They first met in a modest tea room on a rainy morning in London. Emily Clarke was seated at a corner table, waiting for her friend, a steaming mug of tea before her and a scone on a plate. Thomas Whitaker had slipped in for a cuppa, hoping the warm drink might give him a moment to think about where his life was headed.
Emily was a striking young lady, and Thomas, a pleasant fellow who never shied away from a chat with a pretty face. He was instantly taken with her, and it seemed she felt the same.
May I join you at your table? he asked, his tone leaving little room for refusal.
Certainly, though Im waiting for my friend, so you wont have to linger long, she replied.
Ill be brief. Id simply like to introduce myself and exchange numbers. A few minutes will do, he said.
And who told you Id hand over my telephone? she retorted, tearing a bite from the scone.
Because you like sweets, and only kind people love sweets. That makes us a perfect match, for Im also fond of them.
You consider yourself a kind soul, then? she laughed.
Of course. Cant you see it? Im a very kind and decent chap, he replied, sipping his tea.
Ive never seen such a selfconfident man before.
And Ive never seen a beauty such as yourself.
Emily, she said, extending her hand.
Thomas, he answered, taking her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and kissing her with such fervour that Emily felt a blush rise to her cheeks.
Do you not think youre being rather forward with a stranger? she asked.
Im not the sort to be forward, especially not with the most lovely lady in the room.
Alas, Im not a mere lady, Emily pointed to a wedding band on her left finger. Im married!
What ever it is, when has that ever stopped anyone? One day youre wed, the next youre not. Marriages these days are as fragile as china.
I was brought up differently. In my family, marriage is for life. So, dear fellow, I think its time we part ways.
You cant be serious, Thomas protested. I feel theres nothing here that we both dont want. Lets just swap numbers; it obliges us to nothing. Should we wish to speak again, well have a way.
Youre awfully sure of yourself. Why do you think Ill give you my number?
Im not cocky, Im simply sincere. If we like each other, why not meet again? he said with a charming grin that left Emily unable to resist.
Very well, write it down, she said, dictating her number.
Ill call now, and youll keep my number. Youll need it later.
Alright, Ill keep it safe. But youd better find another table; I see my friend arriving and I have no need for idle gossip.
Dont worry, I understand. Ill be off, but we shall meet again.
Thomas took his tea and slipped into the far corner of the room.
A week later he rang Emily. She had been expecting his call and agreed to meet once more at the same tea room.
Emily, Thomas began, Id like to know you better.
Thomas, she sipped her tea, I am married. I work as a nurse at St.Marys Hospital, and in principle I could see a friendship with you. But my husband, James, is intensely jealous. He served in the armed forces abroad and now runs a youth combat club. Hes a strongwilled man who holds me dearly, and I could never betray him. Besides, I abhor infidelity; its downright dangerous.
Emily, Thomas replied confidently, youve captured my heart, and I cannot simply walk away. Though Im a software developer earning enough to enjoy a lively social life, Im not afraid of your husband. I simply wish to get to know you and become friends.
Thomas earned a modest living at a small firm in Manchester, never quite striking it rich but comfortable enough to indulge in the occasional company of attractive women. He was a steadfast bachelor, always on the lookout for a pretty face, and Emily was no exception. He felt a strong attraction and vowed to win her over.
They met again, and that encounter set the tone for what followed. Emily told James she would be on night duty at the hospital, then stayed the night at Thomass flat. Neither noticed how quickly they fell in love, and soon they were meeting whenever they could.
One evening Emily called Thomas.
James is away on a competition for a week, so Ill be waiting for you at my place tonight.
Is it safe? Thomas asked. Perhaps we could meet at my flat as usual.
No, she answered. I want you to come to mine. Ill make a romantic dinner, and well sit together like proper people. I cant keep coming to your bachelor den!
Very well, Ill be there this evening.
When the appointed hour arrived, Thomas knocked on Emilys door carrying a bouquet, a bottle of champagne, a fine red wine, a cake, and a box of chocolates. She had prepared a delightful meal; the bubbles and wine loosened their tongues, and after dinner they retired to the bedroom, the night promising romance equal to the candlelit supper.
At two oclock in the morning a violent knock sounded at the door. They sprang from the bed, bewildered, and Emily peered through the peephole.
Its James, Thomas, its the end! Hide somewhere!
But where?
I dont know, decide yourself!
Who is it? Emily whispered, halfasleep.
Emily, open up, you dont recognise me? a drunken voice bellowed from the hallway. I left my keys at work, so Im pounding. Open the door, quick!
What shall we do? Emily, trembling, looked at Thomas.
Open it, what else can we do? the pale intruder answered.
Thomas shoved his belongings under the bed and, still in his undergarments, bolted for the bathroom.
Where have you been so drunk? Emily shouted. Why didnt you leave?
We had a busted coach on the road, the lads had to hitch rides home. Since we didnt get away, we stopped for a quick drink at a local pub and got a bit stuck.
A little drink, thats what you call it, Emily snapped, you cant even stand!
Dont worry, love, its under control. I just need the loo.
Go to the loo tomorrow, Emily commanded, now get back to bed!
Emily, I need the loo now! the husband insisted.
A drunken James sang loudly in his deep bass, No, no, no, I want it now, I want it now! He laughed like a child at his own joke and made a beeline for the toilet. The cramped combined bathroom, a peculiar English design with the toilet perched beside the bath, left Emily frozen, unable to utter a sound. She imagined the worst and shut her eyes, bracing for a nightmare that never came.
Thomas, however, had clambered onto the high ledge of the tiled wall, wedged himself against the plaster, and spread out like a limp rag in the corner, clutching the tiles for support. James, fixated on the porcelain throne, never spotted him. He sang louder, oblivious to the hidden figure.
When Thomas saw the sheer size of James and his clenched fists, he realised that if the husband saw him, it would be his final romantic encounter, perhaps even his last day. He froze, holding his breath. James lingered on the toilet, humming, while the smell of stale urine and alcohol filled the cramped space, making Thomass nose itch terribly. He tried to pull a hand away to wipe his nose, but the wall held him fast; any movement would send him tumbling into the husbands massive grasp.
A sudden sneeze erupted from Thomas, amplified by the tiny room into a thunderous clatter. Startled, James glanced up and, for a fleeting instant, seemed to see a crosslike figure pressed against the wall. Terrified, he stumbled backward, knocked the toilet over, and fell to the floor, losing consciousness.
Thomas seized the chance, slipped off the ledge, and dashed toward the bedroom, snatching his coat and a few belongings. Though Emily lived on the twelfth floor of a thirtystorey block with two highspeed lifts, Thomas, barefoot and in his underpants, fled down the stairwell, the urgency of Jamess rage propelling him faster than any lift could.
Minutes later James recovered, looked around, and saw nothing.
Drink less, Emily chided him later, when he recounted his nights vision.
Thus the tale of Thomas, Emily, and the jealous husband lingered in the memory of those who heard it, a reminder of how love, folly, and a nights drink can intertwine in the most unexpected of ways.
