gentlemen in dark suits sitting at the table next to hers staring at her. Conjuring the cup of coffee out of nowhere had drawn unwelcome attention to herself.
Hang on a minute, she thought, this is my dream and if they donât like it I can just âpopâ them out of existence, surely. Kate turned and stared at them brazenly. She was about to dispel the two men when they got up and left the café of their own accord, although as they walked off down the Rue Foyatier, one of them glanced back over his shoulder at her. Kate felt like thumbing her nose at him, but resisted the urge and concentrated on more important matters instead.
Perhaps, she reflected, she had ended up in Paris because that was where she had parted from Dexter, thus making it the obvious choice for their next meeting. The only thing was, he had intimated that the next time they meet, the location should be a secret one. Kate drummed her fingers on the table top. Where would be the perfect venue for a dangerous liaison? She clicked her fingers; sheâd got it. Closing her eyes she thought of another European capital. One that she had seen many times on TV as a very young child as it had featured on the news every time the Cold War had been mentioned.
When she opened her eyes she found a green door in front of her. Opening the door, Kate stepped through into Red Square. The sun was setting behind the Kremlin. She shivered slightly. The temperature was much cooler than it had been in Paris. She half thought about changing the season - the conditions were very autumnal - but that would mean dispensing with the fabulous fake mink coat that she was wearing. Beneath the coat, she was dressed all in black. It felt appropriate somehow. A chill wind blew across the empty square. Now, what she really needed was somewhere to meet Dexter. Initially, she considered conjuring up a bar, but that didnât strike her as classy enough, so she settled upon a five star restaurant instead.
Closing her eyes Kate decided that the restaurant should be located next to St Basilâs. Feeling lazy, she couldnât be bothered to walk the few yards across the Square and so she imagined herself seated inside the restaurant, waiting for her lover to turn up. Before opening her eyes she put the final touches to the scenario. She pictured herself sitting alone in the far corner of the restaurant, a bottle of finest Russian vodka on the table in front of her. No, hang on, that wasnât right. Needing to keep a clear head, she exchanged the bottle of vodka for a cup of black coffee. Opening her eyelids the scene unfolded in front of her exactly how she had envisaged it.
Actually, not quite exactly. Unwittingly, her sub-conscious had added a couple of minor details. Two members of staff hung around behind the bar casting occasional admiring glances in her direction. Pretending that she hadnât noticed, Kate deliberately crossed her legs, allowing the skirt that she was wearing to ride up her right thigh just far enough to flash a glimpse of stocking top. One of the young barmen nudged his colleague as if to say, âDid you just see that?â
Kate fought back the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was no way that the dark, mysterious character she envisaged herself to be at that moment would give in to such frivolity. Keeping her eyes firmly focussed upon the entrance of the restaurant, she willed Dexter into her dream and was confident that he would appear at any moment.
Half an hour later and still no sign of Dexter, Kate began to wonder what on earth was wrong. A faint feeling of unease grew within her. Did his absence indicate that she wasnât fully in control of the dream? Just as she was about to give up on the scenario and change it for another, the red door to the café opened. So, her concerns were unfounded, he was simply making her wait. Right, she thought, two can play at that game. Eager to convey her dissatisfaction,
Hang on a minute, she thought, this is my dream and if they donât like it I can just âpopâ them out of existence, surely. Kate turned and stared at them brazenly. She was about to dispel the two men when they got up and left the café of their own accord, although as they walked off down the Rue Foyatier, one of them glanced back over his shoulder at her. Kate felt like thumbing her nose at him, but resisted the urge and concentrated on more important matters instead.
Perhaps, she reflected, she had ended up in Paris because that was where she had parted from Dexter, thus making it the obvious choice for their next meeting. The only thing was, he had intimated that the next time they meet, the location should be a secret one. Kate drummed her fingers on the table top. Where would be the perfect venue for a dangerous liaison? She clicked her fingers; sheâd got it. Closing her eyes she thought of another European capital. One that she had seen many times on TV as a very young child as it had featured on the news every time the Cold War had been mentioned.
When she opened her eyes she found a green door in front of her. Opening the door, Kate stepped through into Red Square. The sun was setting behind the Kremlin. She shivered slightly. The temperature was much cooler than it had been in Paris. She half thought about changing the season - the conditions were very autumnal - but that would mean dispensing with the fabulous fake mink coat that she was wearing. Beneath the coat, she was dressed all in black. It felt appropriate somehow. A chill wind blew across the empty square. Now, what she really needed was somewhere to meet Dexter. Initially, she considered conjuring up a bar, but that didnât strike her as classy enough, so she settled upon a five star restaurant instead.
Closing her eyes Kate decided that the restaurant should be located next to St Basilâs. Feeling lazy, she couldnât be bothered to walk the few yards across the Square and so she imagined herself seated inside the restaurant, waiting for her lover to turn up. Before opening her eyes she put the final touches to the scenario. She pictured herself sitting alone in the far corner of the restaurant, a bottle of finest Russian vodka on the table in front of her. No, hang on, that wasnât right. Needing to keep a clear head, she exchanged the bottle of vodka for a cup of black coffee. Opening her eyelids the scene unfolded in front of her exactly how she had envisaged it.
Actually, not quite exactly. Unwittingly, her sub-conscious had added a couple of minor details. Two members of staff hung around behind the bar casting occasional admiring glances in her direction. Pretending that she hadnât noticed, Kate deliberately crossed her legs, allowing the skirt that she was wearing to ride up her right thigh just far enough to flash a glimpse of stocking top. One of the young barmen nudged his colleague as if to say, âDid you just see that?â
Kate fought back the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. There was no way that the dark, mysterious character she envisaged herself to be at that moment would give in to such frivolity. Keeping her eyes firmly focussed upon the entrance of the restaurant, she willed Dexter into her dream and was confident that he would appear at any moment.
Half an hour later and still no sign of Dexter, Kate began to wonder what on earth was wrong. A faint feeling of unease grew within her. Did his absence indicate that she wasnât fully in control of the dream? Just as she was about to give up on the scenario and change it for another, the red door to the café opened. So, her concerns were unfounded, he was simply making her wait. Right, she thought, two can play at that game. Eager to convey her dissatisfaction,