Café Talk

-See how your scented fingers drape like rose petals across my princely hands. Come with me to my hotel. Best room, five stars. I shall buy you a new dress, some perfume and we shall go to dinner at the best restaurant Marseille has to offer. We shall have mountains of oysters and seafood and I shall pay for everything, and in the morning, after a night of magic sensations, I shall put you in a taxi, covered in roses and trinkets.
We looked up from our food towards the sonorous voice rising from the centre table of the cafe. It was not the sort of place you could expect to eat well, just a few tables spread over a forecourt and separated by a busy road from the sea wall. Holiday food. Sudden gasps of wind shook the umbrellas and caught the ladies’ scarves. Our faces, lit by sun and curiosity, centred on a large man in a black coat and dark glasses. Would he say something else? We waited, some clenching sandwiches, some fizzy drinks.
He took a cigarette from a shiny case and the younger man seated next to him, also in black, leaned forward with a lighter. We could not see who he was talking to, only her blonde hair. Her neighbour, in shorts and T-shirt was leaning back in his chair, his plump face turned towards the top of the umbrella, grinning with embarrassment.
The rich voice started up again.
-The prince rides on a white camel. His bejewelled scimitar flashes in the desert sun. He is following a sign, something stronger than himself, drawn by a spirit across the sand to the oasis where the princess is waiting. He lets fly his hawk with a message of love in its sharp beak. The princess walks away from the well, through the gates and out into the sand. In a flash, the prince lifts her onto his saddle and flies off into the starry night, into a world of indescribable delights.
A child wailed and was shushed by its mother. On the pavement, groups of holiday makers, festooned with plastic toys had paused. Toasted sandwiches cooled on our plates.
-Come my princess to my scented garden, high in the sky on the top floor of my elegant hotel. We will drink champagne and eat sweets of honey and almonds.
The blonde head lifted and we discreetly shifted on our chairs. There she was. Time had left its mark. Make up exaggerated her eyes and lips. The sleek blonde hair was one thing, her face another. She turned to her chubby friend who continued to gaze into the umbrella. She addressed the man opposite her.
-The thing is…
-Hush, my little sparrow. Perhaps my ardour has overwhelmed you, but the amorous sultan who remains silent will not capture a maiden’s heart.
-Oh, no. Not at all. Very nice of you. The princes and sultans and that, but I am sorry to disappoint you. Reg and I have a prior engagement. Meeting friends.
The fat man sprang into action, pulling out his phone.
-God. Is that the time? Can’t keep them waiting.’
The younger man removed his dark glasses and stared at the fat man.
-Likewise the maiden at the gate who lets the lover ride away will for ever wonder what she had missed. Your friends will remain your friends but the chance of an evening of luxury and passion…
-Thing is, said the woman, I don’t really know you. Do I?
The man in the black coat rose to his feet. So did the younger man.
-Yes you do. Au revoir, Madame.
The two men made their way through the tables to the street, where miraculously the constant parade of traffic had paused. In the middle of the road they turned back to us and waived.
Some of us waived back.
-I didn’t really know him, said the woman to us.That’s what I told him. Well, I don’t.
-Right, said Reg.