The following Friday Gareth called for Leona.
She greeted him wearing a new dress and high-heeled shoes. They were going to a dinner-dance at a hotel in Brighton.
She had never been ultra-confident when it came to self-image, but as they made their way out to the car, she noted in her peripheral vision that her high heels had Gareth looking at her legs.
But he wasn't only admiring her legs.
'By the way, your hair looks really good like that. I like that swept-back style.'
'Thanks. I hoped you'd like it,' - delightedly.
He's not like the others, she thought. Usually she would go for the more outwardly confident, smooth-talking men like Aidan or Roger and others she had known, men who were quite different from herself. But Gareth was one of the quiet ones, one who had constructed a hard protective shell around himself. Around him she felt most comfortable in herself.
The hotel dining-room was crowded when they arrived, but their table had been booked a few days in advance.
'What are you thinking?' - looking into his face as they danced, 'Your lips were moving with your thoughts for a moment.'
They had joined the throng of dancers on the dance floor at one end of the room. while waiting for their meal.
'You're imagining things,' was his evasive reply.
And this was typical of Gareth, she thought as they made their way back to the table. One moment he was open and friendly, and the next he retreats into his own private world.
The waiter poured the vintage wine as the first course was served.
And the conversation has come to a standstill, she thought. They both tried to bridge the awkward moment and their talk was stilted.
