Falling in Love at The British Library, A Christmas Love Story  The first green shoots of a novella by journalist Alison Jane Reid.

The author in a gold, 1930s gown overlooking the English Channel. Picture ???

The author in a vintage gold devore 1930s gown,  pictured overlooking the English Channel. Picture By Chris Cowley.

Reader, Mr Darcy is not dead! He has just changed countries and developed a taste for poetry, fashion, the novels of Iain Banks and er, playing rock guitar. This is the story of how I fell madly in love with a Scottish Mr Darcy, in one of the best kept secrets for finding love in London! The British Library. Now,I bet that will do wonders for attendance in the hallowed reading rooms.  But let’s be serious. I do believe that life should be lived romantically, and that true love changes everything. One day you are just tearing about life, forgetting to buy organic cat food and wondering if you dare buy those gold Mary Jane shoes that would put a smile on your face every time you wear them. But perhaps not the bank manager. A dour, horrid man, who is forever telling you to curb your expenditure on organic chocolate, dresses and fripperies!

Laptops, Deadlines and Keanu Reeves

Then, you decide you really should get a life, and not spend twelve hours a day, every day, chained to a laptop entertaining other people. On impulse you rush off to a rare, lovely event at one of London’s great  bastions of learning, the British Library, and faster than you can say –  Keanu Reeves or Benedict Cumberbatch, you  collide with a real life Mr Darcy – and fall truly, madly, marvellously in love – as if you had tumbled  into a glass of pink champagne!

This is the first instalment of  great love affair that has all the ingredients for a 21st Century Brief Encounter…. I hope you enjoy it. It is a story that isn’t over yet.

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”
― Jane AustenPride And Prejudice

I remember the winter of 2005 as if it was yesterday. It was a cold, harsh, English winter, with ice like lace on the pavements of London. The sort of weather that made me snuggle into my beloved Viscountess coat. A very alluring faux fur coat from a golden age of elegance. The heritage heyday of one of my favourite British fashion brands –  Aquascutum. A coat so lovely, that it always makes me feel film star beautiful…. The mix of hues from blue to gold and dove grey does wonders for a girl’s complexion…..

I was wearing the Viscountess, the night I collided spectacularly with Torquil (not his real name) amid the lofty , historic splendours of the British Library.

Several days earlier, I had been reading Timeout, when I stumbled across an event I felt compelled to attend. The British Library was daringly holding a cocktail evening devoted to the art and science of flirtation – it was called ‘Mingle’. To my dismay, the event had sold out within hours, and I had to use my finest journalistic powers of persuasion to secure two precious tickets for myself, and my friend Eve, as my wingman for the night. The event started far too early for a busy member of the fourth estate.

The British Library was on Fire with Music, Anticipation and Romance

By the time Eve and I raced up the steps to the British Library in our sensuous midnight cocktail dresses and shimmering pearls, we were horribly late. Mingle was in full swing, and there was an extraordinary, zingy atmosphere of music, anticipation, fun and new romantic alliances being tested and formed. For a moment, Eve and I looked at each other and screamed ‘help’, where do we begin? Everyone seemed to have paired off, and we felt like hopeless Shrinking Violets at our first dance. Now, I am quite plucky in a crisis. What we needed was a delicious cocktail or two to give us the courage to just talk to the first man who looked available for practice!  The atmosphere was fraught, and the men strange and disappointing. All the beautiful, fascinating men had been kidnapped!

Then, through a sea of people I saw him, a man in a very striking black hat with a noble countenance. His long, beautifully kept brown hair was tied back in a short, neat pony tail, and he was wearing an elegant jacket with thin, black velvet lapels. There was an aura about him, a rare, quicksilver presence, and I felt utterly drawn to him. He was deeply immersed in the most animated conversation, and surrounded by a small group of people. I began to fret. The evening was drawing to a close. I would never get the chance to meet this charismatic stranger. Suddenly, he turned round and looked straight into my eyes and smiled.  I smiled back, and everyone in the room turned grey. The man in the hat was walking towards me. ‘Hello’, he said in a gallant, soft, lilting Scottish accent – ‘I’m Torquil’.

