But as he thought of her he felt his heart collapsing in his chest. And he realized that for the first time in his life it was really breaking. And his tears flowed freely and his face fell into his hands and he sobbed like a child in deep and driving waves of sorrow.

When his sobs subsided he sat in the chair and listened to the ticking of the clock on the wall. And felt the emptiness of his life as he never had before. He rose slowly and turned off the lights. And for an hour he sat in total darkness and thought about what he had done. And over and over felt the enormity of his loss. But as the minutes passed determination once again began to rekindle in his now-hollow heart. And as his strength returned he jumped abruptly to his feet and picked up the cell phone from its resting place.

As it rang he held it tightly to his ear, hoping to hear Layla's lovely voice. And as he waited he picked up the tourist guide and thumbed it open. His heart sunk as he heard a mechanical message voice announcing her absence. But when the message ended he gathered up his strength in a voice that was tender but strong:

"Layla. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I didn't join you on time. I know how much I must have hurt you. And I know how terrible I must have made you feel. All I can say is that I was selfish and very stupid. And that I am sorry with all my heart. And that I still want to see you. I want it desperately. So I am going to suggest something. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me … and trust me one more time … then I ask you to come and meet me. Come and be my princess … and I will be your knight … and we will meet for a magic moment. At mid-morning tomorrow. Come whenever you can. I have nothing else but to wait for you. And I will be there tomorrow if you want me. Waiting at the middle of the old stone bridge over the river in Reading. I'll be there, watching the swans gliding on the river, and feeling the sunshine on my face, and waiting for my princess to come and make my life complete."

The Meeting – Part 3

As Layla turned the car through the gates and out into the busy street she almost hit a cyclist peddling by. He waved a fist at her and she shrugged a gesture of apology back. If she wasn't more careful she would be in an accident, no lost encounter was worth killing oneself over. She berated herself and tried to pay more attention to the traffic. Why hadn't she just stayed? He had said he was sorry about being so late after all, and she was well aware of how enormously busy and stressful his life must be. He claimed to have only known about the trip to London a few days ago. Some big business deal that only he could bring to fruition. Still, he had supposedly freed up a block of time to spend with her and he should have been there when he said he would. She argued back and forth with herself. She had felt humiliated she realized, and the old fear and flight mechanism had kicked in. People saw her as being vibrant and confident she knew, but in reality she felt insecure much of the time. She was never sure whether others regarded her as just a beautiful and talented woman, or if they actually noticed that she also possessed a brain. Sometimes beauty could work against you. Why was it that this one man seemed to possess such power over her. She hated it that he could make her angry one moment, and then all he had to do was talk to her in that special, sexy way he had, and she would melt instantly. She hated that she did not have control over her feelings where he was concerned. This was a new experience for her. She had always been able to detach herself easily from any relationship in the past. This wasn't even a real relationship, so why was she so concerned about it? Why couldn't she just stop thinking about it and let it go?

She turned on the radio, and pressed buttons on the walnut dashboard trying to find some music that was tolerable to listen to. Finally she angrily stabbed at the "off" switch and drove on in silence. She really had no idea where she was going, and this too was an unfamiliar feeling for her. She always knew exactly where she was heading, not just in her work, but in life in general. Her life was structured and orderly, as much as her job would allow. She was organized and reliable, and people had grown to expect these things from her. How could she have let this happen to herself? She didn't even know this man, how could it be that she cared so much? Deep down though, she knew the answer to this. There was something different about Alan. Because they had gotten to know each other mostly over the phone, their conversations had developed into a strange mixture of fantasy and reality. It was hard to find times when they could converse, given his home life situation and the time difference. They had started out by discussing mundane issues, but before long they had found themselves speaking about desire. Their calls became laced with sexual innuendoes. At first this took a fairly general tone, but it had developed into something much more personal. She had shared with him feelings she had never openly expressed before. She had no idea why her tongue had suddenly become liberated with him, she had always maintained the classic British reserve before this. For his part he seemed to have an uncanny ability to find just the right thing to say with unusual insight. He was able to catch the sense of what she was trying to say and help her free up her emotions.

