When Strangers Meet

He smiled. It was a nice smile.

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, it is...beautiful."

"The best view on the island."

"Have you been before?" enquired Helen.

"Oh yes, lots of times. Lots and lots."

"You must like it."

"I do, but unfortunately, I've always been here on business. It doesn't give me any time to savour the delights."

"That's a pity."

"Um." He nodded. "But, not this time. This time I've decided to make a change and I'm having a holiday. Just a couple of days, but that's all I can spare. Even that...." he shrugged. "Anyway, I've decided to cut loose and business can go hang for a short time."

"What business are you in?"

"Hotels."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. This is one of them. It's not doing as well as it should and I'm here to put the boot in."

Helen laughed. "That sounds rather brutal."

"It can be. But I'm tired of all that. I need a rest. Just a couple of days."

"Will that be enough?"

"It will have to be."

There was a silence between them. Helen wondered if she should sit back on the recliner, or even go inside, thus ending the conversation; but for some reason she didn't want it to end.

"Do you hear music?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes." She looked over the balcony. "It's coming from down there. Near the swimming pool."

"Oh yes. There are people dancing." Another silence, then: "My name is Ian Grainger."

"Helen Manning."

"Pleased to meet you. I expect you have a husband tucked away back there."

"Downstairs in the bar."

"Ah. But not you."

"I dislike bars and drinking. Does that make me sound a prude and misery guts?"

"Not at all."

"Brian thinks so."

"Your husband?"

"Yes."

"I think I would rather be where you are than sitting in a bar."

It sounded as if it should have been a seductive line, but Ian said it casually with no hidden meaning or suggestion. Nevertheless, it was a compliment that made Helen blush. She tried to think of a response, but her mind was blank; she stayed silent.

"What do you say to joining those people down there?"

The question took her by surprise; her almost instant - and enthusiastic - reply surprised her even more.

"I'd like that."

"Good. Meet you in the corridor."

"Give me five minutes."

"Right."

Helen went inside and immediately checked her appearance. The dress she had worn for dinner was suitable for dancing. Rather revealing, true; but somehow it didn't matter. Hair; a light brushing was necessary. Makeup; she used it sparingly, but perhaps a little touch on her lips. But no blusher on her cheeks. She was sure they were red enough with pure excitement at what she was about to do.

What was she about to do?

She paused in mid-action with the lipstick almost, but not quite, touching her lips. This was crazy. She was going to dance with a complete stranger; a man she had only met a few minutes ago. She was a married woman, for heaven's sake. Ian might be married too, for all she knew.

"Does it really matter?" she asked of her image in the mirror. "It's only a dance. If Brian can spend his time chatting in the bar to who knows who, then why shouldn't I have a little pleasure of my own?"

She finished her makeup and headed for the door, picking up a small vanity bag as she went. It was just big enough to contain a handkerchief, a purse and the plastic key which she removed from the holder by the door. The lights went off.

Ian was waiting. He looked at his watch. "Four minutes thirty eight seconds. Not bad."

"I didn't want to be late for our first date."

She could have kicked herself. What on earth made her say such a stupid thing? Date? Of course it wasn't a date. It was....it was....

What was it?

Ian took her arm. "Don't let's waste a moment of it."

There were butterflies in Helen's stomach as the lift swiftly descended to the ground floor, but they had nothing to do with the speed of the machinery. She was nervous and eager, worried and happy all at the same time. She had never done anything remotely like this before; running off with a man. Well, perhaps that was something of an exaggeration. One dance by the hotel swimming pool hardly constituted running off. One dance; or perhaps two.

Actually, it turned out to be the rest of the evening. A magical evening. The music, played by a trio, was melodic, pleasant on the ears and an asset to graceful dancing. And Ian was able to match the music, gently sweeping his partner around, never treading on her feet and making her feel comfortable at all times. There were fairy lights hung around the area, which was sited by the side of the water. It was part of the hotel, but approached from a walkway under a road that separated the two.

