Читать книгу Puzzled - Seraphima Bogomolova - Страница 3

Notting Hill, London, UK, 6 June

It is summer but the rain drizzles tirelessly, all day covering rooftops and pavements with its shimmering net.

I get out of the tube, open my umbrella and hurry off along the High Street. Reaching the entrance of the café, I stop and peer in – the place seems deserted. I push the door and walk in. Inside, small round tables line up along the walls. I choose one close to the bar counter. Placing my umbrella on the floor, I sit down, perching at the front of the chair.

I’m five minutes late. He couldn’t have left already, could he? I take my raincoat off and look around – the cafe is not only bare of clients, but waiters are also nowhere to be seen. ‘What a strange place’, I wonder and sit down, this time, trying to take on more confident posture.

Some time passes.

Outside, the rain is still drizzling. I pull my smartphone out and put it on the table. Thoughts – one strangest than the other – start whirling in my head. I grab the menu and stare at it. Running my eyes over the list, I try to take my mind off him.

Out of the unseen depth of the cafe a waiter in a white t-shirt and shabby blue jeans appears.

‘Are you ready to order?’ he asks and stares at me.

Startled, I stare at him.

‘Not yet.’ I reply after a pause.

The waiter shrugs indifferently and disappears, leaving me alone again.

I put the menu down and look at the clock hanging above the bar. Almost an hour has passed since my arrival. ‘I must have mixed up with the dates’, I think and call his number. Something clicks and an automated message informs me: ‘The number is out of reach.’