Writing for Fun
Monte . . . Carlo - Diane Silverston
September 2014
Monty woke with a start and a splitting headache. He screwed up his eyes against the sunlight streaming through the large un-curtained windows. He carefully shook his head and tried again. He really didn't feel good. What had he been doing the night before? And come to that where on Earth was he now? Nothing around him rang a bell, everything was strange.
Should he attempt to get up off, what appeared to be a large leather settee? He gingerly tried to lift his head and instantly regretted the movement. Perhaps not yet, give it a moment or two.
While he lay there, shielding his eyes once again from the intense brightness, he thought back to the previous day. He recognised what he was wearing as his favourite attire for an evening out at the exclusive clubs around town. Where had he been and who had he been out with? Usually it was the gang from work, other 30 year olds who enjoyed the night-life of London. But if he had been with them, why was he here now? He should have been at the flat he shared with George and Pierre, or with Giles and Jacob at their place. Both stylish flats in high class mansions near the Embankment. This seemed to be more of a studio flat with an eclectic range of furniture.
Time to make another attempt at getting up. Clutching his forehead, eyes closed, he lifted his head once again, swung his feet over the edge and manoeuvred himself into a seated position. Although the world seemed to be spinning around, at least he didn't feel nauseous. He cautiously opened his eyes again and took another look around. A large window covered one wall, the other three had numerous paintings hanging on them. The furniture which looked old and second hand was filled with artist's materials, no surfaces appeared to have any spaces free. Materials and clothes were strewn over two chairs which were either side of an enormous table. A hideousity of crockery, cutlery and utensils filled this table.
Monty once again shook his head, tried to clear his brain. Who could he possibly know who lived in this manner? He steadied himself and put some thought into his present situation. It was rather bizarre. He could remember getting changed after work, sitting in the restaurant with his friends, eating a splendid meal. Then being in a noisy bar where people were dancing to loud music, where bright lights were flashing. Had he had too much to drink? He was going to have to make some dramatic changes to his life if this was what could happen. Monty liked to be in control of all aspects of his life, at all times. He had his future plans made and was working slowly but surely towards the end goals. He didn't scare easily, but this situation had him worried. It was totally out of his control, he had no idea where he was, or how he had got there, that was a little scary. What was he going to do? How was he going to get it back under control? How was he going to retrieve the situation?
Monty closed his eyes again, leant back, took a deep breath. It was time to make a positive move. With a supreme effort he pushed himself up onto his feet, swayed a little, righted himself and moved towards the window. He looked out and saw, below him people and cars rushing along a main road. He saw 'Whites Hotel' across the road, opposite him. So he was on King's Road, not too far from his own flat and his office. What time was it? He looked at his watch: 8:15. He should be at work within the next half an hour. He needed to make a move, get going. He had to go home and change into his suit before turning up at work, his bosses would expect it.
Suddenly Monty realised he could hear movements behind the door to his left, a person whistling and water running. Who was it? Would it be someone he knew?
As he went to move across, the door suddenly opened, and there framed was a tall, slim, dark-haired girl. She was beautiful. She was stunning. Her dark eyes glinted and her face was filled with such a sweet smile.
'Ah, you've woken up. How are you feeling?'
'Not great, but all the better for seeing you.'
'Flattery will get you a long way,' she said, 'especially after being so off hand last night.'
'Off hand? Was I?' asked Monty, 'I'm afraid I don't remember.'
'Well you badgered me most of the evening to have a drink with you, and then fell asleep at the table,' replied the girl. 'Are you ready for a cup of coffee now?'
'Please,' answered Monty. 'I'm sorry about last night, but how did I end up here?'
'Your friends had gone on somewhere, so my friend and I brought you here. You weren't making much sense to our questions, and you fell asleep again as soon as you sat down.'
'I'm really sorry, I'm Monty short for Montague, and you are?'
'I'm Carlo, short for Caroline,' she murmured. 'Nice to meet you properly. Now for the coffee.'
Soon they were sitting together on the settee sipping coffee and discussing the previous night.
'I assume you are the artist?' asked Monty, looking up at the walls. 'I like your work.'
'Yes,' replied Carlo, 'I'm a student in my last year, hopefully I'll be able to make a living at it. And you? What do you do?'
'I'm a barrister. In fact I'd better go. I have to get to work. I'm already going to be late. Can we meet again tonight?'
'Yes I'd love to, as long as you don't fall asleep too early in the evening.'
They both laughed, smiled at each other.
'Bye, Monty.'
'Bye, Carlo.'