Helen liked being in the arms of a stranger. She wasn't certain, as a married woman, whether she should enjoy it quite so much. But what the heck; after all, they were only dancing. They also sat out some of the dances and talked about themselves; at least, Helen did. It was some time later when she realised that Ian had revealed almost nothing about himself. Divorced, two children whom he never saw and his job. That was it. For her part, Helen seemed to give him her complete life story, almost from birth. She also felt she had said too much about her marriage.

"It's a pity," Ian murmured at one point.

"What is?"

"Human beings have such a short time on earth, yet I feel they often lack the capacity to make the best of it."

"Ah, yes. War, you mean."

"And unhappy marriages."

"I wouldn't say I was unhappy."

"Aren't you?"

Helen thought for a moment. "Resigned might be more correct."

"You deserve more than resignation."

"That's sweet of you." Sweet, but dangerous. Helen stood up. "Shall we dance?"

"I'm at your pleasure."

Um. That sounded dangerous too. What was her pleasure? His touch; his smile; his soft and gentle voice.... They were enough to....to what? She felt a flush of heat wash over her. Hard as she tried to dismiss it from her mind and put it down to the warm weather, she knew that it was the heat of desire.

The mood was suddenly broken by screams and the screech of brakes on the road above them. Attracted by the sounds all the dancers quickly climbed a flight of steps which took them up to the road level. There had been an accident. It seemed a young child, playing a game of catch-me with his parents had run out into the road and right underneath the wheels of a car. Serious injury - even death - was certain to be the outcome, but miraculously, the child crawled out from under the car unhurt.

"That's incredible," said Helen, tightly gripping Ian's arm. It had upset her to see the child apparently crushed.

"Yes, isn't it," Ian agreed.

There was a lot of shouting between the shocked driver and the frightened parents - all in full volume Maltese - but eventually everything calmed down. The car drove off, the parents and child continued their walk and the music began once more.

"I...I think I'd better be going back to the room." Helen sounded upset.

"No need to be upset. Nobody died."

"I know, but I can't stop thinking what could have happened. The poor child and parents. Anyway, that's not the reason I should go. Brian will be wondering where I've gone."

"What will you tell him?"

"The truth...I suppose."

But she didn't. In the first place, the room was empty and it was obvious Brian had not been near it whilst she was out. In the second...what he didn't know wouldn't harm him. And, after all, what was there to know? She had a pleasant evening by the pool; dancing; with a charming man who made her feel like.....

"Having a cold shower," she said aloud to the empty room.

When Brian eventually returned he was obviously the worse for drink, but not too far gone to demand that she remove her nightdress and spread her legs. He took her roughly, but mercifully quickly, banging into her hard and making her wince. When he was finished he collapsed down, turned his back and went to sleep.

As always, Helen felt cheap and used.

*****

The following morning they went down to breakfast and Helen came face to face with Ian.

"Good morning," he politely said.

"Hello."

"Who was that?" Brian enquired.

"He's in the room next to us. I saw him out on the balcony last night."

"Hm." It was a nondescript grunt, which could have meant everything or nothing.

After breakfast and back in their room Brian announced that he was going to play golf.

"Arranged it last night with a couple of lads at the bar."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"No doubt you'll find something that would bore the pants off me. Find a museum or something. But not the war museum or war rooms. I want to see them."

He left her flicking through the guide books wondering where she might go. There was no problem in getting around because the Malta buses went everywhere and were very cheap. A tourist had no real need of a car. There were also organised trips going to various places. It was simply a case of deciding what she fancied doing - and doing it.

Mdina looked promising: 'A city of peaceful alleys, fine churches and gracious old mansions', as one guide book put it.

"I'm sure Brian would be sufficiently bored with that," Helen murmured.

It was another beautiful day, hot and sunny, so she put on a light cotton dress and took along a sizable hat and sun glasses. When about to leave she saw an impressively large and stylish super-yacht edging into the harbour. Grabbing her camera she went onto the balcony and took a picture with Valletta in the background.

"Very impressive, isn't it?"

Ian was on his balcony, also looking at the passing boat.

"Yes."

"Only the super rich can afford something like that. Roman Abramovich owns it."

"Oh."

"I'm afraid all I can manage is a harbour cruise."

"Yes, we've done that."

"I suppose everyone does."

"Um." Helen nodded.

"What are your plans for today?"

