With a high shrieking sound that seemed to shatter the sudden unfeeling silence that the room bad fallen into. My phone hang. “Please excuse me” I smiled to Raphaella, half-thankful that I was leaving this room and half wishing I could remain in the pleasing chaos forever. She did not get up to show me out and told me to down the last of my brandy before I could answer the call. I did, fully aware of how much it would hurt the back of my throat. It strung a lot more than I had expected. She took the glass from my hand and indicated me out into the corridor as I answered.
“Hello, Owen” I whispered, painfully aware the door to Raphaella’s apartment was still ajar “Darling, meet me at seven tonight at The Alchemist bar under the bridge. Take the tube to canary wharf.” I exhaled a sudden gasp of excitement “be pretty for me, darling.” He hung up. Full to the brim with unbridled excitement, I ran back into Raphaella’s apartment “I’m sorry, but I have to go, thank you very much for your hospitality –“ I looked at her, noticing she had poured herself another glass of brandy. “Is it the lord and master himself?” she giggled “No, it’s not like that, he just wants to see me tonight.” I replied, rather indignant “Oh, okay, if you’re sure about that, you’d better get ready, what time does he want to see you?” “Seven” I responded “Oh, then no time to waste” Raphaella downed her glass and placed it with a thump back on the table “You’ll have to get ready.” “How long will that take? I only have to throw a dress on.” I thought for a moment how stupid that must sound to a girl like Raphaella “You’ll have to do your make up and style your hair.” Before I had time to respond she continued, “I think you’d suit curls, I’ll get my curling iron.” She trotted off to another room and returned with a rose gold set of curling tongs clasped in her hand. “Just remember to unplug them.”. I thanked her again as I left, determined on getting perfect for Owen tonight.
Upon returning to my apartment, I hurriedly began curling my hair. I was so excited to see him, it was like a fairy-tale; two lovers who were held apart by a wicked witch, except we would not be help apart forever. Owen and I would marry, in time. I looked around the room once again, wondering what the place would look like once I had accumulated a life such as Raphaella’s; a life of beautiful and enchanted memories. I wondered how it’d be to have modelling photos and fashion magazines scattered across the floor and be so confident in myself that I could simply ask these far out questions. She seemed so confident in herself. I wondered if Georgienna was that confident in herself, I supposed she must have been to marry a man like Owen, though in my heart I almost hoped he had just married her for its social benefits. The social benefits of marrying her had served him well; he was Home Secretary. And still, he wanted me. Me.