Ian Turnbull's "An English Compliment" - Installment Four

You do not want to miss this fourth installment of Ian's new short story "An English Compliment"!

Chapter 4: The Compliment

The chef had brought the meal to Bernard's table, as was generally the case if he was the only person dining, but it meant he'd missed the opportunity for a further, albeit brief, talk to Angela. He was a nice chap and they had exchanged pleasantries. He'd explained why the steaks were good, the locally sourced beef. Bernard had been astounded at just how impressive a cow's c.v. could be!

 

Bernard liked his usual table, it wasn't far from the bar, and he enjoyed that view. The steak was fast disappearing and yet he was no nearer to thinking about what Angela would consider an English compliment. He thought about Jane Austen, for he knew there was a series being shown on American television that either the BBC or some other British production company had sold to the USA. He'd read some of her work at school, and was going through the quotes from Pride and Prejudice in his mind. The fact was though he hated Austen's writing, and had longed for some Terminator character to loom out of one of chapters and wipe out the Bennett family. Thank goodness for Wickham he thought, at least a bit of drama there. Anyway his recollection of the plot offered him no inspiration.

He looked up from his plate, now bereft of steak and salad although some French fry stragglers remained that hadn't succumbed to his fork, but Bernard was satisfied, well at least satisfied with food. He had mastered a stance where it looked like he was just generally looking round the bar, but really his eyes were fixed on Angela. As she busied herself cleaning and straightening bottles and whatever things else she did behind the bar, which was always shiny, clean, and beautifully ordered. As she moved about with a seemingly inexhaustible energy, her hair would slightly sway as if in a breeze, it was so golden. Here's where he should look for his inspiration.

Bernard's musings continued, “You've got nice shiny hair!” Hmmm, that doesn't really sound all that English and it doesn't sound that inspired either, Angela's worth of more than this. She had other attributes too. Why just the hair? Well hair was safe; you could compliment a lady on her hair. Even though you might want to, you certainly couldn’t compliment a lady on anything that her dress covered. This was an unwritten rule, unwritten, but it seemed right. Even if you changed the language to make it sound non sexual, it still didn't work. “My that's an impressive thorax you have” or “marvellous pelvis you’re blessed with!” No Bernard was right, there was a no man's land entrenched between the two lines, the hem line and the neckline! Leaving that area alone was definitely English.

Her golden shiny hair reminded him of something, something more abstract..............

Angela was standing in front of him. He hadn't noticed her come over whilst he debated what words to choose in his head.

“Can I take that? Have you finished? Ready for a cup of Joe?”

“Oh yes please Angela, a large cup of Joe.  I'm on the eight forty five flight tomorrow, and I haven't finished packing yet, so will need a bit of a boost!” Bernard glanced down at his watch, it was quite a bit later than when he'd normally finish. When he was doing his valeting earlier, he had found that he dropped a lot of crumbs in the car.  It needed a bit more attention than expected and he had to pass the Maine inspection.

 At least Rick had sidled off to catch one of the many TV shows he seemed to follow. If there were no other clients in, Angela would sit at the table with Bernard and have a coffee too. She always referred to coffee as Joe for Bernard's sake. It was a bit of a joke as on Bernard's first visit, someone had called across to Angela for some Joe and Bernard had been bewildered. He'd asked her what Joe was. Angela had said it was a name for coffee and was sure that it was U.S. Navy who had called it that, but she didn't know why. The next time Bernard came Angela had found out why it was called Joe and told him the story; it was how they had started chatting. Angela had shared with him her ambitions and how she was achieving them, Bernard had shared his dreams, and that's all they were dreams, yet Angela would say an encouraging word, and even he believed for that moment that he might one day set off on a new direction. A new direction that would would make major changes in his life, a new direction that might see him realising a different future than he was resigned to, the drudgery of corporate balance sheets and management reports.  Then she would leave the table, he would leave the restaurant and those ambitions would leave him, they would evaporate with the trip back to the hotel, they would seem like a distant memory of a far away galaxy by the time he drove to the office the next day.

Sure enough Angela came back with two steaming cups of Joe, and sat down opposite him. When she fixed her brown eyes on Bernard he felt like he could fall into them. They were warm and inviting. He realised he'd sighed aloud, and now had his mouth open but wasn't speaking, Angela filled the void:

“Am I going to get my compliment, my English compliment?”

“Oh yes, I'd like to compliment you Angela, I'd like to compliment you a lot. It’s easy to find good things to say about you.”

“Ah, thank-you Bernard, that was a nice thing to say.”

“Oh that wasn't it.”

“Really, that wasn't the compliment, oh, what else will you say?”

Bernard looked up and took in Angela's golden hair again, he remembered why it was on his mind earlier, and he thought about the first time he saw Angela, his chest raised as he took in a deep breath and he spoke:

“Have you heard of Wordsworth?

“No, is he an actor?

