U3a February 2024 Mr. Right. By Helena Hewston 974 words.

I couldn't decide whether to finish the accounts or to do overtime and stay over somewhere, or to run down to the railway station but it was 4.45pm and the last train was leaving in 10 minutes.

I knew I could make it if I hurried because I had done it before, but today was different. I had no urgency to return home and being winter time the office was warm and the accounts were needed in two days time. The lure of an evening in the bedsit, on my own, was balanced against overtime money with expenses.

I was young, ambitious, career building and eager to prove my abilities, reliability loyalty and dedication. Now I am much older, wiser, more cynical and suffering from being so. So I opted for staying over and thereby hang a tale.

As I worked through the figures something did not add up correctly. I checked the entries twice. I went back through the invoices, petty cash record, bank statements and still couldn't find the missing money.

I looked up to see the night had come in and lights in other office blocks turned off. I realised the heating had gone off and I was hungry too. A quick sortie to the Three Barrels pub down the road was called for and I could also book a room for the night.

Coat on, keys in one pocket and phone in the other; lights off, door locked; a scamper down the stairs and out onto the pavement; alarm on and outer door locked and out into the evening bustle. I stepped closer to the road to miss someone and as I do so a black helmeted motor bike rider swung in towards me and his pillion passenger leant out and grabbed the bag on by shoulder. I lost my balance and landed face down in the gutter.

A voice above me asked "are you all right?"

I raised myself slightly "I think so. My bag's gone. He pulled me over."

"Give yourself a moment before you try to stand."

I put a hand to my face. It felt gritty.

"Here, have this"

I focussed on the stranger offering me the white handkerchief in a gloved hand, leather gloves and nice leather brogues at eye level too. My glaze travelled upwards from the shoes to the pin stripped trousers and wooll, barathea coat and then a Colin Firth type face. An arm bent closer and I grasped it to me lever myself up. The handkerchief was streaked with blood and grit.

Once standing I started to brush down my coat, skirt and knees.

"I seem to be ok. Thank you"

"Ok or not, Do you think you can walk to the pub just there?

I nodded but taking his arm for support as we set off I reached for my phone.

"Must call the Police. He stole my bag. It has my purse and credit cards. Must cancel them"

"In the pub you can sit down and do all that and assess any other damage." In a side booth a glass of brandy and one of larger were brought to our table. I tried to control the shakes and welcomed the brandy. He sipped his larger. Thoughts tumbled through my brain; when do I tell my boss: could I ring my parents: should I ring my best friend? Gosh he is handsome; will he think me a wimp? I have no nightie; I have no toothbrush. I'll not be able to night to find that discrepancy in those accounts.

He interrupted my thoughts and I focussed on those clear bright grey eyes and a touch of a smile.

"Right, we have done first things first and now need to help you in other things. My name is Tancred Wright, Here is my card. What's your name?"

Mr. Right I thought. Of course he would have a card. Strangers in the city carry them all the time but I do not have one. I am not in that league .. ..yet.

It was after I had phoned the Police and agreed to give a statement the following day. I put a stop on the credit cards and after that I re-examined my rescuer. He looked even better in the soft light of the booth. We explained to each other the reasons for being where we were at that particular moment and how that would shape the rest of our evening. I also explained that I would need to return his possession for which he was dismissive. . Having no money I did not know how I was to pay for the night at the pub.

He rose and went to the bar where he chatted with the landlord and coming back explained that The Three Barrels was his local and he knew the owner.

I could not argue, nor think of any alternatives. I accepted the offer.

"I'll ring you tomorrow if you do not mind my having your phone number. I think I can leave you now as you seem to be together and an early night's sleep will do you good. Besides that my last train goes in a short while."

I was reluctant to lose his company but consoled myself that we would be in touch the following day.

I slept better than I expected. Returning to the office in the morning I recounted my tale to the boss who proved generous and sympathetic, giving me cash to cover expenses until the new cards arrived. I returned to the accounts and eventually found a record of something not transferred correctly so everything was becoming right with the world when Mr. Wright phoned and now I am happy to say a successful relationship developed. He proved to be my Mr. Right.