"Oh, I'm going to take a bus to Mdina and have a look around."

"Ah, yes. The Silent City."

"Have you been there?"

"Not this trip."

Helen hesitated; but only briefly. "Would you like to accompany me?"

"What about your husband?"

"I'm a golf widow today."

"I think it would be a great shame for you to be all by yourself and I'd love to go with you. Anywhere you want."

Was there a double meaning in that last sentence? A suggestion of...

"Don't be silly," Helen chided herself as she went into the room.

As before they met in the corridor. There was an awkward silence in the lift as it smoothly descended.

"Do you want to go ahead?" Ian asked as the doors opened.

"You mean...?

"Perhaps you prefer not to be seen leaving the hotel together."

"I hadn't thought about that. It doesn't matter really."

"All right."

As they walked past a small shop neither of them noticed a stand with newspapers. The headline on one said: BOMB IN IRAQ. NO DEATHS.

They walked along the Triq Marina, popularly known as The Strand, to the bus stops, being accosted every few yards by agents trying to sell round-the-harbours cruises and a wide variety of other trips.

"We want the number 65," Helen informed Ian. "It goes straight to Mdina - no changes."

There were two or three of the distinctive yellow buses with a band of orange standing at the bus stops and they quickened their pace.

"This is it," said Ian, after checking the number on the front. "I'll get the fare."

The bus was one of the oldest, ex-British army and dating from the 1950s. It was narrow, open-doored and the engine cowling was inside next to the driver. There was little leg room between the seats, which were hardly wide enough to hold two people. Ian had difficulty fitting himself into the space and he had one leg out in the aisle. Helen was very aware of the other pressing against her thigh.

Ian smiled at her. "These buses weren't made for big people."

"No.."

"And I'm not even all that big."

They both laughed.

The ice was broken and they chatted on as the bus bumped, jerked, growled, protested and swayed along the road and round corners. Eventually it pulled up outside the main gate of Mdina, a walled city almost in the centre of Malta. With a population of only 400, most of whom stayed indoors, there were few people walking the streets except tourists.

"And no cars!" Ian exclaimed.

"The guide book says they're banned. Except for any owned by a resident."

"Where shall we go first?"

"The Mdina Experience is probably a good starting point. An audio-visual display telling the history of the town."

"Sounds about right."

It seemed natural, as they walked along, that he should take her hand. So natural that it took a while for Helen to realise. As a married woman her immediate reaction should have been to pull away, but she had no wish to separate her fingers from his; it felt right. Brian never held her hand and he would have been supremely bored at the very thought of the Mdina Experience.

Afterwards they went for a light lunch in an open courtyard with tables set amongst trees and plants.

"Was there any trouble last night?" Ian asked.

"Trouble?"

"With your husband. Was he annoyed about you dancing with me?"

"Oh...no. I didn't tell him. He wasn't there and...and I didn't think it was necessary to say anything. After all, it was just a dance and we wouldn't be seeing each other again."

"Or so you thought."

"Or so I thought." She idly turned the salt-cellar.

"I've been remiss."

"In what way?"

"I haven't told you how pretty you look this morning."

Helen blushed.

Ian put his hand on hers. "Your husband neglects you far too much. If it was possible for us to be together, I wouldn't make the same mistake."

Helen pulled away her hand and stood in some confusion. He was going too far; she knew that. She had to put a stop to it or....or....what? What would happen? She dared hardly think, but she was certain that she wanted something to happen.

She was married. Married. To Brian.

"We'd better continue our tour," she said, with a slight tremor in her voice.

"Of course."

He paid the bill and they walked out into the street.

"The cathedral next."

"Right."

There was a silence between them.

An old man was slowly approaching them. He was barely able to put one foot in front of the other, despite using two sticks. As he came abreast of them he suddenly stopped, stared at Ian and spoke to him. Although Helen was unable to understand she could tell he was asking a question by the intonation of his voice. Ian smiled, shook his head and gently spoke to the old man at the same time laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. The old man slowly proceeded on his way and they resumed their walk.

"You spoke Maltese," said Helen in some surprise.

"Best to know the local lingo in my business."

"What did he want?"

Ian shrugged. "He was confused. Asked if I had come for him. I told him not today."

