The SAS And The Glam That Goes With It

Chapter 4

He was distracted as she entered, reading something on his mobile phone. He spun it deftly in his fingers, slid it back inside his jacket and picked up his glass of beer. Price looked even better than she remembered: elegant in a sharp, dark suit with the shirt open at the collar. His hair had been cut: where before it had skimmed his eyebrows, it was now sleek and short, with just enough length to show the rough curl.

"John!" Her view was suddenly blocked. A woman had appeared, striding across the bar. "So good to see you!"

Sam froze. She was still partly hidden by the entrance amongst the coats and he hadn't seen her yet.

The woman was tall and lithe with dark hair that was styled into an intricate, twisted chignon. She appeared to be draped in burgundy velvet that sheared away at her shoulders to expose the bare skin of her back, skimming the edge of her hips in what Sam considered an obscene fashion. She glided purposefully towards him, and he rose to greet her, clasping her hand and leaning forward to kiss her cheek. Confused, Sam attempted to dive back into the doorway only to be hit square on the bottom by the opening door.

"Sorry, love!" said a voice behind her as she tripped and stumbled into the room, catching her heel on the edge of the carpet rail and grabbing the coats for support. "Whoa!" he said, catching her arm and grabbing the coat stand before it toppled, the coats swinging alarmingly round, forcing the occupants of the nearby tables to duck and weave away from the flying sleeves. She closed her eyes, mortified. Oh God! Please don't him have been watching! She pushed herself upright and took a deep breath, trying to appear unruffled. She grunted and twisted her shoe free.

"I'm fine. Thank you." she said, shaking herself free of his grasp. "No harm done." She could feel the embarrassed flush rising in her face.

"Excuse me." She jumped at the sound of a familiar voice, feeling a hand graze the small of her back to get her attention. Price had appeared at her elbow. Turning to face him she could see that the moustache had been trimmed too, into a neat arc above his lip that bowed as he smiled, shyly at her. Her stomach somersaulted and suddenly the entranceway seemed very small. He looked up at the man who'd pushed her. "You appear to have my date."

"What?" said the man, bewildered, and then his face blossomed into a grin. "Oh!" he laughed, a dry, booming sound that filled the air around him. "And you appear to have my wife. You old dog! Excuse me." He slid past Sam and went to the woman in the velvet dress, taking her in his arms and kissing her, salaciously, on the lips. The woman giggled as they parted, but their foreheads remained pressed together, a gesture so intimate that Sam felt she should avert her eyes.

"Gaz. Vivianne." He addressed the man and woman with curt nods. "Sam" he nodded at her.

"Sorry for stepping on you." said Gaz. He let go of his wife and shook Sam's hand so hard it hard.

"Gorge dress! And it's Viv, really!" said Vivianne. Her words were steeped in a distinct, upper class drawl that seemed incongruous compared to the harsh, cockney tones of her husband. "Sorry he stepped on you. He's not so bad really." she laughed.

"Special occasion?" said Price.

"Anniversary." Gaz replied as he slid his arm around Vivianne and pulled her into a close embrace. She giggled.

"I know!" she rolled her eyes. "Look, we shouldn't intrude. Anyway, darling, the table's ready. So lovely to meet you!" The last remark was directed at Sam, at whom she waved as they sauntered into the restaurant.

"Friends?" said Sam

"Work." said Price, gruffly. "Gaz. Not Vivianne."

Sam laughed. "Not quite the army type?"