The Elegant Lady

 If it wasn’t for the dog, there is every possibility you would miss the elegantly dressed lady sat in the coffee shop. She drinks there most weekdays, occupying the same table at roughly the same time. It is away from where much of the action happens by choice, and has absolutely nothing to do with current social distancing requirements. Simply put, she enjoys coffee but doesn’t like talking to strangers. Unfortunately, it is also on the quickest route to the now reduced toilet facilities, which is where the dog comes into its own.

Kenneth, for that is the dog’s name, doesn’t take kindly to anyone getting too close to his mistress. If someone does, he growls quite loudly and for an impressively long time without seeming to take a breath. His mistress encourages this behaviour. It works on 75% of the passing customers, who scuttle away thinking the dog is an untrained disgrace and shouldn’t be allowed in the place, but there’s always one who for whatever reason is oblivious to the threat of growling dogs and stops to try to stroke, tickle or play with it.

This is where the bark comes in. It’s sudden and therefore unexpected, and accompanied by a jerking movement of the head as if about to bite. Kenneth isn’t going to do this, but knows what effect this will have. Invariably, the person attempting friendliness is satisfactorily warned off. Again, the dog’s mistress encourages this behaviour. For a lapdog, Kenneth punches well above his weight.

He lies on one side of the same chair as his mistress sits in, seemingly asleep most of the time, but in actual fact he’s using his keen senses of smell and hearing to satisfy himself the coast remains clear for her. Kenneth loves his mistress and has done since she bought him. The feeling is mutual. Every now and again, a recently nail-varnished, perfectly tanned and ring-festooned finger will swoop down and touch his ear in precisely the correct place to make him shiver with happiness. It’s a perfect life.

It’s an unusual name for a dog. Ken or Kenny would make more sense, but the elegant woman was adamant when it came to giving the little puppy a name. For Kenneth was the name of the only true love in her life; someone who passed far too soon. Everything since then has paled into insignificance. It’s not for the want of trying, of course, but for her the men she has allowed the opportunity of sharing many of the personal triumphs and tragedies that are part of her human existence are simply inferior in all ways to her beloved Kenneth. Naming a small pet after him is the least she can do. Just saying his name brings back such vivid memories.

Despite her daily visits, no-one in the coffee shop knows much about the elegant lady. If asked to guess her age, employees wouldn’t be able to agree how old she is. They don’t know her name, where she lives, how she gets to and from the shop, what the lapdog is called; nothing. She likes it that way. Staying reclusive in more or less plain sight works well for her. There is absolutely no intention of her changing her ways anytime soon. Why should she?

It’s the same performance every day. She and Kenneth take up residence in their usual place and await the arrival of the waiter. This person may change depending on shift patterns, but by now they all know her order off by heart, so much so that a type of verbal shorthand has developed. It works for her as conversation is so overrated in these places.

“Your usual, madam?”

“Yes please.” A neutral voice, no accent distinguishable.

And that is it until the order is ready and delivered to her table. She puts down her mobile phone, upon which she has been keeping in touch with the world and her friends, removes her oversized, dark glasses and opens a napkin which she places on her lap. Kenneth remains simultaneously relaxed and alert next to her. The waiter, who for some inexplicable reason feels intense pressure to make sure service to this woman is beyond the slightest reproach, carefully transfers the various items from his tray to her table. She says ‘thank you’ as this person, mission thankfully accomplished without error, turns away to return to a less stressful part of the coffee shop.

A casual observer, sat, perhaps, at an adjacent table, may not notice anything unusual in the events unfolding at the table of the elegant lady when she drinks her coffee. He or she might look up if Kenneth begins growling, and gently shake their head suggesting mild dissatisfaction with what has happened, but that would be it. The elegant lady gives off a kind of aura that dissuades the unseasoned watcher from making judgements about the kind of person she is. Such judgements would, if unexpectedly and improbably reached, prove almost comically wrong anyway. But that is not going to happen, because of this aura.

For a practised people-watcher, however, spotting the elegant lady would be akin to a metal detectorist locating what he or she thinks may be a rare and potentially valuable find in a muddy farmer’s field on a cold and wet day. There’s so much potential if you know where to look. Take the face, for example. It’s tastefully made up, and whilst the effect doesn’t disguise the fact the woman is no longer as young as she once was, it suggests someone who knows how to age gracefully.

