Coffee! - A Romantic Serial

I first encountered Catherine about 3 weeks after moving into my new flat. The software industry was treating me amazingly well after life as a student, on the poverty line.

I'd just finished an exhausting week fighting an elusive software bug that mysteriously emptied a leading supermarket chain of baked beans.

I was looking forward to a shower and a takeaway in front of the box. While I hunted for my key, I noticed the door of the flat opposite was half open. As I unlocked my door a woman's voice shouted, "Damn! Where is the bloody thing?" The voice was deep, mellow, husky but unmistakably female.

I turned around embarrassed, " I'm not sure. What is it you're looking for?" I enquired shyly.

"Don't take any notice of me. You must be my new neighbour. I'm Catherine." She offered her hand rather formally. For me, it was Love at First Sight.

I guess she was late 20s with long black hair and a face that would look perfect in a shampoo ad. A neat charcoal-grey suit did nothing to hide her fabulous figure and she carried a smart leather case slung over her shoulder.

"Clive Carter," I said, shaking her hand. Her grip was surprisingly firm.

"Come in," she said, "if you've got time. Coffee?"

"Thank you," I replied, taken aback by her friendly manner and her gorgeous eyes, "that would be nice."

"Come through. Excuse the mess."

When most people say 'excuse the mess' they are exaggerating. They mean they haven't hoovered the carpet for a few days. But when Catherine said it, she was speaking in understatement. There was a plate of dried leftovers from yesterday’s supper on the sofa and nearby, an empty yoghurt carton. The carpet was littered with items of clothing, empty drinks cans and CDs.

Catherine had disappeared into the kitchen. I struggled to reconcile her stunning lady-executive look with her abominable abode.

"Come through," she said again. The kitchen was a nightmare. I know you'll think I'm fussy but I like to keep my place tidy. That's why I don't share. This was the habitat from hell. I stared at Catherine as she reached up into a cupboard. She was so impossibly beautiful. She turned and in her hand was a jar of CheapSavers Gold, my favourite coffee.

I don't mean that I sample every blend and CheapSavers Gold tastes the best, but it is very good value for money. Don't get the idea that I'm mean because I'm not. My last girlfriend was really out of line when she said, "Clive you're the meanest guy in the whole of West London!" Just because I used to shop at CheapSavers and recycle tea-bags. Anyway from that moment on I had a hunch that CheapSavers Gold would be central to my relationship with Catherine. She threw the coffee powder in some grimy looking mugs, and tipped in boiling water.

"Where's the bloody milk?" she said opening the fridge. I stared, terrified by its gruesome interior. Didn't she know you are supposed to defrost and clean fridges regularly?

"Look for it will you?" she ordered.

"Where might it be?" I asked, genuinely confused.

"If I knew would I be asking?" she said sarcastically, giving me a withering look with her gorgeous, huge, grey eyes. I hunted around the table, covered in what might have been the remains of breakfast and one or two other meals. I finally found the milk bottle on the window sill, near what might have been the corpse of a small cat, and tried not to show my disgust as I handed the milk to her. She sniffed it experimentally, wrinkling her lovely nose, and then poured it into the coffee without comment. How could such a heavenly woman live like this, I wondered?

I followed her into the lounge. She threw herself into the armchair and indicated the sofa to me. I carefully collected the debris off the sofa and prepared to carry them through to the kitchen.

"Don't bother with that. Chuck them on the floor," she said. "Sit down and tell me all about yourself."

I sat. "There's not much to tell really. I'm a Software Consultant. It's a remarkable coincidence! I drink CheapSavers Gold coffee too."

She looked at me oddly, and ignored the remark about the coffee. "So what is software consulting? What do you actually do?" she asked, sipping her coffee.

I tried to make it sound glamourous. "When the regular support staff can't cope with a problem then they call in someone like me. I fix problems, a sort of trouble-shooter. Sometimes I design new software and implement new systems. We offer a data backup service too."

Her beautiful eyes glazed over, as is often the case when I try to explain what I do.

I sipped my coffee. In spite of the revolting mug and the dodgy milk, it tasted really good. The flavour and aroma was unmistakably CheapSavers Gold.

"Marvellous coffee," I said smiling.

"You're not taking the mickey about the coffee, are you?" she asked suspiciously.

Suddenly there was a heavy knock at the door.

"Damn. That's probably Jean-Claude," said Catherine.

She released the door and in walked this tall, superior looking guy, in a trench coat, clutching a huge bouquet of flowers. I felt like a child who had been given a huge balloon and now it had been punctured.

"Catherine, my darling," he said in an obviously affected French accent, "we must get a move on or we will be late." He gave her a peck on the cheek and then noticed me.

"I did not know you 'ad company?" He said staring at me coldly.

"Its OK. Just sharing a coffee with my new neighbour."

"CheapSavers Gold," I added helpfully.

"We must fly!" said Catherine, ignoring yet again my remarks about the coffee and, before I knew it, she and her Gallic chum had departed in the lift and I was left alone in the corridor. I watched them from the window. The Frenchman gallantly opened the passenger door of this huge Renault and helped Catherine inside.

What gorgeous legs! She looked like a movie star. An unopened jar of CheapSavers Gold stood on top of my fridge, its protective foil not yet removed. Symbolic of my as yet unformed relationship with the delectable Catherine.