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The year was 1947. James met with her that night. Isabella sitting in a small corner in a London caf�. Her long brown hair blowing in the wind and her perfect smile glistening by the light of the moon. A stolen glance, a smile from across the room, their eyes meeting each others.
"Hello" He spoke in a tender, but strong voice. "Hello." She answered quietly. "Have you been here before?" He asked her. "I have been here many times." She said, trying to make believe that she had. He raised his eyebrows, as he boldly pulled out a chair and set next to her. Situating the flowers, she asked, "And yourself? I am sure that you've been here many times before?" He was amused by her interest.
"I might be mistaking, But you don't strike me as someone who's old enough to be in a place like this. Now, tell me the truth." He said. "I think that I can trust you." She said, as she placed her hand on top of his. "Honestly, how old are you?" He asked her, wanting to get a final answer. "How old do I look?" She questioned him, her need to be seen through his eyes, as an excitable and desirable woman. "Time will pass and many men will see." Isabella told James.
"What would you think if I told you that I see you as a young child, perhaps a young lady?" "Am I not acceptable? What about now, this moment that we are in, could I not capture your attention as a woman, even as a young one?" She insisted. He put his coat over her shoulders, her skin had been bare and shivered. She hadn't said a word about being cold. "Is that better?" James wanted to know. "Yes, much, thank you." She replied, wondering if her body had not been pleasant enough to look at, or if it were for the fact that his respect for her innocence was far greater.
"So James, how old are you? I am but seventeen. You were right, I did sneak in here. Please don't tell my secret." She whispered in his ear. Holding her hands, he was looking deeply into her eyes. "Your secret is safe with me." He bought her a drink and they sat talking for a while, as the rain poured down on the window sill.
"Are you still talking with me?" He had asked her, as she was suspiciously looking around. "Yes, I am." She answered. He took ahold of her hand, running his fingers gently between hers. "I should be on my way. It was nice meeting you. We've talked for a while and yet, your name is not known. What is your name?" James requested. "Isabella, my name is Isabella." "And James is mine." He replied. He had kissed her hand and began to walk away.
"But, will I see you tomorrow?" She shouted out to him, in some sense of desperation, her not wanting for him to leave, wanting so much for him to say that he was going to be there. She wanted to see him but once more. "No, I have to sail, just after morning." Her once enchanted smile, turned into a sigh of disbelief. "What a shame." She spoke. He turned to her. "Why is that?" James asked her. "I had the wanting to be with you tonight. To get to know you well, to linger onto this moment. Maybe it would have been better, should we had not met?" She said in disappointment. "Tis better to have loved and lost, then not to have loved at all." He seemed of diplomacy and without care. Yet, being a bit poetic and majestic in manner. He passed with a grin and his hand to the window to hers, the rain pouring down against him.
She slid on her scarf and tied it, beginning to walk down the road. To her, the rain was not of a nuscience, but a calming of a day, the replenishing of her soul, body and mind. As the cars would pass, the headlights would beam into her eyes, with the dampness of her skin feeling heavy. A motorcycle pulling up from behind her had stopped. A man pulled off his helmet, his soft dark hair falling to his shoulders. "It might be a wet ride, but would you care to join me?" He persisted. She smiled at his kindness and his wonderful gesture. "I would like that very much!" She answered him, as she placed her hand into his, her eyes lightened from excitement. Her legs closely fitting around his body, her arms around his chest. "Don't let go!" He yelled to her, in the midst of the beating rain. "I won't, how could I ever think about letting you go?" She said under her breath, as they steadily drove away.
Opening the door to his hotel room, he invited Isabella in. "You're soaking wet. You're just a couple sizes smaller than I, would you like to borrow something dryer to wear?" James asked her. "For how long would it be? Would I have until morning?" She replied. "You can stay here on my davenport, or you could choose the idea of going home. At the end of our visit, you can take them and return them come morning, just before I set sail." James had instructed her, making it her choice to want to stay.
"Are you asking me to stay? Here where you are sleeping in the next room? But, you hardly know me." Isabella explained. "And yet, you've come this far with me already." James noted. "I suppose that you are right." She answered. After he had handed her a pressed white shirt and some trousers, she went in by the tub and proceeded