He raised the ceramic coffee cup to his lips, took a tiny sip and returned it to the table. His eyes never left the piece of literature he was keenly studying. A small book, with a worn black leather cover adorning it, was the epicenter of his attention.
In that dingy cafe, such a practice was not out of the social norm. Rickety chairs and small round coffee tables peppered the dust-hued tiled floor. The lighting fixtures were sparse and installed too far apart to provide any significant illumination. The lack of central air conditioning was compromised by a few old fashioned ceiling fans. The murmur of conversation and tinkling of the coffee machines with a backdrop of smooth jazz music, completed the atmosphere. The ambiance, however, did not reflect the austerity measures that the proprietor had resorted to. There was an air of vintage quality within this establishment. Some would say that it possessed a certain degree of class and allure to those who wished to escape the uniformity and lack of tradition of international coffee houses.However, multitudes of patrons came, dined and left while our curious reader pondered on, perusing his tome.
A small smile would occasionally cross his lips. At this juncture he would bend forward, grasp the silver adorned pen lying on the table before him and scribble a little snippet into the blank margins of his black book.
The pen itself was adorned with an intricate design which snaked its way from tip to tip. Under the light of the window this embroidery on the pen would come alive, twisting in the sun.
The man himself appeared to be young of age and sat with quite a relaxed posture. He was dressed in a milky cotton formal shirt on top of which he wore a dark waistcoat inlaid with almost invisible stripes. A stylish yet modest time-piece decorated his wrist while a simple gold band, almost unnoticeable rested on his left ring finger. Bronze rimless spectacles perched on the tip of his well-proportioned nose.
His auburn hair fell to just above his shoulders and there was a hint of five o'clock shadow on his visage. His unwrinkled brow along with his attire and aura suggested a hint of aristocracy.
Soon after, the antique hanging doorbell chimed as the door swung inwards.
Silhouetted by the glare of the bright day outside, stood a delicate figure. She was garbed in a beige summer's coat which ended just above her knees. The border of a plaid black skirt was visible below the hem of the jacket and her cream-skinned legs ended in a pair of posh, red stilettos.
The wide collar of the obviously branded coat showed a crisp white blouse with the top few buttons artistically undone.
Meticulous make-up complete with rosy lipstick and large, dark sunglasses, adorned her fair face. Her rich brunette hair fell down in long curls halfway across her back. A sun-bonnet with a wide brim and laced with velvet black ribbons, perched on her head.
Her entire image conveyed a sense of haute-couture and vogue to the beholder.
She surveyed the dingy establishment, eyes hidden behind tinted glass, until her gaze fell upon the well-dressed gentleman intent upon his reading.
A wry smile crossed her ruby lips as she made her way towards his table, heels cackling on the wood-tiled floor with every poised step she took.
The atmosphere of the cafe was saturated with her perfume. Other patrons turned second glances at this exquisite being, amazed that such perfection walked among them.
Upon reaching her destination, she stood at the edge of his table, magnificent handbag dangling loosely from her arm, while the slightly less auspiciously dressed man obliviously continued perusing his interest.
The woman, with the same smile playing on her lips, waited for the man to realize her presence. The diamond studs in her ears danced in the light from the window as the reflection of the man's back shone off her glasses.
The man came to a certain passage in his little black book, at which he replaced the black ribbon book-marker and delicately shut the volume.
He pulled the spectacles of his nose and began wiping the lens with an embroidered handkerchief which he had plucked from the breast pocket of his waistcoat.
Satisfied, he replaced the glasses on his visage and with a sigh of content turned to face his visitor, sporting even more of an exuberant smile.
''Darling-'' he began.
''Don't 'darling' me, you pretentious sleaze!'' the woman exclaimed good-naturedly, cutting him off.
Without waiting for permission, she pulled out the chair facing him and sat down with legs curled feministically to the side. She removed her bonnet and sat it down on the table between them, lovingly ran her fingers through her locks and leaned forward, meeting the eyes of her acquaintance.
''Alice,'' the man began again.
''Don't. Just don't,'' she warned him.
The man drew an exasperated sigh and slumped back into his seat. He studied the pretty face of his guest and gestured for her to continue.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a manila folder which she carefully placed on the desk as if the contents of the plain-looking envelop were far more precious than they appeared.