“Ha, I can see that it would be a good name for an actor. Actually, it's a good name for a poet, that’s what William Wordsworth was. Well he wrote a poem called, I wandered lonely as a cloud.

It's very famous.

He wrote it when he walked about the Lake District. It's a beautiful place the Lake District. Funnily enough, clouds aren't always that lonely there; it rains a lot, that's why it's the Lake District! But what he was conveying that he was in a state of isolation, away from everything else, completely alone! It was”

Angela interrupted “It was like a simile?”

“Yes Angela, it is a simile. Similes don't always have the word like in them. The Lake District can be a place where you can enjoy solitude, a place where you can consider things, see the beauty of your surroundings. Let me tell you the first verse:

            I wandered lonely as a cloud

           That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

            When all at once I saw a crowd,

            A host, of golden daffodils;

You see Angela, it was a breath taking experience, the Lake District scenery although often ruggedly beautiful, can look quite dull, sometimes in the shadow of clouds the grey granite can look quite unfriendly and forbidding. Yet here he is, a man walking, wandering maybe aimlessly, he may have just been out to take the air. Maybe the footpath turned a corner, or perhaps he'd just gone over the rise of a hill, when suddenly there they were, the daffodils, golden, beautiful, warming the scenery. It was an event that one might expect to be quite ordinary, except the daffodils he saw were just so amazing, they filled his senses, they inspired him, and he had to write about it.

“Yes I can see that, I'd like to hear the rest of the poem it's so lovely”

“Well Angela I will tell you the rest, but I want to explain to you what can happen. You see a man can be driving in his car, in a worn out town full of worn out buildings. He takes a turning and sees a restaurant. A restaurant with a name that he's vaguely familiar with; perhaps someone had recommended it to him. It's a fairly modest building, just a prefabricated industrial unit, with planks nailed up to make it look like a shack. It all a little grey, and needs a touch of paint here and there. He enters into the restaurant without any great expectation, and as he does, he looks across at a breathtaking sight, he understands Wordsworth's amazement. There he sees her, a sudden sight of breathtaking beauty, he sees his host of golden daffodils.”

There was a silence for just a moment. Angela's gaze was fixed on Bernard. He wondered if he had said the right thing for her. She rose from her seat and lent forward and kissed Bernard on the lips.

Her lips may have only touched for a moment, but there was a mighty firework display going off in Bernard's head. His outer body was frozen, yet he had palpitations that were multiplying and surging through him in torrents because of Angela's gesture.

“Oh Bernard, I think that must be the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you.”

Bernard took a breath. Words for the moment escaped him, they were superfluous, he wanted to stay in that moment, he had no cares or worries, that moment was perfect, and that moment was one he was in, happiness had just turned up. He was happy, he was happy that he'd made Angela happy, and he was happy how her happiness had spilt out.

“I didn't expect you to ask me for an English compliment!”

“Well. I got one didn't I? I love it. I just wanted a compliment from you. You see all the guys look at me, even you look at me...... tight black dresses go with the territory of being behind a bar but there's a big difference you see Bernard. When you look at me, you leave my dress on.”

Bernard felt touched, he knew he wanted to say more to Angela,  but what next, what should he ask or say...............?

The front door opened and a familiar voice shouted “Hi Angela, oh hi Bernard, you're in tonight, good to see you! Was your steak okay tonight?”

“Hi John”, was shouted back by both of them in unison. Bernard was sure John was early...... Why, why tonight, why when he'd said something meaningful! “More than okay John, it was great as usual, the steak, the steak was great!” shouted back Bernard.

“I haven't cashed up yet Bernard' I'll have to go! Oooh, just a sec!” Angela looked at Bernard's lips, she reached across to the neighbouring table and plucked up a paper napkin. She pressed it against Bernard's lips, it was a sensation almost as sensual as a kiss, but that kiss had set new standards for what a kiss should be! The napkin moved across Bernard's lips and then it left them, Angela lifted it in front of his eyes where he saw on the whiteness of the paper the pinkness of her lipstick.

“Can't have you going back to the hotel with lipstick on, they'd be asking questions!”

There was a shuffling at the bar, as John retrieved a clipboard and started reviewing its attached sheets.

“Oh I need to go and do the cash register!”

“I haven't paid yet, here's my card!”

“Thanks Bernard, I'll be two ticks!”

Bernard donned his coat; he knew the routine as he'd seen it before, John liked to look after Angela's security and would whisk her off, in his car, to her home. Angela had explained he was careful about his staff, especially on the last shift, in case anyone assaulted them, or thought they were carrying cash.  Bernard shuffled over to the bar, and Angela smiled, handed him his credit card and receipt. “Thank you for coming so many times Bernard.” She turned to her boss, “It's Bernard's last night John!”

“Bernard thanks, glad I bumped into you, New England next? Have a good journey and maybe you might come back?”

“Well I'd love to, err, well good-bye!”

Angela called as Bernard was turning for the door “Bernard, just in case, I might've missed some!”

He took from her outstretched hand the same napkin with the pink lip print on it.