"Blah, blah, blah... " said the banker.
"Blah, blah, blah..." said the lawyer.
Their blond prissy wives smiled and nodded in agreement.
"And what do you do?" asked one of them, turning to me with a grin.
"Well," I hesitated, " I'm a...an anthropologist."
Everybody fainted looking intrigued, the men nodded wisely and the women adopted a mystified look.
"Oh," said the other blond, "does that mean you study insects and stuff?"
I put on my most fake of smiles, looked her straight in the face and said:
"Yes...something of that sort."
Since no one had anything to comment on my alleged profession, the five of us sunk into an awkward silence. I knew they all loved returning back to their money and gossip talk, but couldn't change topic so rudely. This suspended tension pleased me immensely, and I could see their faces twisting in the pain to find a return path to familiar topics. But I knew I couldn't keep the pleasure long; I looked down and noticed that my champagne glass was almost empty.
"Please excuse me; I'm going to get some more canapés." I told the small group, making a sorry face.
They all smiled artificially and nodded and I turned away, erasing my smile and making my way to the long table in the middle of the lawn.
The Embassy garden party was much duller than I expected. There was hardly anyone I knew and everyone, even those I knew, was extremely boring. I gestured to the waiter in white to fill my glass, picked up a handful of different canapés and walked around the clots of people chatting. It was a summer evening, and the sky was beginning to go dark. We were all buzzing around the tables outside, dressed up in dinner jackets and evening gowns. The place reminded me what a millionaire's house in Beverly Hills must look like. It had large French windows that exposed the extravagance of the embassy's inside; marbled floor, chandeliers, paintings, all the chintz and fluff you can imagine. Outside, a long lawn spread, aligned with trees, flower beds and some conceptual art. It streamed far and disappeared in the damp darkness.
"I must explore this garden," I told myself. "It is hard to believe that have such a huge English garden in the middle of the city."
So I returned to the table, topped up my champagne and picked up some more of the nicer biscuits and pastries to serve as exploration rations, and set off. Cleverly I avoided the small talkative groupings and soon, except a strolling couple or two, was away from the party.
It was truly a beautiful garden, the lawn was short and springy, cut in straight, meticulous lines, it felt nice walking on. On either side of the lawn hedges and flowers were well arranged, in the best British tradition. I stopped by a bush and smelled its purple blossoms. They had a sweet and heavy smell, real flowers. Old, tall trees were planted here and there, marked with plaques explaining when, why and by whom they were planted. I strolled like this for a long while, looking back to see how far I've gone from the reception area. It must have been some three hundred feet or so, the people looked small and shining, like some insects buzzing around the light from the building inside's.
"This garden is so fucking amazing," I told myself, having no one around to listen, "It like a the space – time continuum broke up, and I found myself strolling in 19th century Sussex or in some fairy garden; it's a whole universe hiding between these walls."
After some more walking I reached a hedge which probably meant the end of the garden. With a sigh, I was prepared to turn on my hills and make it back to the boring party. After all, the garden couldn't have gone on forever. Then, like suddenly seeing through an optical illusion, I saw that a part of the hedge was actually a passage, secretive and hidden. I looked closer, and it certainly seemed like a passage somewhere. Glancing around, I wondered whether anyone will notice me going in. But since there was no one, I quickly walked on, and thinking to find only the gardener's shed, went around the hedge. I found myself between two tall bushes, like a corridor, at the end of which there was small, waist high, laced iron-gate.
"How strange," I thought, "surely the garden can't be any bigger than it is. After all, we are in the city..."
With some hesitation I pushed the gate and found myself on top of a few steps which gave onto another sprawling lawn. This one was circular and smaller than the one I just left, but still wide and impressive. Though I wasn't sure what to do, I finally descended the steps and started to explore this new area. It looked much like the garden I just left, and must have been the plot adjacent. Like the embassy's garden, this one also had trees and flowers all around, leaving wide, round lawn in the middle; I could also see a spectacular building at the far end of it. Walking on, I circled the clearing and looked at the flowers. The sky was dark blue already and the garden lamps were sporadically lit, making it probably look bigger than it really was. It was quiet and I was completely alone, as it was deserted. I could only make the faintest echo from the other party. Rejoicing in my secret discovery I went on with my exploration, but moving a few steps in it I was very surprised to find, sitting on a wooden bench, hidden by the hedge, a girl a heavy looking book.
I immediately froze. Her tranquillity and absurdness in her book made it clear to me at once that I have entered a private garden of some sort. This was clearly no longer a part of the embassy's reception area. My immediate instinct was to turn around and leave, but somehow I couldn't. The brief thought of returning to the boring conversation was unbearable. So, trying to be as quiet a I could, I approached the girl slowly, trying to have a closer look at her.
The girl sitting on the bench was half lit and half shadowed by the lamp's light. She looked young, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one but clearly not more. She wore a black dress with some red and orange embroidery, and it looked very simple and pretty, but something about it made it clear that it was very expensive. Her hair must have been golden brown, or maybe ginger blond, but in the shadows it was dark and glinting, made up high, like for a gala night. The shadows also made her face hidden, I could only distinguish a small, delicate nose and partly parted lips, which seemed to be whispering or reading out quietly.
I must have been about seven meters from her when I knew I could stop. So I adjusted my black tie and said softly, trying to be as calm and suave as possible:
"Good evening."
She sat up abruptly, clearly startled. Her rather big eyes stared at me sharply, looking at first a bit frightened and then annoyed. Now I could see her face I was certain she was about twenty years old; she had a beautiful, clear face, and her eyes were bright blue, and looked hard. Here and there on her white cheeks there were tiny freckles, which gave her the look of a naughty child. Gaining her composure, her eyes jerked quickly around, looking for other people; then said harshly:
"Are you from the garden party?"
I found this question rather amusing, standing there in my dinner jacket and bow tie, holding a champagne glass.
"No," I said, "I'm a gentleman-cambriouler." I smiled, "I didn't mean to frighten you; I'm just here for the crown jewels."
For a moment she looked puzzled. Then she smiled for a tiny second before resuming her harsh expression.