Then there’s the clothes she wears. Maybe the people-watcher isn’t the most fashion-conscious person in the world, but this person would immediately appreciate the quality and style evident, the casually tailored look effortlessly worn by the increasingly elegant lady every day. Colours, lengths and fabrics can and do alter with the seasons, but the style continually impresses. It’s the same with her footwear. It’s always appropriate and never, ever, even a millimetre away from not being exactly right. Her hair is always perfectly coiffured. There’s never a part of it out of place.

Finally, there’s her jewellery. Even a professional people-watcher would inwardly gasp at the quantity of diamonds on display. If the aim of the elegant lady is to be able to melt into a crowd, the jewellery makes this almost impossible. The quality is obvious but subtle and understated, and the effect is stunning. Having said this, the way it is worn doesn’t attract the attention of the normal onlooker. It’s not being worn for their benefit.

One needs to forensically investigate the elegant lady to become aware of just how impressive her jewellery is. Of course, this is a difficult thing to do without attracting Kenneth’s and, probably, the lady’s attention, but it is just about possible. Incredibly difficult to achieve as well without either being spotted or reported to management, but it’s a risk worth taking.  In terms of value, it’s hard to estimate from a distance but it’s definitely on the very expensive side. It makes a statement in the same way as owning a Rolls Royce does. Not that the elegant lady drives a car, of course. It’s far better to be chauffeured.

Those of a more prurient disposition may be frustrated that the dissection of the elegant lady’s appearance has not mentioned her underwear, and anything of a more personal nature to be found on her body. There is no apology for this because she doesn’t deserve to be analysed in such intimate detail but, in the spirit of full disclosure, some additional information will follow in the next paragraph. Please move on to the paragraph after that if you are easily offended or don’t want your image of the lady to be sullied in any way.

You will not be surprised to learn her underwear is, like the rest of her clothing, absolutely perfect and of the highest quality. Types and styles vary according to what else she is wearing and her plans for the day, but the overall effect is always enchanting. None of her lovers, including the late and lamented Kenneth, have failed to notice a substantial increase in heart rate when given the opportunity to inspect such clothing on her at close quarters. As for ‘anything of a more personal nature’, the elegant lady considers the current fashion for tattoos abhorrent. Her skin is therefore unblemished, but always healthy and tanned. However, she is not entirely unfashionable in this area. There are piercings in both belly button and labia. The jewellery of choice for these areas is diamond encrusted, but very few people get to see it up close nowadays.

Now complete, the picture drawn of the elegant lady indicates a beautiful, stylish, independent, older and private person with unlimited wealth who is a creature of habit and enjoys the company of her lapdog. This begs one obvious question. What on earth is she doing in a coffee shop in a decaying English seaside resort? Let us see if we can find out the answer.

It’s 1986. Kenneth and Sylvia are leaving their Home Counties property for an extended stay at their villa near Marbella. The weather in England has been atrocious, so the chance to feel some warm spring Spanish sun on their faces is a very pleasant prospect. Kenneth is in his early 50s. He made his money in the financial markets, and this has allowed him both a lifestyle to be envied and early retirement from the rat race. His wife is almost half his age but twice as intelligent. No-one dares refers to her as a ‘trophy’.

On the way to the airport, Kenneth experiences mild panic when he realises he can’t locate his passport, but the ever-reliable Sylvia calms him down when she tells him to relax because she has control of all the necessary documentation. He knows then that everything will be fine. It doesn’t stop him from developing yet another bout of indigestion, but he thinks he is hiding it well. He isn’t, and Sylvia is mentally counting up the number of times her husband has suffered from this ailment in the last few months. She puts a note in her diary to make a doctors’ appointment for him when they get back. He won’t do it himself.

Their stay in the villa will coincide nicely with that of some friends. They originally met in the nearby village restaurant a couple of years earlier, discovered they were near neighbours in the villa estate (who knew?), and got on like a house on fire. Christmas cards are now exchanged and there is talk of the four of them going to the Caribbean together later in the year.

Whilst the friendship is genuine, Sylvia has noticed that Daniel, husband of the vivacious Lorraine, seems to be taking a more than friendly interest in her. She’s caught him on a couple of occasions looking at her intently. On the basis she’s seen him looking, she believes Lorraine will have done likewise, so she has a quiet word with her about it. The gist is that Sylvia is flattered but not interested, and hopes telling her about it won’t spoil the friendship. Lorraine fully understands, telling Sylvia he does this with women all the time and it doesn’t mean anything. But then she tells Sylvia if she changes her mind about Daniel, it’s OK as far as she’s concerned. It’s just how they are. No-one else will know.

