Free The Woman Who Knew What She Wanted by William Coles

tonight,’ I said. ‘But another time…’
    â€˜There’s never going to be another time.’
    â€˜Well.’ I stroked her cheek. ‘It’s been fun anyway.’
    We walked back in clusters, Janeen with Darren, while I padded along beside Oliver. The road was not lit and we were enveloped by tendrils of moist mist.
    â€˜About that drink,’ I said.
    â€˜Yes, I must get some more Armagnac,’ he said. ‘And some more brandy too. I’m afraid it’s all been drunk.’
    â€˜So there never was any nightcap?’
    â€˜No,’ he said. ‘It was the best I could think of at the time.’
    I looked at him, face forwards, striding stolidly into the darkness. Realisation dawned. Sleeping with Janeen on the first day that I’d met her would have been bad, a disaster. It would have been like opening all the stopcocks on board ship just as I was setting sail out to sea.
    â€˜Thanks,’ I said.
    â€˜You are welcome,’ he said. For a while we walked in silence. I liked the sound of the gravel underneath our boots. ‘She is very pretty.’
    â€˜She’ll have lots of boyfriends.’
    â€˜If that is the case, you are better to set yourself apart.’
    â€˜Untouchable. An iceberg.’
    â€˜I am told that women are most attracted to what it is they cannot have.’
    I snorted. ‘Just like the rest of us then.’
    I wondered if it was part of our hard wiring. From our earliest years, we hear our mothers say that we can’t have something – whether it’s a chocolate or a toy – and from that moment it becomes an obsession. From mere mild curiosity, we suddenly long for this forbidden fruit more than anything else in the world. I find this business of desire all so unfathomable. What is it that makes me swoon one moment and feel entirely indifferent the next? They call it chemistry, but even now, after I have fallen in love many times over, I still have no inkling what it is that creates this elusive alchemy.

CHAPTER 5

    Anthony gave each of the knives a polish with his napkin and placed them side by side on the table. He examined the two forks and the spoon before also positioning them on the table. A white napkin was folded and placed onto a side plate. He held the wine glass up to the light and that was also inspected before being placed on the table.
    We watched, committing all these little details to memory. For the first time we were in our hotel uniforms, black trousers and white tunics. Some of the waiters felt embarrassed at having to wear this label of servitude. But after a lifetime of school uniform, it was like slipping back into a pair of comfortable old slippers. I liked the tunic and I liked the name tag. I had admired myself in the bathroom mirror. It was a good cut and I looked sleek.
    The faces of the waiters and waitresses were a perfect study. Some, like Oliver, were devouring every detail. The old hands, like Janeen and Darren, were standing at the back. I noticed how his hand strayed to her bottom. She moved it away, but smiled all the same.
I was lurking somewhere in the middle, feigning interest, as I quietly sized up the women. Michelle was sweet; Tracy was pretty; Janeen was almost sexy. I can’t really put my finger on it, but her looks and her hair had this synthetic quality, appealing from afar, but up close it left me cold. I was relieved that I had not slept with her. There were some other women I liked. But no one left me weak at the knees.
    â€˜We got that?’ asked Anthony. ‘The cutlery and the glassware has to be spotless. If it isn’t, you don’t just dump it back in the cutlery box. You go and clean it!’
    As one, we nodded. At lunchtime, we were going to be given our first dry run. A number of locals, friends of the management, had been invited over for a cheap lunch. It was considered to be a safer way of introducing us to fine dining rather than