The waiter hurried over and offered to take away the stray kitten. But a towering gentleman scooped up the crying fluffy creature and set it carefully on the chair beside him. A plate for my feline friend! he bellowed. And your finest steak!
Lets wear something bold, declared one of the three friends headmistress of an esteemed private school in London. Almost like the young debutantes, and off well go to a posh restaurant. Time to be seen, and to do some man watching She spoke with the authority her position demanded, always delivering clever remarks at the perfect moment.
These debutantes were thirty-five, a prime age for short skirts and blouses that flaunted their figures rather than hiding them. Deep necklines and impeccable makeup all part of their armour.
The restaurant chosen was suitably grand swanky, well-known, and eye-wateringly expensive. They reserved a table with ease, settled themselves comfortably, and immediately basked in approving glances from men and frosty looks from their dates.
Talk, predictably, centered around the all-important topic of men their hopes, expectations, and the high standards they each held. Each dreamt of her ideal match: tall, lean, handsome, well-off. A man to sweep her off her feet, indulge her every whim, keep quiet when needed, and never burden her with chores or dull conversation. Noble heritage? All the better.
Just not like those lot The friends exchanged glances and nodded toward a trio of cheerful, slightly rotund men sporting receding hairlines. Their table brimmed with pints, crisps, and heaps of steak, while their banter circled around football and fishing. Their laughter was loud and genuine, utterly unpretentious.
Ghastly.
How common.
Honestly!
Their verdict was unanimous: shabby, coarse, unrefined, and entirely unsuitable for such striking ladies. But then the mood of the evening changed in an instant.
He arrived a gentleman pulling up in a cherry-red Aston Martin, the latest model.
Lord Edward Kensington! the maître d announced as he entered.
The friends sat taller, alert, like hounds on a scent.
He was tall, athletic, silver at the temples, wearing a suit that surely cost a fortune. Diamond cufflinks sparkled at his wrists and his shirt was dazzlingly white.
Oh
Thats more like it
Mmm
Their necklines plunged deeper and their gazes grew unmistakably inviting.
Theres a man for you, one whispered.
A Lord, a stunner, and a millionaire, said the second. You know, Ive dreamed of the Maldives since I was a girl
The third said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes.
Within minutes, the ladies were invited to dine at Lord Edwards table. They swept over, heads held high, glancing dismissively at the other diners especially the trio with their beers.
The Lord proved the perfect host, holding court with tales of ancient lineage, country estates, and priceless art. Tension simmered as each friend knew there would only be one invitation to continue the evening.
The atmosphere softened as the food arrived: lobster, platters of seafood, and vintage wine. The ladies dined, flashing seductive looks at Lord Edward as their minds wandered well beyond the meal. Their cheeks flushed and they were at their radiant best.
Lord Edward was in his element laughing, spinning stories of high society and the women cared not a jot what he had planned for after dinner.
There was a tiny garden attached to the restaurant. The aromas floated out to it, enticing a small grey kitten. Thin, hungry, he slipped between tables and perched himself at the Lords feet, searching for kindness.
None came.
Lord Edwards expression twisted with disdain. He shoved the kitten away with his foot. The little one flew several feet and crashed into the leg of the table where the three cheerful men sat. The sudden silence was deafening.
I cant stand these dirty, mongrel pests, the Lord declared loudly. At my estate, only pedigree hounds and finest horses.
A waiter rushed in, eager to apologise and resolve the scene.
But one of the men had already risen a strapping, six-foot fellow, face red and fists clenched. His friends tried to calm him.
He wordlessly scooped up the stray and set it on a chair.
A plate for my furry companion! he commanded. Your best steak. Now.
The waiter turned pale and dashed to the kitchen. The dining room erupted in applause.
One of the debutantes rose, walked to the giant, and said with conviction, Shift over. And order me a whisky.
Lord Edward was speechless.
Moments later, her two friends joined them, giving the Lord a scornful look.
They didnt all leave together. One group departed: the man, the woman, and the grey kitten.
Time passed. Now, the first lady is married to that very giant who runs a successful investment firm. Her friends wed his mates, respected solicitors. The weddings were held on the same day.
These former debutantes now live a different life: nappies, cooking, tidying up. Daughters arrived in quick succession.
And when they fancy a night at their favourite restaurant, they send their husbands off for football or fishing, call the nanny, and gather together to chat about the things only women understand. About men.
As for Lord Edward Kensington, a year later he was arrested. His trial made headlines a marriage cheat, swindling trusting women.
Real men, thankfully, arent like that.
I mean those three with their paunches and bald spots, no airs or graces, but truly decent hearts.
Thats life.
And there really is no other way.
