Looking Out For Love

Samuel is the perfect professional matchmaker – so how has his own relationship gone so wrong?

As usual, Samuel Street boarded the 7.14am train to Manchester and selected a seat close by the doors. Each morning he liked to surreptitiously watch his fellow commuters getting on and off. Like a bird watcher trying to spot a rare species, he was always on the lookout for love.

Yet it was never for himself. As a professional matchmaker for upmarket dating agency, Dinner Required, Samuel sought it for his clients.

It was one of those lush autumn days when the air was still sticky with the last of the summer heat and Samuel loosened his scarlet tie slightly. He liked to add a splash of colour to his sombre suit regardless of the season.

He stretched out his legs into the aisle and admired the shine on his black shoes. His partner, Jeannette, said that he had a runner’s physique, with slim, wiry limbs that made him look as if he was always about to dash off somewhere else.

As the train carriage rocked rhythmically on the thirty-minute journey, Samuel read through his latest batch of client profiles. He liked to muse over every word and, when he reached the office, he read through them all again. To find a perfect match, he had to feel that he really knew a person.

“You have a nose for love, Samuel,” the agency owner, Ronaldo di Marco, often said while running a finger over his fine-line moustache, which he trimmed with nail scissors when he thought no-one was watching. Ronaldo didn’t believe in using computers for matchmaking, preferring to rely on his employees’ instincts instead.

“You can sniff out love like a beautiful rose, Samuel, and your 83% success rate is the highest of all my client managers.”

Samuel placed his new brown leather briefcase on his lap and ran his finger over the gold initials on the flap – S.O.S.

He didn’t use his middle name, Oscar, but Jeannette insisted on adding the O when she bought and had the case personalised for his fortieth birthday.

Three weeks on, the initials still brought a wry smile to his lips. It was as if he was carrying around his own personal cry for help. He supposed that, in a way, that’s exactly what he was doing because his relationship with Jeannette was falling apart.

They’d met six years ago and their togetherness had become as comfortable as a favourite sofa. After working all week, Samuel was happy to kick off his shoes and watch football on Saturday night, whilst Jeannette curled up in the kitchen reading a thriller.

They’d stopped holding hands when they walked through the park to feed the

Thiswouldn’t do. What FILMS did this lady ENJOY? Was she ARTISTIC?

ducks on Sunday afternoon. It was easier not to make an effort.

Yet, like the clients whose profiles he pored over each day, Samuel longed for romance. He yearned to meet someone who made his heart beat faster and caused his fingertips to tingle – the same feelings he experienced when he sensed a love match for his clients. He suspected Jeannette felt the same way.

If only he could find the perfect match for himself too, Samuel thought as he glanced around the crowded train. A teenage couple pressed their foreheads together as they watched a pop video on a mobile phone. A woman squeezed her last mint from a packet and popped it into her partner’s mouth. Samuel dolefully ran his fingers over his initialled briefcase. S.O.S.

He slid a batch of profiles out of his

case and read the first one. Clients were supposed to provide two hundred pithy words to describe themselves, and what they looked for in an ideal mate. But this one only had a few lines. There was no photograph.

Passionate Prisoner. Lovely but lonely lady likes walks in the rain, eating dark chocolate Belgian truffleswith sprinkles of coconut on top, and the smell of white lilies in park conservatories. Has been asleep too long and looking for someone to help her wake up.

Samuel shook his head and re-read the words. He turned the paper over to look at the back. The profile was much too short, with too little detail. This wouldn’t do at all. What films did this lady enjoy? Was she sporty, or artistic, or adventurous? Or perhaps she was all three. Then there was also the word “prisoner”. While he was fairly sure that Dinner Required clients wouldn’t take it too literally, he couldn’t be certain.

In order to find the best match for Passionate Prisoner, he needed to know more. Samuel placed her to the back of his pile and began to read instead about Rich, Sexy Guy.

Rich, Sexy Guy. Mid-forties but looks younger. Own business, yacht and Ferrari. Loves fast cars, gorgeous women and living life to the max…

This client waffled on for over three hundred and fifty boastful words and Samuel gave a deep sigh. Even so, he closed his eyes, wriggled his shoulders and placed his hands loosely in his lap. He imagined a dark room in his mind, stacked high with filing cabinets. He mentally pulled out a few drawers, to try and find a profile from his memory banks to suit Rich, Sexy Guy.

Hmmm, he thought. Margate Madonna might be a good match, though perhaps a little flamboyant. High Life and High Heels might prove to be a better fit.

The train halted at a station two stops before Manchester and the doors shushed open. Samuel raised his head to watch the passengers boarding and a draught lifted the top sheet from his pile, and deposited it on the floor, at the toes of a pair of leopard-print stilettoes.