At that moment her cell phone rang. Quick, she must answer it, surely it must be him. She would apologize and turn the car around, go back. The day was still young, there was still time to reconcile again and finally get to explore each other in person. Darn, she had forgotten to remove it from her purse and now as she rummaged inside her bag with her left hand she couldn't find it. Two rings, she was in the centre lane and there was no way she could pull over so that she could stop and look properly for the phone. She kept frantically pulling things from her bag and tossing them onto the passenger seat. Three rings, and her hand felt the leather case. She grasped it and opened it up pressing the talk button with her forefinger. She heard the dial tone. The caller had hung up. She raked her fingers through her tangled hair in frustration. Suddenly she felt incredibly angry at herself. She was behaving like a silly teenager, it was time to get herself together.

The traffic was moving so slowly and her mind drifted aimlessly. She found herself remembering the day she had first met Alan, although in truth she had never really met him at all. It had been a dinner time gig in aid of a big charity in some ritzy hotel in New York. She remembered she had dressed conservatively in a navy blue silk dress which had a soft drape to it. She had been hired to sing background music throughout the dinner, and when they served up dessert she noticed a handsome man at the main table staring at her. She decided to hot up the numbers a little and fell into her own rendition of "Searchin' my Soul". As she warmed up the keyboard and started to let her strong, clear voice release some of its energy into the room, she could feel the attention of the gathering switch towards her. She felt the familiar thrill of holding an audience in her grasp, and decided to go with something a little more provocative for the next number. She started to belt out "Hooked On A Feeling" and as her gaze swept the room she noticed the attractive man watching her intently. She had a great version of Ray Charles' "You Don't Know Me" to finish up with, and couldn't resist singing it directly to him. She remembered the rush of excitement she felt when he had lifted his glass to her and stood up to clap. She could still feel him watching her when she gathered up her sheet music and left the stage at the end of the evening.

Later when she was picking up her bag from the hotel room and about to head out the door to the airport, she was presented with a single yellow rose. Attached to it was a hand written note requesting the pleasure of her company at lunch the next day, and signed simply, Alan Shephard. She kept the note, and in fact still carried it in her purse. She left the rose on the table along with the tip for the maid. On the flight home that night, she had wondered who he was, this Alan, who had seemed to look right into her soul, and knew that she loved yellow roses above all others.

The traffic started to speed up and before she realized it she was in a roundabout and heading West. Hallelujah, something familiar, she knew where she was. She took the turning to the M-4 and put her foot down hard on the E-type's accelerator pedal. It might be old, but it could still do a hundred with no problem at all. As she sped up the motorway she realized she had not eaten lunch, and was surprised to find she was really hungry. She pulled into the first service station she could find and came to a thankful stop. She had the presence of mind to glance into the mirror on the sun shade and check to see if her earlier tears had left streaks on her face. She looked disheveled but that was always the case when driving in an open car, and anyway she really didn't care. She opened the low door and swung her long legs out. She stood for a moment smoothing down the leather mini skirt, and throwing her bag over her shoulder she headed for the ladies' room. Her high heeled boots clicked as she marched across the parking lot. Hopefully nobody would recognise her in a place like this. Soon she had her greasy cheeseburger, chips, and a coke, but decided it was probably safer to take the food back to the car to eat. She sat up on the back of the driver's seat with her feet on the leather seat. She consumed the food automatically, while she watched the cars speeding down the motorway. They all seemed to be in such a rush and had such purpose to them, where were they all going? Where was she going?

