A stranger on a train

---she was still following the song, but became aware of how elegant he was, and of his furtive glances in her direction. She looked at him, he'd look away... how beautiful his hands were, lightly folded long fingers, dark red silk handkerchief in his top pocket, polished leather shoes, shoulders back in upright posture. Finely boned features just suppressing a smile as he leaned towards her.

She turned off the walkman as he spoke, asking her if she liked ballet, as he had a question she might help him with. For the first time she looked directly into his eyes. Much later he would write her a long letter recalling that moment. A letter in which he would seek to make sense of what happened - and why. But right then, she had no idea. Why should she? He was a stranger on a train asking her a question. He was returning home after a lunch in London with his friend, during which they had tried to remember the name of a ballet.

Did she know the name of the puppet doll the ballet was named after - whose maker had fallen in love with her, and was heartbroken to find she could never love him in return? She chatted and laughed with this charming stranger, and eventually she remembered for him, exclaiming "Coppelia!"

They fell into easy and warm conversation, until she announced her stop was the next one. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he asked if she'd mind giving him her phone number - perhaps they could have lunch sometime, she'd be very welcome to join him and his friend next time they met in London?

A small voice that might have asked 'but you don't know him, is this wise?' was hushed by the certainty that this man reached her in a way she longed to reached. He was quite unlike any other man she had been attracted to - not just his age, but his manner, his background, his politics...on returning home she wondered if she'd done the right thing. Two days later he rang her.