As William Wilde entered the room wearing his black frock coat with a chest pocket sporting a maroon pocket square, everyone stared at him. He was tall, with green eyes and a memorable inquisitive look. As he entered the room on a stormy day like that Sunday afternoon his long hair waved to the wind and at the same time he closed his umbrella and looked over the silenced room and took his hat off, people could not stop staring at him. Something sparkled on that person that came out of nowhere. He looked like an old actor from the beginnings of the century when movies were black and white, but he was not old at all. He was in his thirties and he had a perfectly trimmed beard an incisive nose and a pointy chin. In fact he was skinny and the type of clothes he was wearing made him even taller and slimmer.
He walked toward the window and sat down in the seat closer to the window while placed his umbrella and hat right next to him. The moment he sat down was the moment he crossed his legs in a fashionable way while his back was straight. He took from an inside pocket a packet of cigarettes. Sobranie Black Russian could be read on the slim box. As he lit his cigarette and looked through the window, down the street, which by that hour was getting dark due to the clouds and heavy rain, a waitress approached and asked what she could do for him. His hands were crossed, supported on the table. After some silence he finally answered:
- A glass of the finest red wine.
- Château Latour from 1983?
- Château Margaux 1983.
- You will have to do the payment in advance Monsieur. It is a very expensive wine and we are not allowed to…
As he took a black, slim wallet from an occult pocket in his coat, without stop staring through the window, he took seven notes of one hundred euro each from a wad of notes and he interrupted her and said:
- Don’t call me Monsieur. I am not French. Seven hundred is enough isn’t it?
The waitress consented with a surprised nod with those seven notes in his hand. Seven hundred Euros for a bottle of wine. For William it was just pocket change. After paying he continued smoking slowly his cigarette thoughtful.
When the wine arrived in a fancy bottle with that habitual creamy label of the Bordeaux wine and she set one glass, he uncrossed his hands and put the cigarette down the ashtray still in flame. She laid down on the table a beautiful glass and as she started opening carefully the bottle and poured some wine on his glass he said.
- Bring one more. There will be two persons drinking from this bottle.
That night he was not alone. It was five to twenty five, but Wilde always arrived five minutes earlier everywhere. He was careful, meticulous and scrupulous about everything., including time and places.
He sipped the wine. Deep and concentrated with a very attractive hue. It had a typical perfume. It was feminine. Perfect.
Outside the rain was getting heavier. From inside the restaurant William could see some people running with a newspaper in his head, protecting them from the heavy rain and some cars on the street mostly taxies.
He was waiting for her.
Suddenly under a street lamp a tall and slim figure appeared. Black umbrella, long black coat and a skirt below the knees.
As she crossed the street he followed her shadow with his piercing eyes. Then she entered the lobby. Her hair was black and everyone on the room could see that she had a voluptuous body under the long coat, complemented with green eyes, an oval and pretty face and long dark hair. She was beautiful.
As the waitress approached her she closed the umbrella and just passed her by without saying a word sitting down in front of him.
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