Looking For d’Artagnan

Was a harmless bit of swashbuckling romance really too much to hope for?

He’d turned up as Superman, which

was not what I’d had in mind

Why can’t men these days be more like musketeers?’ I brooded, as I cradled my drink and drooled over the Richard Lester film on a wet Sunday afternoon. ‘They were so chivalrous. They’d fight to the death to defend the life of the king or honour of a lady.’

My friend Emma snorted and reached out for another handful of crisps. ‘They don’t do knights in shining armour any more,’ she said. ‘Women look after themselves these days.’

‘I think I’m living in the wrong age,’ I said. ‘I want extravagant, romantic gestures; someone to sweep me off my feet, someone who looks like a musketeer. I need some swash and buckle in my life.’

‘When you’ve got a boyfriend – which seems less and less likely – you can ask him to dress up as one,’ Emma replied wryly.

I’d told her about the debacle with Neil, my last boyfriend. When we’d been to a fancydress party, he’d turned up as Superman, which was not what I’d had in mind. His fantasy was Lois Lane, mine was d’Artagnan. We were never going to meet in the middle. We split up the following week.

‘I just want a good, generous man with long, flowing hair and a willingness to go all-out with a big romantic gesture. Is that too much to ask?’ I sighed.

Emma raised an eyebrow, which told me it probably was.

I think the obsession started in childhood, when I’d sit with Mum watching the old Errol Flynn and Stewart Granger films that she loved. My absolute favourite was Michael York playing d’Artagnan in The Three Musketeers. Others may have swooned over Colin Firth as Mr Darcy, but did Mr Darcy have long, tumbling hair and wield a sword? I think not.

‘I’m going to be 32 next month,’ I grumbled to Emma at work on Monday. ‘Maybe it’s time to grow up and accept that I’m not going to find what I’m looking for.’

‘James likes you.’ She nodded in the direction of James Manderley, who was a former Salesperson of the Year, full of drive and ambition. He often wandered over to talk to me. ‘Surely, it’s worth giving him a chance, isn’t it?’

I studied him, his neat suit, and short, blond hair. It’s true he was handsome, stylish and in possession of a nice car and a waterfront flat, but I wanted more than that.

Nevertheless, I sauntered up to him at lunchtime and asked if I might join him. He looked both surprised and pleased.

We chatted about work and ordinary things for a while until I asked, ‘What do you like to do in your spare time, James?

Any wild things?’

‘Fishing. Fly fishing, to be exact.

Work is so hectic, it’s nice to escape to the riverbank. It relaxes me.’

I suppose a pair of waders was the closest I was going to get to thigh-length boots with James Manderley, but then the picture of him in a fishing hat and gilet with a rod in his hand destroyed the romantic image.

‘So, while you’re planning your conquest of the company and being the salesperson of the decade, you’re actually standing in the middle of a river somewhere?’ I said.

‘Want to try it this weekend?’ It was easy to say no. James was nice, but I had no plans to spend my weekends fishing.

When I got back to my desk after lunch, I told Emma how disappointed I’d been. ‘Some day my prince will come,’ I sighed, more in hope than expectation.

‘You’re bonkers,’ she said. ‘He’s great.’ She suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Well, if you’re not going to get over this, let me see what I can do.’ ‘What do you mean?’

She tapped her nose, which had me intrigued.

Only a week later, Emma announced triumphantly, ‘Can you be up at the crack of dawn on Saturday?’

‘I don’t do early mornings on the weekend,’ I groaned. ‘Believe me, it will be worth

your while.’

I took her at her word and wondered what she’d planned. She was excited when she collected me on Saturday.

‘Here’s the surprise,’ she said. ‘My brother’s got a friend who works at a talent agency, and he’s managed to get us a day’s work as extras on a new TV production of – guess what? – The Three Musketeers!’

I screamed. ‘This is the best surprise ever!’

‘I know.’ She looked pretty pleased with herself.

‘Stand there,’ said a gingerhaired man wearing a headset and clutching a clipboard. He didn’t look old enough to be out of school yet.

I’d squeezed into a tightbodiced blue gown and wore a wig styled in a bun and ringlets. I felt like a 17th-century Parisian courtesan. All around me were men in musketeer uniforms wearing wide-brimmed hats with jaunty feathers, swords swinging at their hips.

‘Action!’ the director called, and the sword fighting began. I was in heaven. At lunchtime, Emma and I joined the queue for the catering van.

‘Hi, I’m Chris. Great day, huh?’ smiled one of the musketeer extras. He had long hair, dark-brown eyes and dimples in his cheeks. ‘I’m stuck in a boring office all week, so it’s great to do something like this.’

‘Me, too,’ I said. ‘I’m Jo. Do you do this sort of thing often?’

‘Most weekends in the summer. I re-enact battles, too.’ My heart skipped a beat. ‘Does your girlfriend mind?’ I tried to sound nonchalant.

‘I haven’t got one. Who’d put up with me?’ he grinned.

‘You have no interest in things like fly fishing?’

He pulled a face. I turned to Emma who gave me the thumbs-up.

‘Now tell me,’ I said as we both ordered bacon butties. ‘What do you think of Errol Flynn?’

THE END