What Kind of Man || Jim Moriarty

Eleven

Her black stiletto heels clicked against the stone pavings leading up to the restaurant. They were the only pair in her wardrobe which were appropriate, slightly battered, but they would have to do.  They weren't too high but they still added a few inches to her 5 foot 5 inch stature. They made Lucy legs longer and slimmer, her new dress allowing strangers to get a peak at her toned and tanned pins against the fresh white of the fabric.

To say the least...she thought she looked good. Better than she had in a while. She'd used her time wisely tonight, applying her makeup carefully and perfectly. Not that it looked amazing, there was only so much you could do with a £4 eyeliner and a mascara from the teen section of Boots, but it looked better than last time. It was just as he had asked and her hair was left down. Loose curls bounced, created just with pinning her wet hair in twists while it dried; a blow dry on a budget.

She was still unsure of course; to her it looked better than it did on any other day when she dressed in a rush but she just hoped it suited his requests and stopped him from walking out on her before the dinner started.

The taxi had dropped her off only a little way down the street from the well known Michelin Star restaurant, 'Texture', a quaint but expensive place she had only walked past a couple of times since moving to London. But she was on time, and after walking through the glass door of the restaurant Lucy held her purse in her right hand tightly with the nerves and approached the host's desk.

"May I help you?" An older man asked, looking up from his clipboard of bookings, long enough to give her a once over. She obviously still hadn't tried hard enough as the man's lips turned up in a smirk of distaste. Lucy didn't let it get to her however, only stood taller and tilted her chin up.

"My name's Lucy Scott, I'm meeting someone." She kept her voice level, like she had for the police, but smiled like she'd been brought up to do. Politeness, no matter who smirked at her she couldn't shake her manners. The smile turned natural however, when that look came to his eyes. The same look the waiter had adopted last night. The old man almost stuttered as he looked at Lucy again and nodded with a forced cough.

"Of course, right this way Miss." He ticked her name on the paper before stepping out from behind the desk and offering her a smile as she began to follow.

Instead of leading her in the direction of the bar, or the main dining area, the old host made a left and continued down a short corridor. It was darker than the rest of the restaurant which appeared light and relaxing, decorated with creams and duck egg blues and mints, the direction Lucy was led down was a smokey hallway, decorated with old photo frames and golden brass sculptures.

The host paused in front of an off white door on their left and turned just as she stilled with him. He then swallowed deeply and put a hand on the handle of the door, ready to open it for her.

"The other member of the party has already arrived. Please let us know if you need anything." With that, the door was pushed open and she was allowed to step forward.

Her eyes fell upon Mr Moriarty within mere seconds, his slicked back hair and piercing black eyes. He wasn't easy to miss seeing as he was the only one in the room, lit only by a few small lamps and a dimmed chandelier up above. Thankfully the walls were painted a lighter grey than the hallway so it was still relaxing and the table he sat at was decorated with creams and subtle blues. Had it have been under any other occasion it would have been beautiful, stunning even, but because of the man sat at that table it was haunting.

"Thank you." Lucy murmured under her breath, but she doubted the man heard it as he stepped back, closing the door and leaving her in just the company of Mr Moriarty.

"Evening." It didn't take long for his sarcastic, light accented voice to break the silence. The sound cut the tension lingering in the air and Lucy let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. Moriarty actually stood from the table this time though and walked around to pull out her chair.