The Snow Lady

She was elegant, sophisticated and beautiful. Her tall lithe body stood firm and straight, her stature
enhanced by black and white designer high heel shoes bedecked with small silver buckles and laced bows.
She was dressed simply but expensively, a well-fitting two-piece white costume with the pencil slim skirt
finishing just above her knees, side slits revealing a tantalising amount of thigh, the single-breasted jacket
snuggled up tightly against her, loosening only where it flared over her hips, accentuating her already perfect
form. Her white satin blouse plunged beneath the lapels revealing a deep cleavage between firm, well-formed
breasts, rotund in a half-cup brassiere. Her jet-black hair, blown into wave rolled curls was brushed back
behind her ears revealing diamond droppers that flashed glints of blue streaked light with every movement
that she made.
But it was her smile that held Dannys attention most, a smile emanating from the face of an angel he
thought, an oval face with high cheekbones tinted tantalisingly with wisps of rouge on an olive smooth
complexion. Her lips were full and soft, touched with rose blushed lipstick, they were inviting, Danny almost
felt that he had kissed them; he rubbed his fingers on his own as if he was unsure.
Lowering the conical long stemmed glass of pink champagne which bore the imprints of her lips on the
rim, her eyes met his as she glanced away from her escort. Her mahogany eyes sparkled, smiling
harmoniously with her lips, an appreciative smile of the man she was now looking at, a powerfully built man
with a square jaw, thick dark brown hair and deep-set eyes the colour of sapphire. Danny smiled back; for a
while, an age, they looked at each other, wanting, until he became aware that he had gained the attention of
her escort. He was embarrassed and looked sheepishly away. She turned to look at a waiter as he gave her
and her escort a menu.
Another drink? asked Danny of his business colleague whom he was treating to a dinner at the Chalet
Suisse nightclub in Sohos Charlotte Street, a popular club with multi-national clientele. A waiter was not
immediately available so he made his own way to the bar to order. He turned to look at the Snow Lady, a
name his subconscious mind had unwittingly invented for her, not that for one moment did he think of her
as cold, on the contrary, he loved the first fall of virgin snow, it was clean, fresh and warm and inviting, just
like Snow Lady. Or perhaps it was because the weather forecasts had been intimating a heavy snowfall that
evening, the first of the winter in the southeast.
He could see her now, from a different perspective, from behind, her form was in perfect proportion;
thirty-eight, twenty-four, thirty-six, he guessed. Her back tapered down to a waist that was made for loving
arms. Her buttocks and thighs shaped through her skirt he imagined more. She turned and looked to
where he had stood before, her smile disappeared as she realised he was no longer there. She turned more
and saw him, her smile returned, a broad smile, sending him a warm glow. He smiled back.
Again he found her escort looking at him but perhaps this time it was more of a glower. Danny wondered
who he might be, a tall, slender, elegant man, perhaps fifteen years her senior, around thirty-eight. She had
no rings on her right hand, her left hand he could not see. Perhaps they were married! He looked wealthy,
wearing a black three-buttoned blazer with five buttons on each cuff. His trousers were grey flannel of perfect

Copyright 2009

fit and length, resting just over the tops of his dark apple-green Grensons. Around his neck, beneath the
open collar of a Christian Dior shirt he wore a loosely knotted paisley apple green cravat.
Seven pounds seventy-two pence, sir, called the barman.
Danny turned toward him and paid. He picked up the two port and brandys balancing the cocktail-stickskewered cherry precariously placed on the rim of each brandy glass and returned to his colleague. The
Snow Lady had gone.
Your table is ready now, sir, announced Antonio, the Italian waiter leading the two men into the softly lit
restaurant which was decorated in semblance of a chalet in Switzerland. Four musicians played soft
harmonious music on violins, cello and a brushed snare.
They saw each other at the same time and smiled. Danny felt good and he knew she did too. The waiter
led the two men to a table close to the Snow Lady and Danny took the chair facing her, he smiled and offered
her a gentle nod as he sat down. She raised her glass in a small, subtle movement with a slight rolling and
pursing of her lips, hardly anything, probably no one else would notice but it was enough for Danny and it
excited him.
They exchanged frequent glances as the evening progressed. He desperately wanted to ask her to dance,
to dance a waltz, to dance close so that he could feel her satin smooth skin next to his as they swayed slowly,
cheek to cheek, feeling her warm body move rhythmically up against his, the smell of her perfume sending
warm passionate feelings of desire through his body.
She flicked her hair with her left hand, rings of diamonds and rubies glistened, he drew a deep breath,
now he knew she was married and this must be her husband...But that mattered none, other than it got in
the way, he still wanted her. He wondered why she was married to him, an older man! Was it money, position,
family arranged? Perhaps now she craved the youth and virility of someone closer to her own age. Someone,
perhaps, like Danny?
He did not know why, he had no desire to relieve himself, yet, unwittingly, he excused himself from the
company of his colleague and went to the toilet in the foyer. Perhaps it was the frustration of wanting to meet
the Snow Lady but not knowing how he could achieve that - so close to her but yet so far away! He checked
himself in the mirror, combed his hair, adjusted his tie and then left the toilet.
She stood before him; he stopped abruptly and stared. She was glowing like an angel that had floated in
from heaven, she looked adorable close to, a dream, now just a few feet away from him, the smell of her Yves
St Laurent filled his nostrils with an alluring odour of colourful meadows and frilly boudoirs, which triggered
every sensual nerve in his body. Her clothes hugged her body; the only thing they hid was the colour of her
skin.
Hello, he uttered nervously.
Hi, she replied in a soft, alluring voice.
Neither of them seemed quite sure of what to do next.
He said feebly, Im Danny.
Rosita, she replied warmly extending her hand and turning her cheek towards him as she stepped
forward.
Danny took her hand, a squeeze more than a shake and he kissed her cheek, she smelt and felt good.
This is very nice place, do you come here many times? she said clumsily in a northern Italian accent.
Many... replied Danny, ...err...yes, quite often. He was still holding her hand.
2

