Fran’s Folly

By Deryn Graham

The subterranean Berlin bar was buzzing by the time Fran arrived. Halfway down the stairs, she scanned the smoky pall and saw her boss, Chrissie, who raised her arm and waved. Fran threaded her way through the tables.

“Where’ve you been?” Chrissie asked.

“You don’t want to know,” said Fran, but of course Chrissie did, and Fran described her meeting with their latest client.

“He was so sleazy!” she laughed. “I just couldn’t pin him down, though that’s clearly what he wanted to do to me!”

As she continued her story, a tall, imposing figure strode up to their table.

“Is anyone sitting here?” he asked, pointing to an empty chair. He had a slight accent, hard to place.

“No, be my guest,” Fran tilted her head to look up at him. She was drawn immediately by his blue eyes and his gaze which held hers like a firm handshake. She expected him to take the chair, but instead, he sat down and smiled.

“Duncan,” he said, in what Fran took to be an introduction.

“Fran…Chrissie,” Fran responded.

“Can I get you girls a drink,” Duncan asked. Fran shrugged non-commitally.

Duncan smiled again and headed towards the bar.

Expecting to have seen the last of him, Fran was surprised when he returned with a bottle of champagne, three glasses and a bowl of pretzels balanced on his forearm. A nice strong forearm, clad in an expensive blue Oxford button down shirt. He sat down and poured the champagne. Fran exchanged glances with Chrissie, who thanked Duncan, took her glass, got up from the table and left them with a wink.

Duncan took a sip of champagne watching Fran intently over the rim of the glass. “I couldn’t help but notice your smile. It lights up the room, which is quite something since it’s so dark in here.”

“Thank you. Dimly lit is generally a thing in these places.”

“And that red hair…”

“Titian, please.”

“Your hair and your smile…they were like a beacon”. 

Fran was used to her smile attracting attention, she had been told so many times how it reached her eyes, making them flash and dazzle. She fixed them now on Duncan. 

“Well, you have quite a twinkle yourself,” she allowed herself to respond. “Where’s the accent from?”

“South Africa. You couldn’t tell?”

“Nope. But it’s nice. “

“So are you. Lovely, in fact.”

“Who are you here with?” asked Fran looking around for anyone who might look suspiciously as if they had set Duncan up - a bet, or a dare...

“No one, it’s just me…”

“So, what brings you to Berlin?” Fran asked.  

“Work. And you?”

“Same,” Fran replied without elaborating further.

It was hard to make themselves heard over the pumping music, but the mutual attraction was palpable. The champagne finished, Fran reluctantly got up to leave. “Well, Duncan, it was lovely to meet you…”

“Please, Fran,” Duncan reached for Fran’s arm. “What about a nightcap… Somewhere quieter. My hotel isn’t far from here…”

🩷🩷🩷

Born in Manchester, Deryn studied French at Exeter University. After graduating she managed holiday resorts in Spain and Greece, before returning to London to work for a series of international hotel groups. During a trip to Berlin she met a South African and just seven months later, she lef London to join him in Johannesburg. Together they have two grown up sons, one in UK and one in SA.

Deryn has worked as a radio and tv producer and was public relations manager for South Africa’s official buy local advocacy campaign. She is a freelance writer and lives in Johannesburg.