Alessandro de Montalban was a heck of a good looking guy. When he walked into a room, little girls, girls, young women, middle aged women and even grand mothers, stopped whatever they were doing or saying and just stared - their eyes on stalks!
Dressed immaculately from head to toe in Savile Row or Hermes suits, Lobb shoes, a Patek Phillipe watch and Dupont sunglasses he walked into Mark's Club this evening bearing a dark frown, that belied the admiring glances bearing down on him from all sides and not seeing them or the grimaces on the various accompanying males, whose spouses, wives or daughters had now been distracted away from.
Damn, damn, damn he thought, she's not here, no texts with apologies received, no voice-mails with tales of delayed flights, or traffic jams holding up the Bentley Continental!
What was he to do? She always, yes always kept him up to date, minute by minute and was never ever late! This time when for once he needed her, and not her him, he was left high and dry.
Suddenly there was a rush of footsteps behind him and Giorgio the head waiter, ran gasping for breath, into the room grabbed Alessandro by the arm, an unbelievable incursion into his personal space and said ...........................
Over to you!!
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