The waiter hurried over and offered to take the kitten away. But a towering man scooped up the tearful, fluffy little thing and placed it on the chair beside him.
A plate for my feline friend! he boomed. And your best cut of meat!
Wed agreed to dress daringlysomething cheeky, almost like young nymphs would wearand head to a posh restaurant. It was a chance to show ourselves off, perhaps size up the gentlemen. Rachel, director of a prestigious private school, came up with the idea. It suited her perfectly; she always had smart words ready for every occasion.
We nymphs were thirty-five. At that age, we thought, we could just about pull off short skirts and blouses that accentuated more than concealed. Deep necklines, flawless makeupwe were geared up for battle.
We chose a fitting venue: grand, high-status, and eye-wateringly expensive. But that didnt bother us in the least. We booked a table, settled in, and soon found ourselves the object of captivated looks from menand scathing glances from their dates.
As usual, we soon started talking about the most important topic: men. We shared our dreams, expectations, and long wish-lists. Each of us wanted an idealtall, athletic, attractive and definitely well-heeled. Someone to sweep us off our feet, indulge our whims, keep quiet when needed, never burden us with chores. It would be perfect if he was descended from nobility.
Just not like those blokes over there Rachel nodded towards a table of three jolly, slightly overweight chaps with receding hairlines. Their table was crowned with pints, crisps, and mountains of steaks; football and fishing were their topics of choice. The laughter was loud, genuineutterly unrefined.
Horrendous.
So tacky.
Appalling.
There was no disagreementthey were clearly not the sort for such glamorous ladies as we were. Then everything changed in a heartbeat.
He arrivedstepping in from his gleaming red Aston Martin.
Lord Coventry Saxon! the maître d declared.
We pricked up our ears, keen as hunting hounds catching scent.
Tall, athletic, distinguished with greying hair, wearing a suit that looked tailor-made at staggering cost. Diamond cufflinks, crisp white shirtthe very image of sophistication.
Oh my
Goodness me
Mmm
Our necklines dipped even lower, our eyes practically beckoned.
Thats a real man, whispered Emily.
A lord, a stunner, and loaded, chimed in Linda. Ive dreamed of the Maldives ever since I was a child
I kept quiet, but my look said it all.
Within ten minutes, we were asked to join Lord Coventry at his table. We strode over, heads held high, and with a touch of disdain for the other guestsespecially the trio by the pints.
The lord was charming, a conversationalist who regaled us with tales of ancestry, stately homes, and fine art collections. Tension simmered; we knew full well only one would get the invite to continue the evening.
Then, just as the tension peaked, the food arrived: lobster, seafood platters, and vintage claret. We ate, casting dreamy looks at our host and imagining things well beyond dinner. Cheeks flushed; suddenly, we were radiant.
Coventry was in his elementwitty, telling stories of high society, and frankly, we didnt care what he suggested after the meal.
There was a little garden outside the restaurant. The aroma of food must have drifted out there because, soon enough, a tiny grey kitten slipped between the tables and settled at the lords feethoping for some kindness.
But none came.
Coventrys face twisted in disgust. He kicked the kitten away. The little thing sailed several feet and crashed into the leg of the table where those three chaps sat. The dining room fell silent.
I detest these filthy, mongrel creatures, the lord announced loudly. At my estate, I keep pedigree hounds and the finest horses.
The waiter rushed over, apologizing profusely…
He hurried to the beer table, but one of the menhuge, close to two metres tall, with a ruddy face and clenched fistsstood up. His mates tried to hold him back.
He didnt say a word, just lifted the kitten and sat it on a chair.
A plate for my fluffy companion! he thundered. And make sure its the best meat. At once!
The waiter turned pale and dashed to the kitchen. The whole restaurant erupted in applause.
One of usLindarose and walked to the giant.
Shift over. And get this lady a whisky, would you?
The lord was lost for words.
Within minutes, the other two of us joined, shooting Coventry a look of pure contempt.
Not everyone left the restaurant together that night. Now, a new trio: a man, a woman, and a grey kitten.
Time passed. Today, Linda is married to that gentle giantthe owner of a major investment firm. Emily and I are wives to his best friends, both respected solicitors. We all wed on the same day.
Our lives are far different now: nappies, cooking, cleaning. Daughters born almost at the same time.
For the occasional treat, we send the husbands off to football or fishing, call a nanny, and meet up againto talk about womens matters. And yes, men.
A year later, Lord Coventry Saxon was arrestedfront page news. A serial marriage fraudster who preyed on gullible women.
Thankfully, true gentlemen arent like that.
Im talking about those threeout of shape, balding, not a trace of glamour, but hearts nobler than any aristocrat.
Thats the way it is.
And you know what? Thats the only way it should be.