Samuel got out of his seat and bent down to pick it back up, but a hand with long slim fingers and teal-blue nails reached it before him.

The woman wore a bright orange coat with large square buttons. Her lips were a bright shade of burnt orange and she wore black eyeliner in sharp flicks. Her white name badge was decorated with a red rose, but the lapels of her coat obscured the letters. Without any embarrassment, she read the first words of the profile. “Hello, er, Rich, Sexy Guy.” Samuel felt his neck flushing. “Thanks, but that’s not me…” She smiled and raised an eyebrow then slid into the seat opposite him. She took a gold compact out of her handbag and twisted up her orange lipstick.

She GRINNED as she sawhim. “Well hello, Rich, SEXY GUY…”

Samuel sidled back into his own seat. His heart beat faster and his mouth was dry. He wanted to explain to her about the profile.

How much had she read? Did she now think that he owned a Ferrari, and lived life to the max? Perhaps he could show her, and let her read, the full description for Rich, Sexy Guy and they could laugh about it together.

But he prided himself on client confidentiality. It worked the other way too, with Ronaldo wanting clients to know as little as possible about his matchmakers.

Samuel glanced at her again and wondered what profile name she might have, if she was a member of Dinner Required. Perhaps Exquisite Elegance, or All Things Bright and Beautiful.

He instinctively felt his matchmaker senses kicking in. There was a familiar tingle in his fingertips. But it wasn’t for a client – it was for himself, with the orangecoated woman. He placed his hand flat over the initials on his briefcase so she couldn’t see them.

The woman’s mobile phone rang and she picked up the call. “Oh no!” She rolled her eyes dramatically at Samuel, as if he was part of the conversation. “Really? That is so awful. You can’t let him get away with it…”

Samuel couldn’t help but listen to her honey-smooth voice, and he liked that she had a small lisp when she said the letter “r” as a “w”.

By the time the train reached Manchester, Samuel had scanned through the rest of his profiles, but he couldn’t recall any of the details, as he usually could. He stayed in his seat, waiting for the woman to move first but she continued her phone call.

As he finally gave up and got off the train, Samuel felt his legs wobble. He stood by the ticket barrier, raising himself on the balls of his feet, to look for the orange coat. He only caught a glimpse of it, before it was swallowed up in a swarm of commuters.

Samuel refused a free newspaper and sample shampoo from a girl with spiky pink hair on the station forecourt, and dragged his feet for the half-mile walk to the office. Not in the mood to chat with Ronaldo, he said a quick “Good morning” and closed his office door.

He loosened his tie a little more, sat at his desk and closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair, ready to visit his imaginary filing room, to conjure up matches for his clients. However, images of the orange-coated woman flitted in and out of his head instead, making it impossible to access his memory banks properly.

He opened his eyes and read through the batch of profiles again, but he didn’t remember any of them. Shoving them to the edge of the desk, he sighed heavily.

“Right. I’ll just have to chase up Passionate Prisoner instead.”

Using his work mobile phone, he called the number provided with the profile and a robotic female voice asked him to leave a message. Remembering Ronaldo’s firm instructions never to use his real name, Samuel also spoke in a lower voice than usual.

“Hello, this is, er, Sebastian calling from Dinner Required. I’d like to discuss your profile in a little more detail, so we can bring out your personality more. I’ll call you again later.”

After nipping out for a ham salad sandwich at lunchtime, Samuel returned to find a message on his mobile.

“Hello, Sebastian. This is Passionate Prisoner. Thanks for calling me and apologies for my short profile. I feel rather embarrassed because I’m actually with someone, but I don’t get that tingly feeling about him any longer. I’m not sure if I want to join the agency, or try to work things out… I need more time to think about my decision.”

Samuel’s jaw tensed and he screwed up his hand into a fist. He recognised Passionate Prisoner’s voice as soon as she spoke. It was Jeannette.

He mumbled something to Ronaldo about feeling ill and stumbled out of the office, heading back towards the station.

One train pulled in and he let it go, then another. He had been so sure of his attraction to the girl in the orange coat, but had he got it wrong? He’d been with Jeannette for so long but he hadn’t recognised her as Passionate Prisoner.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of orange. The woman from the train. He watched as she headed up the stairs and, automatically, trailed after her.

Walking a few metres behind, he followed her past the Dinner Required office and on to a small row of shops.

She took a bunch of keys from her pocket and unlocked the door to a florist shop. Samuel stood on the corner and waited for a few minutes before he also went inside. She grinned as she saw him. “Well, hello there, Rich, Sexy Guy.” “Hello again,” Samuel replied. “I’d like to buy the biggest bunch of white lilies possible. And do you know where I can buy some Belgian truffles? I’m looking for extra-dark chocolate with coconut sprinkles on top…”