A BLIGHTED ROSE. by Ernest Ford She was sure she had seen him somewhere before. But where? The inquisitive mind of Rose turned to admiration as she watched him propel his lithe body in and out of the traffic with the same gracefulness, as a snake would do over the wet earth. She watched his manly stride along the busy town footpath and followed in hot persuit, always keeping a discreet distance between them. If he knew that he was being followed, she was not prepared to confront him with a sensible explanation and a - ‘Haven't I met you before' - approach had been outdone, the world over.   Suddenly the bustling throng of shoppers had petered out and his manly gait had now become apparent to Rose. A car pulled up beside her and the driver requested directions, which took up more time than Rose wanted to give. When she looked up, the stranger had disappeared from view and a kind of panic pervaded her whole being. I've lost him - oh what if I've lost him? She started to doubt herself and wondered if the whole episode was just a dream. He couldn't have gone down a side street because in this stretch of the area there wasn't any. Relief came to her rescue as logic told her that he must be in one of the shops.   Slowly she moved along from one shop to the next gazing with intense care through the plate glass windows pretending to be on a shopping spree. The newsagents was given special care and so was the tobacconists but none showed her the figure of the stranger. Undaunted but disappointed she didn't despair and glanced through the near misted window of the local café. Her heart leaped with delight as she saw him stood at the counter awaiting his order. His arms moved gracefully through the air as he appeared to be explaining something to the counter girl and the smile on the girls face brought a tinge of jealousy to Rose.   She decided to stay outside for a moment and also decided that this was an opportunity to survey the stranger without him noticing at all that an admirer was at the other side of the window. He was, she perceived a man of perhaps forty -five to fifty who could easily pass off as in his thirties. What did that matter? Any age difference these days was quickly over-looked and that age gap hadn't been foremost in Rose's mind. As he turned sideways, she noticed a strange resemblance to the film star Omar Sharif. All the outward qualities were there but assembled in the stranger in a younger pattern. The jealousy, felt before against the counter girl, subsided, for perhaps that was what the merriment had been about. When you look as well as the stranger did and especially when you have the looks of Omar Sherif you are bound to raise some comment. ‘If only I had his money', must have come out in the conversation and brought laughter to the pair.   Traffic was building up again and Rose had seen enough to tell her that, ‘he was her man'. Bracing herself to a rigid position, her nostrils soaked in the polluted air of the street to give her the confidence to push open that café door and closer to the man of her dreams. ‘Ting' went the small bell above the door which made a mockery of her attempt of an unobserved entrance, but nevertheless Rose carefully and silently returned the door to its resting place.   Beneath furrowed eyebrows she shyly glanced towards the counter and somehow felt relief that the stranger was no longer there. From the corner of her eye she observed that he had taken a place at a table almost beneath the window that she had made her analysis of him. The counter girl looked towards Rose and wondered if she was going to get a customer or not. Feeling the girl's eyes upon her, Rose nervously moved along the counter until she stood opposite her. ‘A cup of tea please,' Rose asked in a timid voice. The girl drew away then looked again over her shoulder in such a way that Rose wished that she could have melted. If she thought that her customer was a bit on the abnormal side, what on earth might the stranger have thought? The wait at the counter seemed ages and then a steaming cup of brown liquid was pushed towards her. ‘Help yourself to the sugar and milk,' the girl announced. ‘Its at the end of the counter - and the spoon!' Rose lifted the cup up and without uttering a word, did as she was instructed. Moving away from the counter she mingled amongst the tables until she came to a table next to where the stranger was sitting. Placing the cup down, she stole a glance in his direction and he, half- turning to see what the noise was about, our eyes met. A smile rested in his eyes and stayed there until I sat down. ‘He noticed me - he noticed me.' The thought gave Rose an air of importance and elation. She sat down with their chairs almost touching and their bodies back to back. It didn't take long for the body chemistry to take over as an aura pervaded the scene. ‘Why there? Rose?' the strangers voice was heard for the first time. Rose spilled some of her tea, not because he had spoken to her, but the very fact that he knew her name. How could he? The steamy smell of his coffee drifting over them became stronger still as he carried it across to her table where he sat down. ‘How &ldots;?' Her lips stuck in mid sentence as if joined by glue. ‘How did you know that my name was Rose?' His deep brown eyes smiled again sending out an inner warmth. ‘Because you look like a rose,' and lifting her hand to his face, ‘because you smell like a rose.' This satisfied the lady that this stranger through his wit and charm had guessed her very name. Rose sat there transfixed as her new acquaintance babbled on constantly with more than half the conversation being lost in the whirlpool of her mind.   The girl came from behind the counter in a more unpleasant manner than she had shown before and which Rose had witnessed through the window. Perhaps the interest shown to Rose by the stranger was biting deep into the girl's pit of jealousy. She offered a smile from the corner of he mouth to the male half of the table, but not a glance in Roses direction as she roughly wiped the table. As if noticing the friction, the stranger rose and escorted his lady companion out. Once outside he raised his arm into a loop inviting Rose to link arms. Walking down the street in such a manner did wonders to her ego. If people from the office should see her she would have to spend the whole afternoon in explanation.   The street had become busy again as traffic jockeyed for position. The stranger spotted a taxi that was empty and approaching slowly. He raised his hand to summon the driver and pressing his fingers together, gave a sharp 'click, click, click'. The sound of the clicking fingers made Rose jump a little and caused her to shake her head from side to side. She sleepily looked bewildered at the stranger and half screamed, ‘its dad!' ‘Of course its dad,' he said. ‘Who did you think I was?' Rose staggered. ‘I think that you ought to stop those mid-day hypnotic sessions. I think that I'd rather have a house full of smoke than a daughter who spends the whole lunch break gazing like a love struck cow!'   The taxi stopped, Rose entered and gave directions, then waved good-bye to her dad. She watched the people shop gazing as the taxi struggled to move forward. Fumbling around in her handbag she glanced into the taxi's mirror then sat bolt upright. ‘Doesn't the taxi driver look like Richard Gere,'she thought, then with a wry smile she smacked the back of her hand and put the thought swiftly to the back of her mind. **** Copyright reserved. No part(s) of these publications may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Ernest Ford can be contacted at ernie@ernestford.fsnet.co.uk