Her first thought was to head on up the motorway to the sanctuary of her own little cottage. She pictured its welcoming whitewashed walls and small flowered garden with the picket fence. The lilac by the pathway was just coming into bloom and there was honeysuckle climbing up the trellis by the front door. Here she could curl up on the suede couch and lick her wounds. With this in mind she crossed the parking lot once more to get rid of the rubbish and then settled behind the steering wheel again. She didn't turn the key in the ignition though, she thought "What the heck, I'll call and apologise." She picked up the cell phone and called British Telecom's information service to get the hotel's number.

When she reached the front desk she was greeted by a cold, nasal male voice, who said he would check the room Madam, and immediately put her on hold. At that moment the phone began to beep "low battery" at her. "Oh, come on, hurry up." She thought. She seemed to be on hold forever, then suddenly the phone cut out completely. She threw it angrily to the floor. All her energy drained out along with the phone's battery. She felt exhausted. As if in sync with her feelings she felt the first drops of rain fall. She clambered down from her perch and set about putting the top up on the Jag. She couldn't face the long drive home without the wind on her cheeks to keep her awake, she was sure she would just fall asleep at the wheel. What to do, what to do? She decided to take the next exit and look for a place to spend the night, and just find some anonymous room, and sleep.

She didn't bother to read the road signs when she turned away from the artery heading northwest. She just followed the bonnet of the car where it led her. This turned out to be a small town, whose name she had not even bothered to register. The town sported a grocer's, a bakery and thank heavens an inn, called the White Swan, with "vacancy" lit up over the accommodation sign. She wasted no time in retrieving her leather grip from the boot of the car, and rushing inside before she was soaked to the skin from the now heavy downfall.

A young girl behind the desk in the entry hall sympathized with her bedraggled look, assuming she had been caught unexpectedly in the downpour. She looked around while the receptionist tapped on a computer to enter her credit card information and organize the ensuite room for her. The hall was furnished with really lovely antiques and on the opposite side was the bar, which was not yet open. Soon she was heading up the stairway with the key to room 201 in her hand. She opened the door and found herself in a large room with a big bay window which overlooked the Thames River. Much better than she had anticipated, she tossed her bag down on the double bed, finding it to have the required amount of firmness. Next she explored the bathroom and was pleasantly surprised to see a large bath tub with claw feet. Yes, a lovely long bath was just what she needed. Even better, she discovered amidst the bottles of shampoo and body lotion a small bottle of bubble bath.

Soon the bathroom was filling up with steam as the taps poured hot water into the deep bath tub and the aroma of vanilla essence filled the small room. She peeled off her sticky clothes, knotted her hair on top of her head and slid beneath the water with just her breasts poking out above the bubbles. She found herself singing quietly:

"Why does the sun go on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world,
Cause you don't love me any more."

She felt her eyes brim over with tears and just gave into the emotion. After a while she started to sing again, and this time made an effort to go for something more upbeat. For some reason "Hooked on a Feeling" kept surfacing and her voice resounded around the bathroom with,

"I can't stop this feeling,
Deep inside of me,
Boy you just don't realize,
What you do to me.
I'm hooked on a feeling,
I'm high on believing,
That you're in love with me."

Of course, this was the song she had sung that night when she had first noticed him staring up at her while she was on stage. She remembered her cell phone left on the floor of the car, she should go and get it and charge it up again. As soon as she got out of the bath she would go and fetch it, the room itself did not have a telephone, so she couldn't check to see if she had any messages on her answerphone. She sang a few bars of I Only Want to Be With You,

"I don't know what it is that makes me love you so.
I only know I never want to let you go,
cause you started something, can't you see,
That ever since we met you've had a hold on me."

After she climbed out of the bath, she felt slightly nauseated, probably from the greasy burger she had eaten earlier. This wasn't in her usual diet of fish and salads. So she wrapped the fluffy blue towel around herself and lay down on the bed to wait until she felt better. Her skin was pink from the heat of the water and her hair was more curled than ever. The next thing she knew she was drowsily awake and wondering where she was. She felt chilled and it was very dark and extremely quiet. She couldn't see a clock or her watch and couldn't figure out how to turn on the bedside lamp. She found her leather bag on the bottom of the bed and pulled out the silk camisole. It was a soft peachy colour she knew, and she scrunched it up and held it to her face. She had planned to wear this with him, and it felt foolish that this was the only thing she had to sleep in, and she was sleeping alone. She couldn't bring herself to put it on, but she was cold, so the obvious solution seemed to be her jogging trousers and a tee shirt. She crawled beneath the covers and fell back to sleep again.