The man leaned forward, hitching up his glasses further back up his nose and with the same delicate touch, pulled the folder closer towards him.
The cardboard-brown cover of the envelop was bare except for a coat-of-arms splayed across the center, which was now under deep scrutiny by the bespectacled man.
''Florence. Early 15th century,'' he observed.
The woman merely smiled and signalled the barista for service.
''Yes madam?'' the barista chimed upon reaching their table.
''Would you please get me an Americano dear?'' the woman recited her order while flashing a brilliant smile at the young girl server.
''Certainly miss!'' she bubbled. ''Anything for you, sir?'' she said, turning towards him.
The man, engrossed in his study, was all but oblivious to the world, apart from the design before him.
''Don't mind him. Umm, how about an Irish Cappuccino and, ah! Blueberry Waffles! Is that alright with you 'darling'?'' the woman said, sarcastically slurring the last word.
The man just gestured impatiently, eyes still riveted to the Florentine crest.
''That will be all dear,'' the woman continued sweetly.
The giggling barista walked away to fulfill their order.
The man finally sat up, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a cigarette. After a moment of contemplation with furrowed brow and eyes still glued to the paper, he placed the cigarette between his lips.
''Didn't you quit that obscene habit?'' the woman chided, returning to her original demeanour.
''I did,'' he said while rummaging his pockets for a light. ''Only on special occasions.'' Finding a match, he struck it against the table and held the flame to the exposed tobacco, letting it smolder.
''Since you were carrying that fag with you, I guess this meeting must be quite the occasion then,'' she intoned in honeyed voice.
The man cocked an eyebrow in her direction as he continued to puff. After a particularly long drag, he sighed resignedly, exhaling the pent up smoke of his exotic cigarette.
''Can we not do this right now?'' He gestured at the envelop. ''Especially when we just found the final piece.''
She pulled off her glasses and with eyes wide in shock she whispered, ''Is this really it? I wasn't sure, I thought it was just another copy of the manuscript we already have...''
''I'm positive,'' he whispered back, voice dripping with excitement.
A moment lapsed with each lost in his or her thoughts.
Alice broke the silence.
''Well?''
''Well what?''
''Aren't you going to open it?''
The man's face transformed into a mask of incredulity.
''Here? Alice, have you lost your mind?!'' he exclaimed, straining to keep the emotion out of his tone but ultimately failing to.
Startled, Alice stammered out an apology and lowered her gaze in embarrassment. She grasped the envelope without further ado and placed it within the confines of her bag with the utmost delicate touch.
Witnessing her predicament, the man relented and reached out to take her hands in his own.
''Alice ... I'm sorry, I forgot myself-''
''Here's your coffee and waffles sir! Will that be all?'' the waitress broke in, serving their table, oblivious to the exchange she had just interrupted.
''Yes, thank you,'' Alice replied congenially.
The man withdrew his hands from hers and raised the fresh cup of coffee to his lips, apologetic eyes still aimed at her.
Alice chuckled.
''James, it's alright! I forgive you. I know what you have been going through...''
A smile of relief engulfed the countenance of the well-dressed man she called James.
''Tell you what: How about we don't talk about this for the rest of the breakfast.'' He gestured at the envelop.
''Sounds good to me.''
James pulled the plate of waffles to him and helped himself to a serving.
''Where were you, Alice?'' he began rather suddenly.
Alice did not reply at once. She took measured sips of her hot beverage, contemplating an adequate answer.
Finally she replied, ''I was away.''
The silence once again began to grow. Interrupted only by the occasional clatter of cutlery or the sip of coffee.
''We should leave, we've tarried here longer than what caution dictates.'' Having said so, James dabbed at his mouth with the napkin, laid the charge neatly on the table, complete with ample tip, and rose from his seat.
Alice made to protest but apparently thought better of it and followed suit. James helped her into her jacket, flung his own across his arm and proffered the other to the lady.
Alice graciously accepted the cliched gesture and suffered him a sarcastic smile with a flutter of her long lashes.
Arm in arm, they took their leave of the quaint cafe through its rustic doors.
No comments:
Post a Comment