I met him at a ball at the palace. I was a bit naughty in picking him up after he backed into me, but he rallied well and gave me a spunky answer. He seemed to know who I was and called me Princess, although I never use the title in daily life, teasingly asking me my name.
We had a really wonderful evening, dancing together, he seemed to know which things I’d like to eat and drink between. I felt very right in his arms, dancing closely was exactly the right start to what I hoped was a good relationship. My knees now and then felt very trembly, good omens for the future I hoped.
He was the traditional tall dark and handsome type. Charming, but then I discovered he was a diplomat, so that comes with the territory. Towards the end of the evening, I was interrupted by a call to duty, and did not really have time to say goodbye.
I wondered if I should contact him, but I thought that if he was really interested and not just being a good diplomat he’d contact me.
I returned to my normal working life after the weekend in the city. As that is so absorbing I somewhat forgot him, except for alone in my bed at night, I’d remember the warmth his physical presence has aroused in me, the ease with which we talked about so many rather personal things, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Oh yes, there was the possibility of infatuation here!
I’d had teenage years with several rather silly infatuations, so I could recognise the signs very easily.
Then after a Palace visit I was leaving and saw him, from my car to his. I signed for him to phone me. He nodded. He never phoned.
Oh well, obviously just an evening’s distraction for him. Just as well I now have better control over my own emotions, and a life sufficiently demanding that I can forget him for whole stretches of time.
Damn! That man shouldn’t lurk at the edges of my awareness all the time.
Then one morning early, driving to work I saw him. I drove past, but stopped at the red light, my heart pounding like crazy. How could this man have this effect on me,he wasn’t interested. It was so unfair.
He came running over, then tripped. He fell over twice, so clumsy!
He hopped over to the pole and I thought maybe he had really hurt his foot. I would down the window and we had an inane conversation. I told him he deserved to hurt himself.
Feeling a little guilty I offered him a lift. Getting into the car he suddenly passed out. That gave me a big fright, he really was hurt.
A minute later he came round, he seemed very shaken. I helped him into the car, and when he told me where he was staying, I drove him there, all of two blocks.
We spoke little. I think he was ashamed at how he’d treated me. He made some lame excuse about not being able to trace me! Huh! How feeble.
I was glad at the hotel to go and find him some assistance and to leave. I was shaking all the way to work.
If only I could forget him.