An Amour Fou at the British Library

Eve says that that what happened next was extraordinary. She still calls it an ‘amour fou – suddenly, no one else mattered’.  The truth is that I have never felt so powerfully attracted to a man in my life as I did A that night.  I fell instantly, madly in love that night, and it didn’t feel scary or wrong. It felt right. Torquil was with his brother, Simon, a striking man in his thirties, with stunning, silver grey hair and a gentle manner. Torquil never took his eyes off me. Reader, a woman dreams of being looked at in that way by the man she is going to marry. It was a look that offered everything I could want –  nobility, devotion, love, caring, pride and twinkling recognition,’ I was floating outside my own consciousness… was it real or just a dangerous allusion of the ideal love?

Castles, the Little Black Dress and Alison-in-Wonderland

There is something you should know. I’m a girl who never dresses down. I wear cocktail dresses to the office, and to interview icons and national treasures. I   once went on a shark safari (to observe and write about basking sharks) off the Pentland Firth with a wardrobe of lovely evening gowns, and not a practical stitch in my suitcase!  Well, it did include a thoughtful invitation to stay at Skibo Castle. In that sense Torquil and I were a brilliant match. He was dressed in the 21st century equivalent of an 18th century dandy.  And he did appear  very taken with my own sparkling approach to getting dressed. He gallantly admired  the  sheer, sensuous goddess chiffon LBD I had treated myself to on impulse from Liberty,  a department store so heavenly, it is more like raiding the wardrobe of a once very daring aunt, now retired from the romantic fray. Reader, nothing  compares to the tentative, dizzy  beginnings of  love. It is like falling down the rabbit hole. It was like jumping on the pretty, painted carousel at the fun fair, and never wanting to get off, as we discovered our shared passions for: art, literature, rock ‘n’ roll and Scotland.

Suddenly, when we finally looked up,  the vast foyer at The British Library was almost deserted.

Torquil asked if he could go and collect my coat. He had the manners of Cary Grant mixed with a dash of something edgier – Jarvis Cocker. The brothers play fought over who was going to help me put on the Viscountess, and then our lovely trio tumbled, laughed and skipped out in the cold, crisp December air. I remember standing on the pavement and looking at this man who had burst into my world. We kept on looking at each other, and looking at each other and talking and laughing with curiosity, joy and expectation. It must have been awkward for Simon.  Torquil was still looking at me when he asked if we could have a hug…. In that moment, it seemed like the most natural thing to do, and so I embraced him and sensed in that moment, a real need to be loved back. It was utterly exhilarating, but perhaps it was also a warning. We talked and sweetly flirted all the way down into the Underground, at Kings Cross, and then as we were standing on the platform, and the thought of parting seemed unbearable, he asked me with such gallantry –  ‘ May I take you to The Tate Modern next Thur ? There’s an exhibition I would like to show you. We can walk along The Thames to Gordon’s Wine Bar – have you ever had cheese and wine in a cave’?

‘No, never,’ I said, ‘but I would like to.’ When we finally parted after the most tender kiss, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.  I felt that maybe, just maybe, I had found my Mr Darcy. And reader, this is the spooky bit. When I was a small girl, my father, a Scot, from Aberdeen told me that one day I would meet and fall in love with a man worthy of all the heroes I used to pour over in the novels of Sir Walter Scott  – A Scottish Darcy all my own.

To Be Continued……………..

Next instalment – I meet Torquil at The Tate Modern and we kiss each other to the point of distraction with the best view in London, looking out over St Paul’s Cathedral, which looks just like an oversized wedding cake. Then, Torquil holds my hand and gallantly shoos the pigeons away, as we walk along the twinkling Embankment to Gordon’s, to talk, and talk and kiss in a cave bar, long into the night. And I wonder, have I met my match? Torquil appears to be everything I could want in a man. He is kind, highly intelligent, attentive, and respectful, and he always makes me feel like a modern Guinevere. The only problem with that is that I am a flesh and blood woman. I long to come down off my pedestal, and be loved, and not just for Christmas, but a love that will last for all the Christmases to come.

Copyright Alison Jane Reid October 2018. All Rights Reserved.  This novella is dedicated to lovers and those in search of true love everywhere.

Names have been changed to protect the identity of living characters in my novella.

Picture Copyright Alison Jane Reid/ Jason Joyce – www.jasonjoyce.com

Chris Cowley www.isleofwightweddingphotographer.co.uk

No reproduction without permission please!