Life As a Dream (with pumpkins)

Well, I’m having a truly incredible weekend. It’s like a dream. On Friday, after work. I went off to the hairdresser to get my highlights done. I had thought of NOT doing this, being short of cash, but am so, so glad I went ahead with it, as my hair was looking terrible.
Anyhoo, afterwards I had nothing special to do and it seemed a waste ofd my great hair to do nothing with it, so I thought I’d pop into the Cadogan Arms for a cocktail. (I had just enough money in my bag, so did not have to go to the cashpoint, which has been randomly refusing my requests for money this week. It let me have cash Tuesday, but not Wednesday. V embarrassing.) I was just about to order when someone put their hand on my shoulder and said ’The delicious Scones!’ (Well, actually, they used my real name, which, for pointless security reasons, cannot be used on this blog.) I turned round, and guess who it was! Michael. He looked very rumpled and tired, and smelled of drink, and he has a friend with him, and he introduced me, keeping his arm round my waist at all times. So we sat down together, and the friend asked what I did etc and then the two men had a rambling talk, which seemed to be in code, about some company they owned. I didn’t listen, as Michael kept buying me different champagne cocktails and lining them up in front of me on the table and asking me what they tasted like. It was so so odd. He was so affectionate. It was like we were suddenly such close friends. Anyhoo, in the end his friend drifted off, and Michael put his face in his hands and said: ‘Scones, scones scones!’ He shook his head. And then he said, taking my hand, ‘I don’t suppose you would… No, no you wouldn’t.’
It took ages to get it out of him what he wanted, but he said he longed to take me away to a hotel for the weekend, would I agree?’
Well, OF COURSE I said yes! (Who wouldn’t?) He wanted to go STRAIGHT AWAY, so I said I had to go home and get some clothes, and see about Mirabelle etc. And in no time I found myself in a taxi, going to my flat. Michael waited downstairs while I flung stuff into a suitcase. The Japanese girls were not in, so we drove Mirabelle round to Rache’s, where I KNOW she will have a lovely romantic weekend with Oskar the totally-transformed cat. Rache came out to the taxi to have a good look at Michael, giggling, which would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t been so numb from the champagne, and then we were off.
We just sat in the back of the taxi, Michael gripping on to my hand tightly, and drove through the rain. He said, fuzzily, ‘You don’t know what this means to me, my darling Scones,’ and then fell asleep. I had no idea where we were going. It was to a huge stately home type place in Watford.
Michel piled out of the taxi and paid with a huge roll of cash, and then we were in to reception, surrounded by warm air, and polished glass, and incredibly polite staff. And pumpkins. The place was curiously decorated with sort of mad modern art stuff. There were trees with tiny orange paper lanterns on, like fruit, in reception, and the oddest paintings. And piles of pumpkins everywhere. I suppose because it is Halloween. Or was
So we went straight into a very dark restaurant with a vast oil-painting (of pumpkins, of course). And we had a ‘tasting menu’, which is when they keep presenting you with, say, a thimbleful of very salty soup, or a piece of meat the size of a bar of soap, with a squiggle of coloured sauce on it, and then they whisk it away and bring more plates, and more silver knives and forks, and another thimble. And we drank more and more champagne, and Michel kept squeezing my hand and telling me how wonderful I was, and laughing indulgently at everything I said.
It must have been about I a.m by the time we went to the suite, which had a huge four-poster bed. I ran a bath and tried out all the free soaps etc and when I got back to the bed Michael was fast asleep in all his clothes, snoring unbelievably loudly.

Date with Destiny - Aaagh!

http://www.williams-sonoma.com/wsimgs/rk/images/rcp-images/Recipe/Flourless-ChocolateTorte.jpgThe date with Michael was both worrying and blissful, in equal measures. We were meeting at Quo Vadis in Soho. I wore my best LBD (it’s always back to black if you feel fat) with a belt made of exciting satiny ribbon from VV Rouleaux. This is supposed to be a thrifty thing to do. (In all the broadsheets’ top tips for saving money in a slump.) But you should see the price of that ribbon! I have some great black stilettoes, too. (Did think of wearing flats cos of how short he is, but then most rich men go for taller ladies, don’t they?)
He was ten minutes late and on the phone when he arrived. But he had warned the staff and he had booked a brilliant table, and they opened a bottle of champagne just for me while I waited for him.) He smelled of Eau Sauvage, and was wearing a nicely-cut suit – so cunningly contrived it almost made him look fit.
It’sgorgeous in Quo Vadis – all frosted mirrors, polished silver and white linen. I had crab talgiatelle and fillet steak with béarnaise. The worrying bit was when we were all settled with our food and he said he felt so terrible because he’d never offered me the advice I’d asked for at the breakfast. And what had I wanted to consult him about?
So there was nothing for it but to fib and say I’d been thinking of setting up an agency on my own (with an imaginary inheritance from an aunt). He looked grave and said it was the worst possible time for a new venture, and I said how I’d heard recessions were times of opportunity too.(Thus looking like a lively, rich businesswoman, and perfect consort.) It all flowed along until he said it was lucky I had the inheritance to fall back on as he’d heard my firm was in trouble, and looking to lay people off Aaagh! The minute I heard that I got in a panic and the chocolate torte turned to ash in my mouth. And even hearing he’d seen me at the Private View and longed to speak to me,and that the tall blonde he was with was the artist (a client’s wife) – explains why the pics were so rubbish – did not make things better.
I was so distracted our goodbyes were rather brief. (Wet kiss alittle bit like terrier slobber on my cheek.) What do I do if he tells my boss (one of his best mates) I’m rolling in it and want to start up on my own?Aargh!