Dinner Date

Embraceable You by George Gershwin. One of my favourites, seated at the baby grand in a corner of the big colonial dining room, doors and windows open to the boom of surf at midday, to the blood-red sun spilling into the sea come dinnertime, and me watching her watching me across the floor.

I’d seen her down by the pool, on her own and reading a book, no spring chicken but with a body that still had something to give. Now, one of a jolly dinner party, hair streaked with just a few strands of grey and brushed back over her ears, and in a silvery dress that sparkled as she moved, she laughed and chatted on cue, while watching me watching her across the floor.

Embraceable You. With a scraping of chairs they all got up to go, still laughing and chatting, and with one last glance over her shoulder for the two of us to remember.