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She even remembered thinking that herself, at the time. But the man had offered them dinner and suggested they go to a nightclub afterwards, and Em was in a playful mood. As they left another drinker at the bar had said to Ambrose, “Be very careful, Monsieur.” Ambrose had smiled his thanks. He hadn’t needed the warning, but it was nice that someone cared. They went with him to a restaurant in town and ate; quite well as it turned out. The difficulty lay in maintaining conversation in French. They had managed, Em recalled with a smile, but like Wellington’s assessment of the battle of Waterloo it was a damn close thing. Pierre (that was his name) had been very closely attentive to Em over dinner. Ambrose had told her later he felt a bit like a Parisian sidewalk deposit; a necessary but fundamentally unhelpful part of the ambiance. Dinner finished, Pierre then suggested they drive two blocks to a nice little nightclub he knew where they did a very hot floorshow and had some very. So much for a goodbye for the man I worked for all these years. ———- I turn my wrist to check the time on my black watch. Its 11.58 on a cold Friday night, and I am pushing my weary feet across the pavement down 52nd Street, my white heels clicking and clacking. In one hand is a divine bouquet of white flowers, the scent of clean linen inviting itself into my nose with every step I take. In the other is a large gift bag filled with chocolates, wine and other novelty farewell gifts, including a large card signed by the team. My farewell was held at a local bar just down the street from the offices and since the team go there so often, they decided to give us a round of free drinks. Never one to refuse a freebie, I had the free drink on top of the other four other colleagues had gotten me. Even though I had a great time with all my colleagues, there was a nagging voice at the back of my mind that I couldn’t shut out. Tristan’s. His voice, throaty and smooth. This surely can’t be the.
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