Time to Try

Harrods, for those of who have not been, is like any other department store, a resemblance of hell.

Only it can be called ‘Hell with high price tags’. No matter where you go it seems impossible to

escape the huge crowds of people that make it hard to walk. One would find it hard to breathe if he

took more than a twenty eight inch waist. People stand around gormlessly looking at things which

for the most point they cannot begin to afford, they look for cheap quality souvenirs to take home

for friends and family just so they can say they have been. Then there are the people who shop

here regularly, looking at the expensive things with consideration, but almost never buying. This

was part of the reason Lyndon Kaller hated London.

He struggled through the crowds of people into the food court, the large rooms were deserving of

credit. He could not deny that, they were one of the architectural beauties of London – in his

opinion up there with Big Ben, St. Pauls and Buckingham Palace, all of which he had seen many

times. This room was truly grand, a room which it would have been easy to get used to. The white

ceiling was covered – decoratively so – with ornate sculptures of fruits, vegetables and other

groceries, the gold linings looked classy and the floors were clean, though crowded.

Women stood around making decisions of what to buy, bags were carried, people talked all the

While he stood looking around the room, his eyes taking in everyone, his brain endlessly processing

faces. He spotted her, by the grocery counter paying for undoubtedly overpriced food. She was

leaving the counter when he took his opportunity; he made it look like an accident as he walked into

her almost knocking her over before he caught her arm stopping her from hitting the floor. She

smiled and thanked him apologising for walking into him without paying him the slightest attention,

she walked on.

Londoners, too busy with their day to pay attention to the things that matter. He waited a moment

or two, just long enough to not gain suspicion and followed her the way she had left. She was close

enough to be seen, but not too close. He watched her carefully and felt almost guilty that he was

here. She was a truly very pretty woman. Short, around the five foot one, maybe two. She wore

business shoes, with heels. A skirt, just above knee length, skin coloured tights and a red blouse

with a small leather jacket. Her hair was dark brown – perhaps black, in this light it was hard to tell

and reached to her back. She walked with a sort of strut; she was in most ways perfect.

She smiled and spoke briefly to one of the security guards before she left the building, he took his

chance to leave before her, stepping outside pretending to be admiring the view of Knightsbridge

London. He didn’t stand out at all. He could have looked like a tourist, had he stood there looking

mindless and held a camera taking pictures of everything and everyone. She walked past him; again

he took a few moments before walking on.

He followed her for miles, she walked quickly and confidently a smile plastered on her face. People

moved for her without question, each one of them walking into him. She had that thing about her,

she walked with power, she walked with elegance. She was most men’s dream woman – most

women’s dream woman also. Lyndon Kaller could see it easily, men wanted to date her, women

wanted to be her, gay men were inspired by her. No one was an exception to the rule. Except

Pete…

Damn Pete…

A half an hour of walking and she stopped at a building and keyed in a number opening the door.

She entered the building closing the door behind her. So this was where she lived. A classy area, but

not too so, the people seemed approachable, it seemed safe for a young woman. Not the normal

hangings for a successful business woman, not the normal area for a woman of any wealth to be

living, but a middle class haven, yes.

He left, taking a cab back to the hotel where he was staying he entered through the back entrance,

which strangely backed onto Park Lane itself, and not a back road. He took the elevator to the sixth

floor and entered his room. To his dismay he found that Stephanie was still there, and she was

awake, breathing and even worse: talking.

“Lyndon, you have been out for hours, I’ve been worried about you. I woke up and you weren’t

here.”

“I was escaping having to spend time with you.”

“Next time tell me!”

“No.”

She looked shocked but said nothing, she sat on the bed reading the newspaper. “Did you have

breakfast this morning?”

“No.”

“You should have breakfast every morning.”

“Stephanie, shut up and tell me, what are you doing today?”

“I have no plans.”

“Yes you do.” She looked confused and her eyes followed Lyndon as he walked across the room

opening the closet, he looked through his jacket pulling out a small black leather wallet. He handed

it to her. “You’re going out.” The woman almost bounced. She climbed off the bed grabbing her

coat and smiled, she put her coat on kissing Lyndon’s cheek hugging him tight.

“You’re the best son ever.”

“I’m not your son.” She paid not attention to what he said she smiled and skipped off, pausing at

the door.

“You have my phone number? I’ll be back by six at the latest, let me know if you go out wont you

honey.”

“No Stephanie.”

She left and closed the door. Something you should know about Stephanie. Lyndon was twenty five,

twenty six the next May. His father was boarding sixty. Stephanie was twenty seven year old

stunner who had married his father for one thing, money. His father was no better, he’d married a

young woman for the purpose of the bedroom pleasure she could supply him with.

He checked his watch, 1.p.m. he waited a half hour and grabbed his coat from the closet leaving the

hotel. He caught a cab to Rebecca’s flat, sat on a wall across the road and waited. All day. She came

out at 4 p.m. alone and walked along the road. He followed, walking across the road they walked

for an hour onto Brook Street and into Claridges, one of London’s most luxurious, internationally

renowned hotels.