Ryan who fancied himself as somewhat of a chef, had visions of her sitting in his dining room eating spaghetti he had made.
He looked up again to find her gaze on him. He smiled at her and then her mouth curved into a smile and she looked down. Had he imagined a faint blushing? He was too far away to see properly.
