A collection of romantic short stories.
Excerpt from BESIDE THE SEASIDE:
She stood out from the crowd that spilled up from the sandy beach and over the paved area in front of the shops that pandered to the wants and needs of the sun and surf-loving set frequenting the popular seaside location. The bikini and speedo-clad late teens; the untidily fashionable casual gear of the trendy twenties’ groups; the more sedate swimming costumes of the slightly older set and the, by comparison, very conservative attire of the more “elderly” who strolled along among the myriad of people out and about on that perfect summer’s day. All these others became lost in the background, like one of those scenes in a movie where everything turns to black and white except one extraordinary, colourful object.
Everyone looked. Some just a brief glance at the ’different’ person they only half saw. Some openly stared as if they had never seen anything like her before – and they very likely hadn’t. A few looked appreciatively, almost as though they were reliving a time from somewhere in their past that, deep down, they still longed for.
Andrew, however, was very much from the present and yet his gaze had an intensity that made him look as if he had finally discovered something for which he had long been searching but never before found. Something that he may not have been able to describe but he immediately recognised when he saw it.
He stepped back a little into a shadow – partly to be less obvious and partly to shield his face from the glare of the sun, that he might see her more distinctly.
Probably only a little over 5 feet tall, she was wearing a sprigged-muslin top over a full skirt of a pretty boarder print held out in a wide circle by many stiff petticoats and all accentuated at her narrow waist by a wide, elastic, clasp belt. Cuban heel shoes, a daintily trimmed straw hat and dark glasses set off the classic 1950s ensemble.
His face glowed with pleasure, and he knew at once that he had to meet this vision, if for no other reason than to compliment her on her appearance. More importantly, Andrew wanted to know just how real the vision was. Was she perhaps just coming from or going to a special photoshoot, or even a movie set for a film based in the 1950s’? Or did she prefer to dress like that.? He had to know and, regardless of why she was attired like that, something deeper and far less superficial drove him to find out more about her.
Stepping into the moving crowd he carefully walked just a little slower than was necessary, so that by the time he caught up she had left the very busy area directly by the beach and there were fewer people around, making approaching her easier.
“Excuse me,” he walked alongside her and spoke, “I don’t want to delay you, but I felt compelled to compliment you on your stunning outfit.”
She stopped and looked closely at him. He did not appear to be making fun of her – in fact he seemed to be extremely serious. Generally, any compliments she did get were from older gentlemen (and, occasionally, ladies), but he looked as if he would be a similar age to her. His own clothes were also more conservative than those common with his age group. “Thank you. I take it you like this style of dress?” It was clearly a question that was inviting further comment.
Relaxing, realising that she was not going to slap his face or call for help, he responded with, “Indeed, I think it is far more attractive than most of the outfits of today. If you will pardon my saying so, you have captured the style extremely well and it looks absolutely delightful and so right on you.” He paused, amazed at his having been able to talk so easily to her, but blushing a little from the impassioned outburst.
She looked both appreciative and very slightly amused, but friendly enough for him to gather his bravado and ask, “I know it may sound a bit forward, but would you care to have afternoon tea with me? There is a rather nice little tea rooms just along the street and I think you would feel quite at home there.”
There was an almost imperceptible pause before, with a hint of a smile, she answered. “If you are sure that it is not putting you out, I should very much like that, thank you.” It was hard to tell if the smile was just a polite, friendly reaction to the invitation, or if there was something more behind it – but Andrew was sure that he could read something more from the little that he could see of her eyes behind the absolutely correct 1950’s style sunglasses.
“My name is Andrew, Andrew Cartwright,” he explained and, without touching, indicated the way to go and they started off.
“Bryony Morgan.” Her reply was brief, but sufficient for the moment, and they walked together in thoughtful silence the short distance to the tea rooms.
As they walked Bryony noticed that Andrew took care to walk on the correct side of her – changing when they crossed the road. He appears to know his etiquette, she mused, one favourable point.
They found a quiet table and Andrew held her chair as, with a swish of the multiple parchment petticoats under the full-flared skirt, she sat, placing the small train case she carried as a handbag, onto the floor beside her feet. Andrew sat across the table and looked into Bryony’s eyes as she removed the sunglasses. They were soft blue and matched the little floral sprigs on the perfect, pale lemon, muslin blouse that she wore.
“I hope you don’t find me too forward, but I simply had to talk with you,” he faltered, not knowing how to explain why he had had to talk and how he was feeling.
“Not at all,” she smiled, and Andrew emotions went from very hot to boiling point. “In fact, I really appreciate your asking me here with you. It is very warm out and I was ready for a quiet sit down and a drink. But, might I ask, why did you suddenly – out of nowhere – just appear and ask me to join you - why me?”
How could he put it into words that did not sound crazy? “Actually, I can’t explain it logically. It was something like that concept of seeing someone across a crowded room – except this was across a crowded footpath. It was impulsive and compulsive – I just had to know you.”
“Was it the clothes?”
“Yes, the clothes certainly caught my attention, but I seemed to sense something else – something that told me there was more to the package than just the immediate visual impact. I’m trying to rationalise my reactions but at the moment I can’t. But if you were to tell me a little about yourself and we could just chat for a while it may make more sense to both of us.” He looked across at her, hopefully.
“Ah, yes, but do you think we should order first?”
“How stupid of me – yes,” and he caught the eye of a waitress who was hovering, expectantly, close-by.
They ordered afternoon tea for two and just chattered superficially about simple things, like where they were from, siblings and the weather, until their order arrived.
Automatically taking up the silver teapot, Bryony enquired how he liked his tea and poured their two cups. He passed her the sugar and they reached for little sandwiches before looking across at each other and simultaneously asking, “Who will go first?” Embarrassed laughs and Andrew said, “Okay, I will start – not that it will make much sense.”
“My mother was in her teens and early twenties during the mid-1950’s to the early 60’s and there are, probably hundreds, of photographs around of her and she is, of course, wearing the clothes of the time. I have always felt that those fashions were the best of the last 100 years and certainly the last of, what I would call, the truly feminine clothes that looked neat and smart, attracted the right sort of attention, left enough to the imagination to make men want more, perfectly wrapped the package and didn’t just lay everything out as though it was being given away…” He stopped –embarrassed again. “I hope I didn’t put that too crudely. What I mean is there was still an element of romance in clothing, and I like that.”
Bryony was having some difficulty not laughing. “I think you put that most succinctly. I’m surprised that any boy these days can still see the truth of all that. My mother describes some of the modern clothing as things that people have dragged out of the rubbish and worn. Not washed, all tattered, covering very little and she says that she sometimes has trouble determining if a person is male or female. My grandmother says it looks as if they can’t sell it, so they are giving it away – and she is talking about young ladies’ bodies!” Now it was her turn to blush. I hope I didn’t say that so loud that all the others around us could hear.”
The ice was broken, and both happily chattered away as they worked their way through the old-world, silver service, afternoon tea with the thin sandwiches and little savouries and cakes on the silver, three-tier plate stand in the traditional tea rooms, where their attire fitted in so well with the decor.