She's not bad, thought Harry, as he peered over the top of the coffee cup. She has eyes that sparkle as she speaks and her lips invite a response. Her hair is clearly well-cut but not prissy; the sort that would look good all tangled up and framed by pillows. He liked her casual look, the soft blouse, blue jeans, not too much make-up, and very little jewellery. In fact, he smiled inside as he remembered the old joke, if she was lying naked in the gutter saying 'take me, take me', I'd find it hard to turn it down. This was a woman. A real woman.

He stood up, to adjust himself to the little black chair on which he was perched, suddenly conscious of his own body. He'd been sitting around too much, hunched over a computer and was now worried about his physique. He didn't really have a beer belly, not from where he was sitting anyway and now he no longer had a full-length mirror in his bedroom all was well. Summer was coming, a few less pints, a bit of exercise and he would shed a few pounds, all would be well. Perhaps she'd be able to help him lose a little weight? He tucked the cane chair under his bottom and tried once again to get comfortable. He smiled as he sat down. Vigorous exercise with her. That would be great.

"So have you sent your manuscript to any publishers yet?"

"No, I'm waiting until it's finished, it needs quite a bit of polishing, " she said, and then without pause, "what's it really about anyway?" She spoke softly as if she was pre-occupied in some way, not really concentrating.

Harry decided to ignore what she was saying and bluster on, she was probably just a little shy. After all it's not every day you physically meet somebody you have only known via the Internet. He talked about publishing, not that he really knew very much about the business although he had written one book but that was about the causes of crime. To be fair that book had not found a publisher and, on reflection, he rather wished it had never been written. He was now embarrassed to continue with the bravado he'd presented on his blog and by email. He'd thought popular crime coming from the horse's mouth would attract publishers like bees round a honey pot. It was a disappointment to find out it wasn't like that.

Not that he told her anything of this. He plunged on throwing together odd snippets he had gained from magazines, conversations with friends, radio and television documentaries to form a gushing amalgam of stories. He didn't say these tales were about him just hoped that would be accepted. In turn, she nodded, smiled occasionally and flashed those eyes enough to keep up his momentum. As he talked his mind was racing. He was going to have this one. His eyes often lingering on the fluttering fall of satin over the gentle hillocks of her breasts as she breathed and moved.

She had decided that this mock French cafe with spindly chairs and barely filled plates was suitable for their first meeting. As it turned out he would have been pleased to take her into his local pub for a couple of pints and a plate of steak and kidney and the chance to bask in the admiring glances he knew would have come their way from the regulars. Maybe next time. He wanted there to be a next time. That was confirmed when she ran her spoon round the rim of her plate and slowly sucked off the last drop of her chocolate mousse..

Fancy her being Michael's daughter. Nice old bloke Mike, he recalled. Avuncular perhaps, a guy who tended to talk just a little too much when he'd come to Lodge meetings and, as an august fraternal member, had always been invited to respond on behalf of the visitors at the end of the festive board meal. Would he want to be a common-law father? The very idea jolted Harry into taking another long look at the woman across the table. What did her mother look like? He couldn't recall ever seeing such a woman, but it would be interesting to see her. After all daughters turn out to look just like their mothers. And behave the same way. That was a little trick he'd learnt from two disastrous marriages. Look at the mother-in-law. She can tell you everything about the woman beneath the lustful desires.

As they finished the meal, both lingering over coffee, he began to feel a sense of panic. Fine, They had both responded to emails, as professionals, each believing the other had some useful information to impart. Theirs was not a chat-line romance. They had not set out to find a partner, There was no, "See you on the corner duckie, I'm the one with the red carnation and enormous nob". This meeting had never been intended. It had just happened.

They discovered they lived close to each other. He had made the suggestion they should meet, partly because he had hoped to have gained some information that would be useful, but really it had just seemed like a bit of a laugh. A coincidence giving him an opportunity that could not be ignored. There had been a few jokey emails, with him finally pressing the need to meet for further discussion. Now they were together, what was there to discuss? It was now clear their writing had little in common. He was a copper. She? He wasn't sure what she was. A writer? Perhaps.

He rocked back on his chair, feeling the legs scrape across the tiled floor as he stamped both his feet firmly back on the ground to save himself from toppling over. The chubby waitress threw a chequered glance at him as she tottered past. Suddenly he felt very embarrassed. He leant forward, both arms sprawled across the marble-topped table; a coffee cup fell over spilling its meagre contents over the white surface.

"Can I." He hesitated, glancing away through the open doors into the street to where the lunchtime crowds were scurrying back and forth in an endless stream. He came back to her, looking directly into her eyes as he murmured, "Can I read some of your work?"