They first met in a small café on Carnaby Street. Emily Clarke sat at a table, waiting for a friend. In front of her steamed a mug of coffee and a slice of Victoria sponge rested on a saucer.
James Hart pushed open the door, looking for a quiet brew and a moment to sort out his future. He was goodlooking, and for him striking up a conversation with any woman was hardly a challenge.
May I join you? he asked, his tone leaving no room for a no.
Sure, but Im waiting for a friend, so you wont have to linger long.
I dont need long. I just want to introduce myself and swap numbers. A couple of minutes will be enough.
What makes you think Ill hand you my number? Emily snapped, breaking off a bite of the cake.
Because you like sweets, and sweet things are loved by kind people. We must be a perfect match I, too, have a sweet tooth.
Youre a kind soul, then? she laughed.
Absolutely. Cant you see it? Im a very decent, very good bloke, he said, taking a sip of his coffee.
This is the first time Ive ever met someone so selfconfident.
And this is the first time Ive ever seen a beauty like you.
Emily, she said, extending her hand.
James, he replied, taking her hand, squeezing it gently, and kissing her with such intensity that Emily felt a heat rush through her.
Do you think youre being a bit forward with a complete stranger? she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice.
Im not forward. Im just… well, Im talking to the most stunning woman in the room.
Emily slipped a gold band onto her ring finger. Im married, James.
And what does that stop you from? he smirked. One day youre married, the next youre not. Marriages these days are fragile, fleeting.
I was raised to believe marriage is forever. So, dear, I think its time we part ways.
Youre talking nonsense. I feel theres something between us. Lets exchange numbers it doesnt bind anyone. If we ever want to talk again, well need them.
Youre awfully cocky. Why do you think Ill give you my number?
Im not cocky, Im simply naïve. If we like each other, why not meet again? he said with a disarming smile that left Emily breathless.
Fine, tell me yours.
She dictated her number, and he promised to call so she could save it.
Now, you should move to another table. I see my friend arriving, and I have no need for gossip.
Dont worry, Ill disappear. Well meet again, Im sure.
James gathered his mug and slipped into the far corner of the café.
A week later he called Emily. She had been waiting for his voice, so she agreed to meet again at the same spot.
Emily, James began, Id like to get to know you better.
Emily took a sip of her tea. James, Im married. I work as a nurse at St.Marys Hospital. I could see us going out, but my husband, Mark Turner, is very jealous. He served in conflict zones as a contractor and now runs a rogue fightingschool for youngsters. Hes strong, proud, and I would never cheat on him besides, infidelity is both morally and dangerously wrong.
Emily, James replied, Im drawn to you and cant just walk away. Im a software developer, but Im not afraid of your husband. I just want to be closer to you, to be friends.
James earned a modest salary in a small tech firm, enough to enjoy a lively social life and flirt with many women. He never let a pretty face slip by, and Emily was no exception. He felt certain she was interested and vowed to win her over.
Their second meeting cemented the uneasy bond that followed. Emily told Mark she was on a night shift, then stayed the night at Jamess flat. Neither realized how deeply they were falling for each other, and they began meeting whenever they could.
One evening Emily called James.
My husbands away on a competition for a week. Ill be waiting for you at my flat tonight.
Emily, isnt it risky? Maybe we should meet at my place, like usual.
No, I want you here. Ill cook a romantic dinner; Im tired of meeting in your bachelors den.
Alright, Ill be there.
At the appointed hour James arrived with a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, a cake, and a bottle of red wine. Emilys dinner was exquisite; the drinks loosened their tongues, and after the meal they retired to the bedroom, the night promising to be as sensual as the candlelit dinner.
At two oclock a frantic pounding sounded at the door. They bolted upright, heart racing, and Emily peered through the peephole.
Its Mark, James, its over! Hide!
Where?
I dont know, figure it out!
Whos there? Emily whispered, halfasleep.
Emily, open up, you dont recognize me? a drunken voice shouted from the hallway. I left my keys at work, so Im banging. Get the door open, quick!
What do we do? Emily trembled, glancing at James.
Open it, we have no choice, the pale intruder pleaded.
James shoved his belongings under the bed and, still in his boxers, darted into the bathroom.
Where have you been so drunk? Emily shouted. Why didnt you leave?
I was on a busted bus, my mates were getting home in borrowed cars. We stopped for a drink at a bar and got a bit carried away.
Just a bit, you cant even stand! Emily snapped.
Dont worry, love, Ive got it under control. I just need the loo.
Go to the loo tomorrow, now get back to bed! Emily commanded.
Emily, I need to go now! Mark croaked, stumbling.
His thick bass voice sang drunkenly, No, no, no, I want it now, now, now! He laughed like a child reveling in his own joke.
He barreled toward the toilet, oblivious to the cramped layout that combined bath and WC. James, hidden behind the tiled wall, clambered onto the high ceramic ledge and flattened himself against the corner, pressing his hands to the walls to stay out of sight.
Marks attention was glued to the toilet bowl; he never noticed Jamess silhouette. He sang louder, while Emily, rooted at the bathroom doorway, trembled like a leaf.
When James saw Marks massive frame and fists, he knew that if the husband saw him, it would be his last romantic encounter perhaps his last breath. He stayed utterly still, holding his breath.
Mark lingered, humming, the smell of stale beer and disinfectant filling the cramped space. Jamess nose itched; he tried to pinch his own nose to stop a sneeze but failed. A sudden sneeze erupted, echoing off the tiles like thunder in the tiny room.
Startled, Mark looked up and, for a split second, saw a crucifix painted on the wall. He startled, clutched his chest, and toppled from the toilet, collapsing in a dazed heap.
Seeing his chance, James lunged, grabbed his bag, and bolted from the flat. Emily, pale as a sheet, stared at the hallway, unable to comprehend the chaos.
James raced down the stairs barefoot, his clothes in disarray, sprinting as if the elevators could not match the urgency of his flight. He burst out onto the street, heart pounding.
A few minutes later Mark regained consciousness, blinking at the ceiling, bewildered.
You really ought to drink less, Emily chided him later, as he recounted his bizarre night vision.
