Travelling home from work, I alighted from the train at Colbourne station as usual. It had been a dismal day and the rain was still coming down steadily. As I walked into the street, I noticed a young lady on the other side wearing a dark green, rubberised satin mackintosh. She wore it buttoned to the neck and her hood was up. I was totally captivated by the sight and stopped to look at her. Suddenly she put her hand to her eye, seeming to be in some distress. Seizing the opportunity, I crossed the street and approached her.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“I seem to have got something in my eye,” she replied.
“Let me take a look.” I pulled her bottom lid down a little and saw the offending speck. Taking the corner of my handkerchief, I was able to remove it easily. She had a very pretty face. Wisps of brown hair were just visible under her hood. Her green eyes sparkled and set my heart beating wildly.
“Oh, that’s much better,” she said. “Thank you so very much for helping me.”
“It was a pleasure. I probably wouldn’t have noticed, but I was admiring your lovely mackintosh.”
She laughed gently. “It’s quite new. I only bought it last week. Actually, I have a bit of a thing about macs and I have several. I do love macs! The way they feel when wet and the wonderful swishing sound they make are just heaven to me. My husband calls it my obsession.”
“To be honest, I’ve always been fascinated by ladies in macs. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
She laid her hand on my arm. “Not at all. You’ve been so very gallant. May I know your name?”
“It’s Chesson, Lawrence Chesson. Now you must tell me yours.”
“Alex Hardy. Are you married?”
“Yes, I am. To Valerie.”
“And does your wife wear macs?”
“She has a pale grey, gaberdine mac. It doesn’t have a hood, so she wears it with a silk headscarf. It’s rather ordinary really. Not like yours.”
She pondered a moment before saying, “I wish I could show you all my macs.”
I was stunned for a moment. I had not expected her to say anything like that and before I knew what I was doing, I blurted out, “Well, perhaps I could see you again. Maybe we could have a coffee together.” Having said it, I realised what an outrageously forward thing it was to say.
I anticipated a rebuff but instead she said, “What a marvellous idea! Shall I meet you on Saturday morning at eleven, outside Jameson’s café in the High Street?”
“That would be perfect”.
I watched her walk off.