Unsurprisingly, neither of the husbands is aware of this discussion. To Sylvia’s way of thinking though, as Kenneth drives her from the airport to the villa, the relationship between the four of them has taken an unexpected turn for the worse. She begins to develop some preliminary excuses for not being able to accompany Daniel and Lorraine on their Caribbean trip. She’s sure she will be able to get Kenneth onside.

By the time they are settled in the villa, it’s late afternoon. The cleaners and pool attendant employed to maintain the property in their absence have done an excellent job, and the nearby supermarket has provided enough food and alcohol to ensure everything on the first night will be fine. It’s 20 ͦC, which is a vast improvement on the temperature at home. As is their usual practice, they don’t venture out on the first night of the stay. Instead, it’s drinks by the pool and a variety of snacks. Sylvia is a great cook, but she’s on holiday as well as Kenneth.

Her husband complains of feeling tired about 8pm, so he heads off to the bedroom for an early night. It doesn’t bother Sylvia, who has an interesting book to read and a large Bacardi and Coke to finish. When she arrives in the bedroom an hour later though, her world has changed forever. Kenneth is dead on the marble floor by his side of the bed. Sylvia suspects heart attack, but until the authorities complete their investigations it’s difficult to do more than speculate. She makes the necessary phone calls.

In the aftermath of Kenneth’s death, the cause of which has been confirmed as a heart attack, Sylvia finds out who her friends really are. Contact with several regular guests at the soirees Sylvia and Kenneth held is lost or withdrawn. Sylvia is too proud to call these people herself. After a while, she develops the start of what she refers to as an understanding of how people with nothing better to do live their lives, but more about that later. There were at least a hundred mourners at Kenneth’s funeral. Where have they all gone to?

The marriage was childless through choice, and their respective parents are dead. Kenneth’s died naturally, whilst it was a car crash in the Lake District that ended Sylvia’s parents’ lives when she was in her late teens. The accident affected her deeply, but time would seem to have healed those wounds. Both Kenneth and Sylvia were single children. In consequence, Sylvia is almost alone in a big Home Counties house now. It’s not something she likes very much and without her husband around so she decides to sell up and move to somewhere closer to the city. It will keep the boredom at bay if nothing else. Sylvia hates to be bored. It’s a great plan; particularly when the source of Kenneth’s vast wealth unexpectedly tanks and ruins the value of the investments she was counting on to keep her in the life she enjoyed before he died. She decides the villa in Marbella must go as well, but to do this she needs to instruct someone with local knowledge to get her the best deal.

So, by early 1987, Sylvia is once again making her way to the villa. She is mildly upset as it may be the last time she visits and it holds so many good memories of her life with Kenneth. Needs must, however, so in the course of the following few days she organises the sale of the villa, with a respectable local estate agency and reputable firm of solicitors to guide her. They’ve been chosen by her personally. They will not rip her off. She does her research very thoroughly.

Whilst Daniel and Lorraine attended Kenneth’s funeral, Sylvia hasn’t been in regular contact with them lately. Until now, she’s not visited the villa since Kenneth died and they didn’t socialise for predominantly geographical reasons back in the UK. As Sylvia sits by the pool contemplating her future, the doorbell rings. It’s Daniel.

“I didn’t expect you to be here at this time of the year,” he says as Sylvia shows him into the villa. “The weather isn’t normally the best. You’ve been very lucky though. It’s unusually mild at present. I’m here for a week doing a few jobs at my place, getting them out of the way whilst Lorraine is visiting her sick mother in Preston. I saw the rental car as I drove past and thought I’d pop in to see if you were managing all right.”

Sylvia offers him a drink. As they enjoy the unseasonably fine weather Daniel mentioned, she tells him what’s going on in her life, which doesn’t take too long. Then she explains about Kenneth’s investments problem and the reason she’s in Spain. Daniel is shocked.

“That’s awful news! Lorraine will be devastated. What are you going to do?” he asks.

“I’ve sold the big house and purchased a large flat nearer to where life continues to thrive,” she says. “I’m fine financially, but the proceeds from the sale of the villa will provide an extra level of security if things go wrong unexpectedly. I don’t need to work. I’m sure I’ll find something interesting to occupy my time. You don’t need to worry about me. I will survive.”