When next she awoke she did find her watch and discovered to her dismay that she had slept, although fitfully, until 10:00 a.m. She washed quickly and ran down the stairs to the lobby to find a phone. She once again dialed the number for the Knightsbridge hotel, by now she knew the number by heart. This time it was the nasal voice answering again and put her on hold while checking Alan's room. The voice came back on the line and said, "No, Mr. Shephard was not in his room." She stood in the phone booth with the instrument in her hand. If she hadn't overslept, maybe she would have got hold of him. He was probably in meetings and conferences all day, she would never be able to reach him now. She walked slowly out to the car and retrieved the cell phone and climbed the stairs again to the room so that she could plug it into the charger.

She sat on the bed wondering again what to do about everything. She picked up some tourist brochures of the area and flipped through them rapidly. It appeared she was near Reading in Caversham. There seemed to be plenty of things for visitors to do in this area; there was a formal garden to walk around and the Oracle Shopping Centre. There were the Kennet and Avon Canals with riverside bars overlooking them. There were pictures showing scenes of the river with canoes and rowing crews passing through the quiet waters. There was one scene with a large flock of swans, perhaps a hundred even, drifting gracefully together on the water. Something about the scene tripped off a memory. Since she already had her jogging clothes on she decided she would go for a run along the tow path by the river. By the time she was organized in her trainers and jogging bra it was already 11:00 a.m. She stopped at the front desk and inquired about the safest places to go running and where she could see the swans. She was told that the tow path was popular with runners and if she followed it to the West she would eventually come to the bridge where she could overlook the flock of swans in the river.

As she ran her head began to clear and she started singing to herself,

"I've been down this road walking the line,
That's painted by pride,
And I have made mistakes in my life,
That I just can't hide.
I've been searching my soul tonight,
I know there's so much more to life,
Now I know I can shine a light,
Everything gonna be alright."

The more she sang, the more her confidence started to return. So this part of her life had ended. She would miss all the intimate phone calls with Alan. She would miss hearing his resonant voice on the other end of the line. She would miss the things he said to her. But she would move on. Life would go on. She would be all right, she had her career. She would meet someone else in time. This relationship had never been going anywhere anyway, it was just a stupid fantasy. After all he already had a wife and family. She was single and could find someone more available. She didn't need to have to work around a man with a complicated life. She should never have encouraged him to come to England. They should have left it the way it was. It could have gone on for a long time with the ocean between them. The anticipation of meeting him one day could have remained forever. She kept repeating the lines,

"Now I know I can shine a light,
Everything gonna be alright,"

like a mantra to herself in time with her speeding footsteps. As she ran her body became lighter and she started to notice her surroundings again. The river was dark and shady with graceful willow and laburnum trees hanging down to touch the water's edge.

"Everything gonna be alright."
"Everything gonna be alright."

She ran on effortlessly as her legs covered the ground with long rhythmic strides.

The Meeting - Part 4

As the morning broke Alan rose from his bed, with a headache that resembled a Roman Army marching through his brain. He stumbled across the room and stood in front of the window as he placed his hand on the heavy drape. He slid it open only a few inches, a result of the fact that, as always, Alan had spent the night lying naked in his bed. A habit that he had started many years earlier. Perhaps it was the feeling of the sheets sliding against the nakedness of his skin. Perhaps it was the feeling of freedom. But regardless of the reason, it was one of life's luxuries that he enjoyed very deeply. As the drape slid open he looked at the city in the dim light of the developing sunrise.