The Beginning

The Beginning

"What would you say to a glass of wine, lonely lady?"
I sighed as I looked up from my book to see a stereotypical salesman standing in front of my table, a smug smile on his face. I’d had a few approaches as I sat there but none quite as sleazy as this one, and I couldn’t help the sarcasm rising in my answer.

"Erm… feck off, glass?"
The man looked astonished and beat a hasty retreat, not understanding the humour in my flippant response, as once again I reflected on how I’d ended up sitting at that bar. My consultancy work involves significant travel, but ordinarily I would only spend one or two nights in a hotel. I’d been seconded onto a project that I really didn’t want to be a part of, and it meant living away for just over a month.
I was staying in a bland chain hotel, feeling bored and frustrated, and I realised the salesman, while sleazy, may have had a point: maybe I was lonely. I am normally very sociable, out with friends all the time, and had been living in that hotel, eating in that same damned restaurant, sitting reading in that same bloody bar all alone for almost a week. I am not particularly attractive but the hotel was full of commercial travellers who all tend to be men, so I stood out as a solitary female in a bar that was only one step away from being a meat market. I sighed again, shook off my reverie and returned to my book, only to have another sales rep approach.

"I don’t think he was a Father Ted fan. I am. I’m Stuart"
Before I had looked up from my book he had placed a drink in front of me and had sat down. I looked at the drink, a whisky sour, the unfashionable, slightly kitsch drink I’d been ordering all week, and then I lifted my head to look at the man who had joined me.

He was a man I had noticed before (which explained how he knew what I drank; I'd had to explain the drink to several bar staff since I'd been there), and I couldn’t help smiling as he extended his hand across the table to shake mine. His hand was huge, warm and dry, and although I’ve never been dainty my hand seemed tiny by comparison.

"Pleased to meet you Stuart; I’m Angela. Thankyou for the drink". Stuart was leaning back in his chair, a relaxed smile crinkling the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. He was extremely tall and was always dressed more casually than the suits who normally sat in the bar, but when I’d seen him before what I’d noticed about him was his grace, the way he moved, the impression of stillness in him. There was a confidence that was almost arrogance about him, and I had planned to return to my book when he reached over and casually flicked the cover to see what I was reading: Generation Kill by Evan Wright.

"Interesting… did you read the original articles he published?".
His voice was low and slightly rough, and I had to lean forward slightly to catch what he was saying. I responded and we started chatting about books we’d read, films we’d seen, places we’d been. I was almost disappointed when the waitress 

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