“I’m sure you will,” Daniel responds. “If you are ever in our neck of the woods, don’t hesitate to pop in. We’d love to see you.”

The geographical reasons mentioned earlier are Daniel and Lorraine live in Harrogate. It’s a long way from the Home Counties, even by train. Sylvia has visited the town before and quite liked the place, but it’s not somewhere she feels is likely to be near the top of her wish-list of places to visit going forwards. Nevertheless, she thanks Daniel for the offer as you never know how life is going to play out. Perhaps one day she will indeed be in Harrogate….

“Have you got any plans for the rest of your stay?” Daniel asks Sylvia. “If you haven’t, I would love to take you to dinner. Lorraine and I discovered this fantastic place last year. I think you’d love it.”

“You don’t have to, Daniel,” Sylvia replies, “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“Nonsense! I’ll make the booking now and pick you up about 8pm. The food is great and the atmosphere amazing. Best of all for me is it’s casual, so I don’t have to put on the ridiculous designer clothes Lorraine forces me to wear when we go out at home.  I hate all that. See you later.” And with that, Daniel is gone before Sylvia has time to protest and reject his offer.

Oh well, thinks Sylvia, it’s not as though there was something else in the diary for this evening. She spends the rest of the day relaxing, before getting herself ready to go out. The restaurant may be casual, but it’s a concept she’s unfamiliar with. By 8pm she’s looking spectacularly elegant, although toned down in keeping with the allegedly relaxed dress code preferred by the restaurant. She knows she looks good, but it’s of little importance to her at that moment. 8pm means 8pm, and Daniel is late. Tardiness is something she can’t abide. There are no excuses.

At 8.10pm, Daniel arrives. Wisely, he opts not to apologise. It’s something he’s learnt from being married to Lorraine. It is what it is. Reasons and explanations are meaningless. They drive in total silence to the restaurant, whilst Sylvia considers whether or not to play nice or nasty. She opts for nice; on the basis Daniel is paying and had suggested the dinner in the first place. As they walk from car to restaurant, she links arms with him in a gesture of forgiveness.

The meal is everything Daniel said it would be and possibly more besides. The atmosphere is entrancing, exciting and beguiling, all at the same time. By the time their desserts arrive, Sylvia is feeling the happiest she’s felt since Kenneth passed. Admittedly, a substantial quantity of alcohol has been consumed, but that doesn’t detract from the pleasantly relaxed and comfortable haze that has descended on her. She says as much to Daniel.

“I’m having a marvellous time. Thank you so much for bringing me here. It’s better than you described.”

“I’m glad you’re having a good time. You probably deserve it after all the horrible things that you’ve experienced lately.”

Daniel has drunk almost as much as Sylvia, and is supposed to be driving the car back to their villas later. Neither is showing much evidence of being incapacitated, but neither is intent on stopping drinking just yet, whilst the ambience is so wonderful. Desserts finished, they agree to liqueurs on the terrace. The weather is exceeding expectations. It’s a lovely evening.

Sylvia lets her hair down a little, and starts to flirt with Daniel.

“When Kenneth and I were here last year, we met up and had drinks at your place. Do you remember?”

“Oh yes,” says Daniel immediately. “You were wearing that white dress.”

“Indeed I was,” responds Sylvia. “I seem to recall you spent a lot of time looking at me that night. Can I enquire why?”

Daniel is not embarrassed. “Because you are very attractive. I found it difficult to take my eyes off you. It’s the same tonight.”

“I spoke to Lorraine about it because I was concerned,” Sylvia continues, “and she told me not to worry. You are like this with every female you are attracted to.”

“Did Lorraine tell you she wouldn’t have worried if we’d made love?” Daniel had considered using the word ‘fucked’ as an alternative expression, but quickly discounted the thought. It was a wise decision in the circumstances. Sylvia discourages swearing wherever possible. It’s so unnecessary when there are several less aggressive alternative words available.

“She did. I considered her response slightly inappropriate at the time. Now I’m not so sure.”

Daniel knows an opportunity when he hears one. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” he asks carefully. He may have had a few drinks, but he suddenly feels very alert, alive and absolutely sober.

“It depends what you think I’m suggesting,” Sylvia replies. “I know what I mean.”

