Lunch Break

She slowly circles the room. Stopping to bend over a display case. Twisting her head to watch some facets catch the light, peering at inscriptions. Careful not to touch the glass, lest the guard who's watching her admonishes her again.

"Which one do you fancy?"

Startled she straightens and looks at him. He's tall, his longish sun-bleached hair seems youthful compared to his somewhat weathered face. A sailor, maybe? Or someone used to spend time outdoors. His light blue eyes crinkle at the corners, giving the impression of mirth.

"That one." She points to one of the objects in the case.

"And why that one?" He wants to know.

"It seems ordinary, forgettable even. But there is a hidden depth. It's well used, indicating a pleasing balance and size to its owner. At one time it was important enough to be engraved, claimed." She sighs. Like her parents used to value her, before...

He nods slowly while looking at her intently as she speaks. A small smile dances at the corners of his mouth.

"And your favorite?" She asks.

"Oh, this one. No doubt."

"Why that one?" She counters.

He smiles. "It's substantial in size, has obvious gravitas. Yes, there is some adornment, but wholly functional, just the same. It has girth, volume and whoever used it was clearly someone who valued function, preferably several functions." He nods, thinking of his jack of all trade history.

"I like that thought, sir." She wanders to the next case. "Then tell me about this one, if you will." She points to the lone object occupying the case.

"Ah, yes." He examines the piece at length. "A valued possession. Something I would give as a token of my fidelity or a promise of liege. See the delicate scroll work, the unbroken lines surrounding the semi-precious stone? See the dainty scratches indicating it may have been used frequently? Which means that the owner always had it close at hand. See the gentle wear at the edges, attesting to frequent touches, as if the owner needed to remind him or herself of the donor." He stares at the piece, fidgeting, as if having shared too much. He can still see his grandfather holding and fondling the keepsake grandmother had given him so many years before.

"You are a romantic, sir." She concludes with a tentative smile.

"Am I? Then come tell me what you were thinking about this piece." He guides her by her elbow back into the room she left a few minutes ago. "I watched you study this one thoroughly. Tell me, please, what you saw."

She frowns as if debating with herself whether to share her feelings. Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she tells him. "I believe that its owner may have been intermittently careful and careless with this piece. I believe that at times it may have been held close for comfort and at time discarded, if not abused. Not in anger at this object, mind you. No, more because of proximity. Like one may kick a pebble on the sidewalk." Unaccountably, her voice has thickened with emotion, remembering her late husband's moods. She tosses her hair in an attempt to clear her thoughts and mood.

"But I'm being fanciful and it's time to return to the office. Thank you for the interesting conversation, sir." She starts to turn toward the exit when he lightly places his hand on her arm.

"When will you come back here?" He almost pleads.

She looks surprised. "I spend most of my lunch breaks here." She admits.

Then I may see you tomorrow, perhaps?"

She nods. "Perhaps."

*^*^*

Claire hurries down the sidewalk. She's later than usual. Will he be there? She has thought of little else but their banter from yesterday. It seemed so much more than idle chit chat about the objects on display. There seemed to have been as much said, as unsaid but implied. Had she revealed too much, about her unfortunate, though mercifully short marriage? Could she trust again? Or was she being fanciful, again? What had he tried to say about himself, or had he?

She hands her coins to the ticket seller and enters the quaint little museum. As usual it's quiet, the main reason she has come here. Such a lovely respite from the hustle and rush of the city. From the constant and irritating ringing of the telephones, the incessant clattering of the typewriters and chatter of her colleagues in the typing pool.

Her palms inside her gloves are damp, she smooths her plain tweed skirt; straightens her jacket and makes sure her little hat hasn't shifted about too much. Should she go to the room where they met yesterday? Or wander into another room?

"You came." His soft tenor is close behind her. With a soft gasp she starts and turns toward him.

"So, I did." She states the obvious.

He holds his elbow out in invitation. "Shall we?" As he nods toward the room at the other side of the corridor. Wordless they cross the hallway and stop at the first display.

"Tell me about this one." He points to the one on the left.

