There was an English air

There was an English air

About him

A hint of privilege

In the easy movement

A subtlety of meaning in the smile

Gentle, with an expectation

It would be returned

Without misunderstanding

No serious attempt

At flirting

Just an acknowledgement

Of his right to be.

It was the voice

That gave it away

There was no denying

The education

It came with the use of language

The cadence in the request

The polite conversational tone

The faint

But unmistakable regional accent

So difficult to place

But melodious.

English was a first language

So many tried to master

But for him

It rolled right off the tongue

With the beauty

Of a libretto

Every word honeyed

As sweet as morning

And she fell

Literally...

Stumbled into him

Spilling the coffee

Down his white linen shirt

The stain spreading

Quicker than her desperate attempt

To prevent it

She was mortified

Could have died

Barely able to mumble an apology

Her face flushed

The cafe hushed

He smiled once again

Held her arm lightly

Between elbow and wrist

Helped her to sit

At the nearest table

Sat down alongside

Dried her wet hands

With a napkin

Begged forgiveness

He had been so clumsy

‘I will get you another…

What was it...

A skinny cappuccino, no sugar?’

‘How did you know?’

She caught his eye

Hazel, with a touch of green

They seemed to vibrate

In time with her breathing

He shrugged and said

‘I have seen you in here before.’