A Long Time Between Drins

It was the day of my 25th birthday. I was in Manchester to interview a one-book wonder. At the time, no one knew that Vikram was going to be a one-book wonder. A few of the 'people who should know' had him down as the next big thing.

Anthony Packer had been scheduled to interview him but, at the last minute, Tones had come down with a bad case of cocktail flu and so Henry sent me instead. 'Vikram's just a youngster,' Henry said. 'You two should get along well.'

It had been arranged for me to meet Vikram Dravid at a central city hotel. But when I arrived, I was greeted by an attractive young woman. 'I'm Emma,' she said. 'From The Red Horse Press. I'm afraid Vikram's running late. Perhaps we could have a cup of tea and I can give you some background.'

When Vikram did arrive, he was certainly young. He was also exceedingly boring. And then, after about 20 minutes, he said that he had to go. His aunt was arriving from India. 'Emma can probably tell you anything you need to know,' he said.

'Sorry about that,' Emma said when he had gone. 'Vikram's very shy.'

I looked at my meagre page or so of scribbled notes. 'I think I need a drink,' I told her.

Emma glanced at her watch. 'Britannia,' she said. 'We should be able to get a table out on the balcony.' And she led the way to an establishment just a little further along the street.

We did get a table out on the balcony. And Emma ordered a couple of glasses of a seriously-good champagne. 'It's the least I can do after dragging you all the way up here for a 15-minute interview. Pretend I'm Vikram. Ask me anything you want to.'

I laughed, but I did ask her a few questions. Somewhat to my surprise, she was able to answer most of them.

'Anything else?' she asked.

I did have one more question. But I thought that it was a bit cheeky -- even for me.

'Nothing else?' she said.

'Just one more question.'

'Oh?'

'What are you doing for supper this evening?'

She smiled. 'No plans. Why?'

'It's my birthday. And I don't think I'm quite old enough to celebrate it on my own.'

She laughed. 'We definitely can't have that,' she said. 'Happy birthday.' And she got up, walked around to my side of the table, and kissed me. Just like that.

We finished our champagne and had another. And then, because it was still a bit early for supper, we went for a walk. It was fun. Put it down to the champagne if you like, but it was as if Emma and I had known each other for years rather than hours.

Later we had an excellent meal at a Cantonese restaurant. Then Emma came back to my hotel room. And, again, it was as if we had known each other for years rather than hours. That night, I think we made use of pretty much every piece of furniture in the room.

'What next?' I asked the following morning, as Emma dressed for an early departure.

'For me? Work. It's my last day. And then, on Friday, I fly to New York.'

'New York? Oh? For how long?'

'For as long as they'll have me. I'm going to work at head office.'

'But we still have positions left to try.'

Emma laughed. 'I'll send you a postcard.'

Emma did send me a postcard. Many postcards. And, each year, she sent me a birthday card.

From New York, Emma moved to Toronto; got married; got unmarried; moved to Melbourne; got married again; got unmarried again.

It was the day of my 65th birthday. I almost didn't recognise Emma's voice. 'So... what are you doing to celebrate?' she asked.

'No plans. But, happily, I'm probably now old enough just to celebrate on my own.'

She laughed. 'We can't have that. I'll meet you at Royal China. Baker Street.'

The intervening years had not been unkind to Emma. She was as beautiful as ever. At least I thought so.

The food was very good, but it was the company that made the evening.

'What now?' I asked, when we had finished eating.

'I'm hoping that you will invite me back to yours. We have unfinished business. Although we might not get it completed in a single night.'

'We can at least make a start,' I suggested.