Cleo is a thing of absolute beauty.
Slim, tall and elegant, she is a gentle soul that exudes an inate goodness, which will probably not stand her very well in the backbiting world of acting.
The sort of willowy presence that exists solely on a diet of green tea and fresh air.
We hit it off very quickly, mainly because I was overawed by how vulnerable she seemed and dear reader, I do have a sympathetic side 😉
After a cursory flit round Tate Britain, engrossed in sugarchat, we headed to the wonderful sunlit courtyard and sat down.
Cleo looked amazing in a loose fitting white dress, that seemed to set off perfectly the tan she’d recently picked up in Morocco.
We chatted for ages, she’d been to a sister school to mine in Sussex and we laughed about the places where sixth formers still hang out in the nearby town.
Then I noticed it.
Virtually every guy that walked past me gave me the jealous bastard look, Cleo is just drop-dead-beauty-on-your-arm gorgeous.
Could this be it, could this be the girl?
We parted nearly two hours after meeting and agreed to meet for dinner next week.
I skipped back to Holborn and the remainder of the afternoon floated by, in a cloud of warm memory as I replayed my lunch with the ethereal Cleo….