Copyright 2009

The foyer door swung open as Snow Ladys escort walked in. He spoke to her in Italian, firmly. She turned
back to Danny, I am so sorry, I have to go. She hesitated and then said Ciao, and left.
Danny cursed the intrusion but accepted it as inevitable; at least her husband had not caused a scene.
He turned her name over again and again as he returned to his table, Rosita...Rosita. Each time he said it in
a different way and each time it sounded sweet.
The Snow Lady and her escort got up to leave. Bye, bye, she said gently, subtlety blowing Danny a kiss.
He caught it, placed it on his lips, and then sat silent.
Danny felt empty and ragged; he had not felt like this before. He had never believed in love at first sight,
but could this be just that? It was not as if he knew the lady or had even seen her before. In any case, it was
over now, she had gone and she was married.
I will serve your coffee in the lounge, sir, said Antonio. I have a table ready for you.
Danny and his colleague followed the waiter into the lounge; he sat listening to his colleague but not
really hearing what he was saying. Antonio brought their coffee cups, filled them from a tall silver pot, and
adjusted the cream to their taste.
Anton, asked Danny, that lady, the one in white, who is she?
Antonio smiled, Ahh, yes, the Contessa.
Contessa? Danny interrupted.
Yes, sir. Contessa Rosita Lolita Christina Barcel. A beautifula lady, no?
Very. Who was the hombre with her?
Hombre, sir? enquired the waiter.
Danny had a habit of doing that, getting Spanish mixed up with other languages. Man, who was the man
with her, her husband?
Husband? Noa husband, sir, brother, the Count of Ventura.
Not her husband? But the rings, she had wedding rings on her finger.
Weddina rings? asked the waiter.
Danny began to get agitated, Yes, on her wedding finger. He held his left hand up and pointed to the
wedding finger. She had rings.
Antonio laughed loudly, In England, sir, he held up his left hand, this is a handa for marriage. He
lowered his left hand and raised his right hand, In Italia, this isa the handa for marriage.
Danny felt utter despair and annoyance with himself. Despondently he put his elbows on the table and
rested his head in his hands. Why had he not realised that, she was foreign, he knew the accent, Italian, she
was obviously not British? He could have asked her to dance; he could have gone to her table and introduced
himself; that moment in the foyer, he could have said more.
Have you seen her before? Danny asked lifting his head up making sure the waiter was still there.
Yes, I see her manya times before; I see her picature, once I see her in Italia, ina my town, Catalina. But
never befora she cuma here.
Danny thanked Antonio and ordered another drink for himself and his colleague. Soon his colleague left
for his hotel, around the corner in Leicester Square leaving Danny alone for the rest of the evening, alone
with his thoughts, thoughts of what might have been, thoughts of if only. He looked at his watch, midnight,
she had not returned as he had forlornly hoped. It was time for him to leave, he was light headed and sad.

Copyright 2009

The doorman opened the door which led on to the street. It was snowing, he wasnt surprised, after all,
they said it would. The flakes were large and plentiful, dancing in the misty light of the street lamps; the
pavement was carpeted white.
A snowflake settled on his nose, he felt the kiss of the Snow Lady; he held his hand out and the Snow
Lady touched it, and then the snowflake melted. The Snow Lady had gone.

Epilogue:
Danny never forgot that meeting with the Snow Lady. Each year at the first fall of snow he steps into it
and lets the Snow Lady kiss his nose and hold his hand; except that now, forty years on, it is different, they
have been married for thirty-nine years, immediately after he had found her in Ventura, soon after that night
in the Chalet Suisse. She hasnt changed, except that now her hair is also as white as the virgin snow.

Copyright 2009