The Passenger by Daniel Hurst (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

‘What is it?’ I ask, not wanting to pick it up yet because whatever it is, it surely can’t help make what I am about to do any easier.

‘Open it,’ Charles says with his charming smile, and I do as he says as he takes another glug of his wine.

I reach into the envelope and pull out two tickets. Turning them over, I see they are for a performance of Chicago at a theatre in Covent Garden.

‘Your favourite show,’ Charles says, placing his wine glass carefully back down on the table. ‘I thought we could go for our next date. There’s a performance next Tuesday. I checked with the agency beforehand, and they said you were free.’

It’s a thoughtful gesture, and I’m touched by the generosity, as well as the fact that he remembered my favourite show from our discussion a few weeks ago, but this isn’t helping me say goodbye.

‘Thank you, Charles. This is very kind,’ I say, sliding the tickets back into the envelope. ‘But I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline. I’m so sorry.’

I see the disappointment on Charles’s face instantly, and I feel terrible. Why couldn’t my last date as an escort be with some sexist pig who drinks too much and chews food with his mouth open? Instead, it’s with one of the most charming, friendly and sensitive men I have ever met.

They certainly don’t make them like Charles anymore, that’s for sure.

‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ he says, lowering his eyes to the tablecloth. ‘Have I made a mistake?’

‘No, not at all,’ I quickly reply, reaching out and gently resting my hand on his own on the table.

I know the people at the agency advised against any physical contact during dates in case it gave the wrong impression, but I’m making an exception for Charles because he is so sweet, and I don’t want him to feel like I don’t care about his feelings. He looks like he could burst into tears at any moment, and that would kill me.

‘It’s just that I’m not going to be available anymore for these dates,’ I tell him. ‘I’m leaving the agency. I’m going to have a go at being a writer full time. Like I discussed, remember?’

I hope that adding in the part about me pursuing my dream will soften the blow for him and lead to him being excited for me rather than just feeling sorry for himself. That way we can both toast to our future endeavours and then be on our way. But the look on Charles’s face lets me know that he isn’t excited.

He is crushed.

He removes his hand from under mine and picks up the envelope before tucking it back into his jacket pocket.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask, genuinely worried.

‘I’m fine,’ he tells me as he checks his watch. ‘It’s almost nine. You can leave if you like.’

I know he is telling me that because nine o’clock is the time when our date is scheduled to end, and he presumably thinks I just want to get home and get on with what I’d rather be doing. But he’s wrong. I enjoy our dates together, even though they are a business transaction, and that is evidenced by the fact that I didn’t realise it was late already. The time we spent chatting has just flown by. Then I’m reminded that we did start the date a little after the scheduled start time because Charles was running late.

He was running late because he had stopped to buy me flowers.

‘Charles, I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed our evenings together, and I probably shouldn’t say this, but you were my favourite client.’

I know I definitely shouldn’t have said that because that was another thing that the agency told me not to do. Apparently, an escort telling a client that they are their favourite can lead to them forming strong emotional attachments that can prove difficult to break. But I think it’s already too late for that in this case. I can see that because it looks like Charles has a tear in his eye.

He wipes it away quickly before I can say another word, and it’s not long until his fragile demeanour has been replaced by a stiff upper lip and a dogged determination to carry on.

‘To the future,’ he says, raising his glass of wine in the air.

I smile at him and pick up my own drink, pleased to see that we are going to be able to end our arrangement on good terms after all.

‘To the future.’

It’s ten minutes later when we step outside the busy bar, and I thank Charles as he holds the door open for me. A true gentleman until the end, that is how I will remember him.

I’m glad we are ending things on a positive note, and I’m just about to say goodbye and take out my phone to book a taxi to the station when I notice that he is looking rather forlorn again.

‘I’m tired of being alone,’ he says to me softly, and my heart breaks in that moment as I look at him.

‘Oh, Charles, you’re not alone,’ I say, putting my hand on his arm and feeling his thin bones through his thick jacket. ‘You have your family, right? Your daughter. The grandchildren. And what about your friends? There’s Bill and Andrew at the billiards club, yeah?’

I recall the people that he has told me about in the past, doing my best to remind him that he is not as lonely as he thinks he is. But it doesn’t seem to work. Charles looks no happier.

‘That’s not what I mean. I miss my Mary. I miss having somebody to talk to in the evenings when I’m sitting at home. I miss playing a record for her and reading the paper while she potters around me. I miss it all.’

I always knew how much Charles was pining after his late wife, because he has