"What did he mean?"

"I told you. He was confused. Thought I was someone else." He took hold of her arm and stopped walking. "I upset you back there. I apologise. I shouldn't have said anything about your marital relations."

Helen hesitated before replying. "I'm not sure what's happening. I hardly know you, yet I feel..."

"What?"

"An attraction."

"Unfortunately I'm attracted too."

Helen raised her eyebrows. "Unfortunately?"

"It's an impossible relationship."

"Because I'm married? There's always divorce."

She said it lightly; it was a quip casually tossed away, yet Helen knew that she was being more serious than she sounded. But how could that be? Was it possible for her to be prepared to change her life completely for a man she had known for less than twenty-four hours? It was crazy. Was it love or merely lust? Brian was a brute who took what he wanted and left her, not just unfulfilled, but alienated. Despite the shortness of their acquaintance, she was convinced that Ian would be a tender and thoughtful lover and she longed to be in his arms.

"Yes," Ian agreed. "There's always divorce. But not on my account."

They entered the cathedral. The interior was most impressive, full of gilded carvings, ornamental side chapels and paintings. The floor was a beautiful patchwork of inlaid multicoloured marble slabs, whilst the dome, also highly decorated, rose to a dizzying height. They stood close together in silent awe drinking in the grandeur that surrounded them. Helen slipped her hand into his.

"I often think the church spends far too much money on all this splendour and ostentation. A bit of simplicity would go a long way and they could put the money to better use."

"I think most believers want to see ornamentation. It makes them feel they're in the presence of real power."

"It keeps them subdued, you mean. And poor."

"Besides, without all this finery there would be nothing for tourists to admire."

"That's hardly the point, is it?"

"It sounds like we're having our first argument."

Helen laughed and squeezed his hand. "I wouldn't dream of arguing. I'm having far too good a time."

"I'm glad."

When they returned to the hotel there was no sign of Brian.

"But he left a message for me," Helen informed Ian across the balcony divider. "He intends to be out all evening with his new friends."

"So you'll be alone."

"Yes."

"Not what you expect when you come on holiday with your husband."

"I'm afraid it's exactly what I expect."

Ian hesitated only briefly. "Of course, you don't have to be alone. I'd be honoured to keep you company all night if you wish."

Helen raised her eyebrows simulating shock and surprise. "All night, Mr Grainger?"

"If you wish."

Helen smiled. "I wish," she said softly. "But I'm a married woman. I think my husband might have something to say if he returned and found his wife absent. Especially if she stayed out all night."

"I'll settle for an evening with you. It's the last one of my little holiday."

"Then I'll make it as pleasant for you as I can. Give me fifteen minutes to smarten myself."

"I think I can spare you for fifteen minutes."

They both laughed and Helen went into the room. She felt light headed and excited. Perhaps there was a touch of guilt about what she was planning to do, but only a touch. After all, what was she planning to do? Spend an evening in the company of a man other than her husband, that was all. Brian could hardly complain. If he chose to be away from her with his new friends, then that was his decision and he could live with the consequences.

The dress she chose was loose, light and low-cut. Brian would be very pleased to think that every male eye was drawn to her. He could be very jealous and yet longed for his wife to be an exhibitionist. He would be sorry he wasn't here to see her now.

"I've ordered a taxi," Ian informed her.

"Oh? Where are we going?"

"To a restaurant in the Portomaso Marina in St. Julian's."

"Sounds delightful."

And it was. It was a warm night and darkness was beginning to envelop the island. Lights twinkled on the water in the marina which was fringed by hotels, all brightly lit. They chose a table outside, providing them with a view of the harbour. The environment was exotic and the food delicious.

Helen sighed.

"A penny for them."

"Um? Oh, I was just thinking that I'd like this to go on forever. I love Malta. I'd like to live here."

"Really?"

"I think I could be happy here."

"You're not happy now?"

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I think you know the answer to that."

"Would you consider leaving your husband?"

"I frequently have, but I've always lacked the courage before."

"And now?"

"Now I've met you," Helen said simply.

Ian idly fiddled with the coffee cup in front of him. "You hardly know me."

"I know all I want to know."