The Perfect Escape: Romantic short stories to relax with. Julia Williams
He was young, arguably handsome, with dark brown hair and green eyes. Everything about him gave the impression of someone in complete control: from his neat haircut to the well-cut suit and overcoat he wore, together with the fact that, frustratingly, he was apparently immune to the large splats of rain Elsie could feel soaking through her too-thin work uniform and tights. Over his shoulder Elsie caught sight of a blonde-haired young woman dressed in a turquoise and black Fifties diner waitress outfit, looking as if somebody had just tipped a bucket of water over her head – and her heart sank as she realised it was her own reflection in the shop window.
Mr Impervious-to-Rain’s smile would probably have been welcome, were it not for Elsie’s sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying the sight of her, bedraggled, flustered and now squirming with embarrassment on the steps of the high street chemist’s.
‘I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a misunderstanding …’ she began, but Mount Kilimanjaro had turned his attention from her to seek solidarity with the recent male addition to the street spectacle.
‘She hasn’t paid,’ he confided, pointing a thick finger at the haemorrhoid preparation and earwax softener in Elsie’s hand, ‘for those items.’
Oh. My. Life. In her fury at being accused of theft, Elsie had completely forgotten the two quite possibly most embarrassing items in the whole world that she now held. But of course she had paid for them! Hadn’t she?
The young man suppressed a smile and Elsie felt her stomach lurch again as cold raindrops permeated her collar and began to run down the back of her neck. ‘I’m sure it’s just a small misunderstanding,’ he smiled affably at the gargantuan unsmiling man still gripping Elsie’s shoulder. ‘Look, here’s twenty quid. Can’t be any more than that, can it?’
A brief glimpse of softness flashed across the security guard’s steely expression. ‘Well …’
Sensing his opponent weakening, the young man’s smile eased wider. ‘I imagine you see this kind of thing every day, huh? Lunchtime shoppers, brains left at the office, so many shiny things to buy that they make one tiny slip of judgement …’ He turned the whiteness of his sincerity on Elsie, a move which may have been intended to comfort but had the directly opposite effect. ‘I mean, this girl seems very lovely and not really your average shoplifter, eh?’
The steel returned as Mountain Man surveyed her. ‘Takes all sorts.’
‘I’m sure it does, officer. But, trust me, I see all manner of felons in the course of my job and I can spot a wrong ’un a mile off. This, sir, is not one of them.’
This? Despite the help obviously being offered by the smartly dressed stranger beside her, being referred to as an inanimate object was a step too far for Elsie. ‘Now hang on a minute …’
Her planned tirade was halted by a raised, gloved hand and a look that threatened dire consequences if she defied his gesture. Fuming, she dug her drenched heels into the pavement and glared at him.
‘Come on, twenty quid?’ he continued. ‘I’ll even go back into the shop with you to get a receipt. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
To Elsie’s amazement, the security guard shrugged his bulky shoulders and released her. ‘All the same to me,’ he muttered, pocketing the twenty-pound note and turning back towards the store. ‘Just tell your girlfriend to pay a bit more attention next time.’
‘What? I’m not his gir’
‘Absolutely. Stay there, darling. I’ll be back in a moment.’ Smiling like an advert for tooth whitening toothpaste, he winked at Elsie as he accompanied the guard inside the shop.
Gazing down in utter disbelief at the questionable items in her hand, Elsie remained frozen to the spot trying to process what had just happened. One minute she had been dashing around the huge high street chemist on the corner of Brighton’s North Street and Queen’s Road looking for baby wipes and mascara, the next she had been interrupted by her father calling to ask her to pick up some embarrassing but necessary items for him … Maybe her mind had been elsewhere – especially given the important decision she had made that morning – but she had paid for the items, she was sure. Who would try to steal pile preparation and earwax remover anyway? Certainly not Elsie Maynard, assistant manager of Sundae & Cher ice cream café, upstanding citizen of Brighton and the last person on the planet to ever consider shoplifting. Even as a teenager she had always maintained an unblemished record, her fear of getting into trouble only strengthened by witnessing the fallout from minor misdemeanours involving her two older sisters (more often than not involving overindulgence in alcohol and trips home in panda cars …)
‘There, all sorted.’ The smiling man was back, a triumphal glow from his recent chivalrous endeavours lighting his face. He handed her a receipt. ‘Busy day, eh?’
‘I paid for these,’ Elsie insisted, the sting of injustice still smarting.
‘You didn’t. But it’s OK, I sorted it for you.’
Pushing the receipt back at him, Elsie grabbed her purse from her damp handbag and angrily flicked through the receipts in the wallet section. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not being ungrateful, but that bloke was mistaken. I distinctly remember paying for these things with a twenty-pound note. I know this because I only had one twenty in my wallet that I’d just taken out from the cash machine and now, as you can see, it’s not … Oh …’ Her heart plummeted to her soggy toes as she pulled out a folded twenty-pound note, exactly where she’d put it at the cash point before she entered the shop.
The young man’s voice softened. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It happens to the best of us.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Torin, by the way. Torin Stewart.’
Still reeling from the revelation of her unwitting descent into petty crime, Elsie shook his hand. ‘Elsie Maynard.’
‘Pleasure to meet you, Elsie Maynard,’ Torin grinned. ‘Under different circumstances would’ve been preferable, of course, but I’m glad I was able to help. So, how about a coffee? You look like you need one and it’ll get you out of this rain.’
Thoroughly mortified and filled with a compelling urge to remove herself from the situation, Elsie pushed the twenty-pound note into his hand and began to leave. ‘I’m sorry, I really have to go …’
‘Hey, why the rush?’
‘I’m on my lunch break, which ended about twenty minutes ago,’ Elsie returned, hoping that the pace she injected into her steps would deter him from following her down the street.
Unfortunately for Elsie, Torin was not one to be brushed off so easily. ‘Now come on. I just saved your life back there. Surely that entitles me to at least a coffee with you? It can be my treat if money’s a bit tight …?’
That was the final straw. Blood pumping furiously in her ears, Elsie spun round to face him. ‘Excuse me? I have money, actually. What part of “I have to go” do you not understand? I’m late for work and I’m soaked through from this stupid rain and, believe me, the very last thing I would like to do right now is go anywhere with you. I’ve paid you back so I don’t owe you anything.’
‘Is that the way you thank all your rescuers?’ The twinkle in his eye sent a second wave of fury pumping through Elsie.
‘Who do you think you are, Lancelot? And where do you get off interfering in other people’s business, anyway? I am entirely capable of looking after myself, you know. I am not a damsel in distress that needs rescuing by a big, strong bloke. I would have sorted the situation, without your help. I would have managed. So thank you very much for jumping in, but I really didn’t need you to.’
Torin was stopped in his tracks and Elsie felt the smallest glint of satisfaction as she walked away. Fair enough, he had helped to release her from the iron grip of the security guard, but he didn’t have to make a virtue of the fact. Or attempt to turn