THE PERFECT SCENE

The garden was as still as a statue, almost artificially so, and the weather was exquisitely temperate, creating the perfect climate for romance.

Kate Roberts lifted her delicate bone china teacup with great elegance. She’d researched exactly how it was done over many nights, gleaning pearls of historical knowledge from books on Edwardian etiquette.

Sitting amongst the abundant variety of flowers, Kate was overwhelmed with their sweet scent. As she sat at an ornate Victorian garden table under the shade of a large lime tree the dappled sunlight strobed her face through the branches, making patterns like embroidered lace on her delicate face.

Just beyond, under a white and blue painted bandstand, a small string ensemble was playing a waltz from Lehar’s The Merry Widow. The joyful, melodic phrases floated across to Kate in waves, with the stresses on the more pronounced sections lifting her heart as if she herself were being conducted. She had deliberated over what music would be best suited to the moment but she remembered hearing Lehar when she stayed with her Grandmother who loved operettas with a passion. It was a tenuous link to the culture of her Granny’s past, but somehow she now felt like she was maintaining a tradition of sorts by having it played in this very precious moment. It was almost as if she was re- living some previous incarnation of her own relatives’ lives, though she knew that their actual reality was far less refined than the one she was experiencing here right now.

The anticipation for the arrival of her encounter was the greatest thrill Kate had experienced in her entire adult life. It was especially exciting as she had constructed the stranger herself. She had been combining the characteristics of her favourite romantic protagonists from novels she loved to read with the looks of her favorite movie actors, and now she would meet him with all the illusion of flesh and blood.

She had thought about the ethics of designing her perfect fantasy love but in a world where people could self identify as literally anything, she considered herself relatively conservative in her desires.

Before she could overthink the moment she already owned, she saw him approach her with a graceful assurance, half in shadow, half in light, like the flickering of film reels through a projector.

“Miss Roberts?”

Kate almost hard swallowed the remaining mouthful of cake she had been trying to eat ever so delicately.

“Why yes. It is. And you are?”

“I’m George. George Rochester.”

“Would you like to join me, Mr Rochester?” Kate asked with great confidence, unusual perhaps for a woman of such refinement in Edwardian times to so assertively lead the pace of such an exchange.

George smiled, and without saying another word, took a seat next to Kate.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she remarked.

“A beauty that’s contagious if you’re a reflection of it.”

Kate felt proud, especially because she knew every line that came out of George’s mouth.

And as she prepared to continue her joyful moment with George, the string ensemble transitioned effortlessly from the Lehar to the adagio from Mahler’s 4th Symphony. The serenity of the moment was perfection and Kate felt both proud and overwhelmed by her design of it. This was a considerable improvement on the novel she once attempted to write but had thought better of it after her ex- husband had scoffed at her effort. He could be especially vicious when he knew she was looking for approval.

Now she was free of him and was free to enjoy love on her own terms. There was no chance of disappointment here. She had paid for the service to provide her wishes and she felt unapologetic about it. Her entire life until now had been a litany of personal disappointments. This happiness was her revenge against all those who’d broken her heart and her spirit in times past.

“Would you like to take a walk by the lake?” George suggested with his Orson Welles baritone.

“I would very much like that Mr Rochester,” replied Kate with a warm smile. George stood up and waited for Kate to do likewise.

They walked away from the garden and headed toward the shimmering lake in the near distance. As George set a steady pace with each stride, Kate trailed just a little behind, holding her parasol and twirling it slowly in her hand, an indication of her sublime happiness in this joyful moment.

Sitting on a bench near the lake, Kate and George watched as a flock of ducks glided in perfect sequence right past them.

“That’s how life should be I think?” George reflected.

“How should it be?” replied Kate although she already knew the answer.

“Like a dance. An endless dance.”

“I want our dance to last forever,” Kate said softly.

George gazed into Kate’s eyes and moved closer in order for their lips to touch.

But just as Kate closed her eyes to receive his kiss, she realised it was not forthcoming.

“George!”

As she opened her eyes, she could see nothing but pure darkness.

“George!”

“George!”

Panicking, Kate found her heart racing with a lurching palpitation in the suffocating blackness.

“Help!”

“Please! Someone help me quick!”

Then, slowly, she felt a contraption being lifted from her head and the bright light of a torch shining in her face.

“Sorry Miss. There’s been a power cut and the generator’s not kicked in. It’s never happened before.”

Kate, remembering where she was now, started to cry.

The technician felt awkward as he just watched her break down momentarily.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Kate shook her head.

“Oh my God. That was so awful. I felt like I’d died or something.”

The technician was holding the torch light above her head so she could recover from the shock.

“If you’re happy to wait til this thing passes, we can do this over.” Kate shook her head.

“It was my lunch break. I only had an hour.”