“Let’s cut to the chase Sylvia.” Daniel is looking into her face when he says this. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours.”

The bill is paid and a generous tip given. The drive back to Daniel’s villa is enlivened by his erratic, alcohol affected driving and his response to Sylvia’s hand being unexpectedly placed on his crotch whilst doing so. Once there, they make love downstairs on the rug in front of a fire that has never been used, before retiring to a spare bedroom where there is a repeat performance. Daniel is unable to make it a hat-trick, but Sylvia is able to compensate for this in her own way. Daniel watches her writhing in ecstasy, spellbound.

When Daniel wakes up in the morning, Sylvia has gone. There’s no note and, indeed, it proves to be the last time he ever sees her. Sylvia is back at her own place by then, thinking about what happened and how much she enjoyed it all. It makes her consider her future in a way she’s not previously envisaged. It might need to be finessed a little, but with careful application she believes she may have found a solution to her boredom problem. Ever the perfectionist, Sylvia begins to make plans.

The Spanish villa sells quickly, and at a price somewhat higher than was expected. Sylvia is delighted. The proceeds of the sale are invested more wisely than her husband’s investments, so she has financial security. It’s time to put her plan into operation.

Over the next thirty years, Sylvia has a succession of older male lovers. They have been selected in a variety of circumstances; from receptions she attends for artistic endeavours, parties she is invited to, cruises she takes, even men she meets by accident. There is no rhyme or reason behind the decisions she takes. She learnt that with Daniel. If it feels right, just go for it.

It doesn’t matter to her if the man is attached or unattached – as long as it works for her then it’s OK. She has no scruples, having quickly appreciated the ‘kill or be killed’ attitude prevalent in her world. The men in her life are themselves wide-ranging in careers. There are professionals, the self-made and, less attractively, the silver spoons. As long as they treat her well and, more importantly, know where they stand with her, their rewards are spectacular.

Invariably, many of these men are retired; some early and some recently. This also doesn’t matter to Sylvia. She takes one step at a time. Her one-off arrangement with Daniel allowed her to reach a decision about her future. With Kenneth no longer around, she didn’t want to re-marry for fear of ruining his memory. At the same time though, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life unloved. She felt no shame in what transpired with Daniel and her subsequent liaisons have proved equally one-sided. The partner might fall in love with her, but the reverse is not going to happen.

Her life has proved to be a constant procession of parties, holidays and romances all over the world, with a succession of loving men who worship the ground she walks on. So they should, for Sylvia spends a lot of money ensuring she remains as beautiful as she can. Her rewards come in the form of gifts, preferably diamond jewellery, although she is not averse to other presents. Her financial status is now beyond secure.

Yet for all this, there are moments of upset and sadness. One of her lovers dies unexpectedly – it happens, particularly when they are older than she is. A wife discovers her husband is having an affair with her. The relationship ends in the blink of an eye. She simply decides she’s unhappy with her partner and terminates the arrangement. Occasionally, the partner ends the relationship with her. It’s real life. These things occur with everyone, but there are plenty more fish in the sea if you know where to look.

And now, Sylvia is getting older. Her looks are fading, but she remains as gorgeous and elegant as always. With age comes more wisdom. Sylvia has decided she no longer wants another man in her life. She’s happy on her own, thank you very much. She begins to withdraw from the society she used to enjoy so much when she was younger. It’s hard though, because the invitations and opportunities to remain involved keep coming. So Sylvia does what she once thought was unthinkable; she decides to move from the city to somewhere unobtrusive.

She eventually finds a sleepy town with a once glorious, now faded reputation in the North West of England. She recalls she stopped there once with one of her ex-partners on the way to the Lake District and found it charming.  There are many people of her age living there, and the price of property is ridiculously cheap compared to where she’s been living. She sells her flat for a massive profit and buys somewhere in this town which is quiet, private, anonymous and unobtrusive. After she’s settled in properly and become familiar with the geography, she buys a lapdog and spends hours every day training it to do whatever she wants.

Sylvia becomes a creature of habit. You’ll see her every day in a coffee-shop in town, sat at her usual table with her lapdog. She doesn’t want company; she wants to be left alone. Her standards haven’t slipped at all with the relocation. If you are going out, she reasons, you need to stand out and impress people. Just don’t try to talk to her.

And, for the record, she never did manage to visit Harrogate.