Joanne looked at her watch for the hundredth time and tapped her foot impatiently.
She had been waiting under the clock at the station for twenty minutes. Admittedly, she was a bit early. They had agreed on the telephone that they would
meet at eight o’clock and it was still only five to eight.
She glanced at her watch yet again and then looked around; still no sign of anyone looking remotely like Jonathan.
Joanne pulled the well-creased letter out of her handbag and read Jonathan’s description of himself. She knew the words by heart, but a girl has to be sure
of her facts.
Six feet one, blue eyes, blond hair, thin and muscular. Joanne’s heart seemed to have half a dozen butterflies in it as it fluttered with anticipation at
the coming meeting.
Just then there was a bing-bong from the speaker at the side of the clock.
‘The train just arriving on platform four is the seven thirty from Snoddington. We apologize for its late arrival as there were leaves on the line at
Oakton.’
Joanne looked over at the gate where the train had just arrived. The bored ticket collector had woken up, arisen from his little cubbyhole and was standing
sleepily at the gate to collect the tickets.
There was a slamming of doors and a great rush at the gates as bemused, bewildered and battered commuters fought their way to be first out of the gate. The
ticket collector was nearly knocked over in the stampede, but luckily jumped out of the way just in time.
Joanne looked anxiously at the teeming throng, trying to see if there was a Blond Adonis among the sea of faces.
Just then, a man who looked just the ticket pushed his way through the jostling crowd and headed directly for her.
‘What a hunk,’ thought Joanne enthusiastically.
The Waltz