"It's a lovely example of its genre." She starts, pauses, continues thoughtfully. "One may surmise that it has been admired. I believe the owner did not see that it could have a function There is not much wear, so possibly it was displayed, rather than used. The damage you see is recent. Not irreparable but marring just the same. What do you see?" She bites her lip. Her wounds have healed on the outside, but ...

"I don't see any damage, just beauty." He answers as he leans closer toward her, then takes a second look at the object.

She blushes and turns away shy, suddenly. "Please, tell me about that one. The one in the corner." Trying to distract herself.

"Ah, you like that one?" He asks with a soft huff. Claire nods. "It has a certain charm, don't you think?"

"I agree." He smiles. "I'd say it's strong, well made. More for function than beauty, but the craftsman could not help himself and had to embellish it. As opposed to that one." He points to the object Claire admired mere minutes ago. "This one has been well used. Maybe not always for its intended purpose. But never abused, as you lamented over yesterday's find." He mentally shakes away the memories of his misspent youth, the bouncing from home to street and back.

She chuckles softly. "I'm glad."

They wander silently from case to case.

"What fascinated you about this place" He probes.

"With the exception of what is on display in a store window, everything has a history. We all know about Rembrandt and Tut Ankh Amun, but few look beyond to the hidden beauty that is inherent in everything, all around us." She shrugs, knowing she's being silly. "Everything here, has been admired at one time." She adds softly.

"You are right, of course. I needed to come in from the rain yesterday and this place was the nearest shelter. You have opened my eyes. Not only have you shown me their beauty, but also yours." He pulls her to the next room, before she can protest.

"And these?" He laughs, breaking the tension. "Tell me about their beauty."

Claire laughs. "Try considering life without them. Oh, if they could only speak." She smiles behind her gloved hand.

"No, thank you." He shudders with mock horror. "Next room, please. Ah, yes. Let's linger here for a while."

Claire blushes. "Sir! We've only just met!" She protests, yet there is a sparkle in her eyes, along with the pink in her cheeks.

"Have we? It feels as if we've known each other for days, if not longer. My name is Charles. Charles Langston." He holds out his hand to her and offers her his card.

"Claire. Claire Wilson." She takes his hand and the card. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Langston."

"Now tell me, Miss Wilson, what do you think of this one." He winks as he points to the object in the center of the room.

"Oh, my!" She sighs. "It's magnificent, majestic even. Not just functional, but oh, so much more. Something to be shared, I'm sure. I wonder how it ended up here, fully intact."

"You believe it to be intact? It could be a facade, a mirage, if you will." He muses, thinking of himself with his lack of education and checkered work history. Though he is on his way now.

"Oh, I hope not." Claire sighs. "I doubt there is another one just like it anywhere." She tilts her head, admiring the room's center piece. "But even if it's merely a facade, I'm glad to have seen it."

"Yes, absolutely, Miss Wilson. We are the richer for having seen such magnificence." He smiles as he looks down at her.

She shakes her head as if awakening from a dream. "What time is it?" She consults the watchpin fastened to the lapel of her jacket. "Oh, my! I'll be late returning to the office. That will never do." She turns, ready to leave the museum.

"Tomorrow?" Charles calls after her.

"Yes, please." She answers as she rushes away.

^*^*^

Charles paces up and down the sidewalk. Where is she? They only met two days ago, but she already occupies most of his thoughts. Even though they have only spoken in the confines of the little museum and ostentatiously about the objects displayed, it's as if they have shared their deepest secrets. He believes she so far above him, as he had been told over and over by teachers and more recently his CO. He hopes he'll get a chance to become worthy of her.

Impatiently, one hand shoved in his trouser pocket, he turns again. There! She's hurrying, one hand on the silly little hat that's perched precariously on her dark curls, biting her lower lip in concentration. Now impatiently staring at the crossing light, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She looks like a breath of fresh air. Though her suit is a sober dark blue, her blouse, although buttoned up to her throat is bright yellow, celebrating the first signs of spring.

Smiling he walks toward her as she crosses the street.

"Miss Wilson. You look lovely, again. Such a pleasure to see you today. Rather than stroll through the display of articles found in the rubble after the Blitz, may I invite you on a picnic this afternoon?"