Triple

For as long as he could remember it had always seemed that three was his own personal
magic number. It had proved to be his lucky talisman and he carried it within himself being
used whenever there was an option to chance.

The recent small lottery win using an assortment of the number 3’s had proved to be yet
another fortunate outcome.

He’d been born on the third of March at 3.00 am and despite his own rational arguments
about why the mystery of the number 3 could influence his fortunes he continued to place
his trust in its use.

His luck in finding love, however, had proved to be a great deal trickier. In the half sleep
before waking he’d imagine talking to the third unsuspecting female of the day hoping she’d
be the one! Alas, all permutations never proved to bear fruit. The one exception to his good
fortune had been that the number three had not proved to be lucky in love thus far.

He had begun to wonder, however, if his obsession with the number 3 was beginning to
dictate his life choices but whilst good luck occurred in other areas of his life and continued
to be reflected along the way, he had chosen to stick with the trusted formula for now.

He could recall the clichés he had amassed over the years which started even in childhood.
His favourite nursery rhyme had been 3 blind mice. This was soon followed by the stories of
the 3 Little Pigs and the 3 Billy Goats Gruff.

At Secondary school his best subject had been maths and he’d discovered that Pythagoras
regarded 3 as the number of harmony, as it was the first number to form a geometrical
figure—the triangle—and represented the beginning, middle, and end.

On reaching adulthood and venturing out to the pub for his first legal drink, much to the
bemusement of his pals, of course he had chosen a Triple Sec, a distinctive orange flavoured
liqueur developed in the 18th century in France. And with wry smiles they had raised their
own glasses and declared 3 cheers to the birthday boy.

It had naturally followed that his degree of choice at University had been Maths and
Accountancy. The 3-year course had flown by and he was relieved and somewhat surprised
to receive a First and not the dreaded 3rd class honours! But of course, thankfully he hadn’t
been presented with a choice!

The day had now arrived for the all-important final job interview. So much of his time had
been given to preparation and research and he felt confident that he was best equipped to
face the interviewers. The omens were on his side however for his third interview.

The 8.03am train was running late and he began pacing impatiently along the platform
anxiously checking the departure board. As he looked along the platform no-one else
seemed to be too concerned about the late arrival of the train but his eye was caught by a
smiling business woman smartly dressed in an olive-green suit, which set off her auburn hair
and sun tan perfectly. Convincing himself not to get too worried about the late arrival of his
train he was greatly relieved when he saw the engine slowly pulling into the station.

The carriages were already almost full of commuters on their daily journey. Many had
earplugs in listening to music and others were tapping away on their mobile phones.
Manoeuvring his way along the carriage he took the last remaining vacant seat which
coincidentally was next to the lady he had spotted on the platform, who had entered the via
a different door. Things were looking up he mused.

Looking around he noticed that his fellow passenger and he were the only ones on board who
weren’t connected to technology. Conversation came to them quite naturally, and he
explained that he was on his way to a job interview, but was concerned about it going well.
She reassured him that interviews could be stressful for most people, before she moved on
to more diverting topics such as films and restaurants, holidays and music. She told him that
she had just returned from a wonderful holiday to Tripoli. Well, he thought to himself, it now
felt like the right time to divulge the good fortune which had occurred throughout his life with
his lucky number 3 and all its connections. She laughed and said she hoped his good fortune
and coincidences would continue to bring him good luck.

As the train arrived at its destination, they said goodbye to each other and agreed it had been
a pleasant way to spend the journey. It had definitely taken away any pre-interview nerves
that he had been experiencing. She wished him good luck in his interview as they each went
their separate way. She had seemed so charming.

He had calculated that he would have enough time for a coffee and croissant before heading
off to his interview at 9.45.

At 9.30 prompt he arrived in good time at Trinity House which was a modern office block with
a tall revolving door, entered the large foyer and made his way to the Reception Desk.

He was directed to the elevator and advised to take the lift to the third-floor conference room.

On arriving at the directed floor, the receptionist asked him to take a seat. He was facing 3
doors and smiled inwardly. Now which one should I choose and he guessed that the
interview room would be in the middle door.

It wasn’t long before the doors to the left and right both opened simultaneously. Well, I
guess I can’t be right all the time he surmised. A tea trolley was wheeled out on one side
and the previous interview candidate emerged from the other.

A good 5 minutes later, during which time he must’ve counted the squares on the carpet
dozens of times he glanced upwards and saw that the centre door had opened.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the familiar olive-green suit and auburn hair of his fellow
train passenger from earlier, who gave him a wry smile.

“Good Morning Mr Trinder, I see we meet again! Would you like to come through?”

He smiled back, a little embarrassed, but reasoned that this was the third time he’d spotted
her that day and his favourite Lionel Richie song came to mind as he entered the Conference
Room. He saw now that all 3 doors led into the same room and he realised that his train
companion from earlier was to be his interviewer.

The unexplained advantage that his lucky number gave him meant that any nerves he’d been
harnessing were quickly dispelled and he knew with certainty that the job was going to be
his!

Triple Time

Vienna – 1845 and the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and expensive
perfume. Lisel adjusted her ivory silk gloves and gazed up at the glorious setting of the
Musikverein’s Golden Hall. The floor shone like polished walnut, whilst the candles
flickered and shimmered as if eager for the dance to commence. Lisel looked up at the
hall’s fabulous ceiling depicting Apollo and the Nine Muses, this most fabulous of mural,
together with the classical golden figures that adorned the pillars, gave the hall an
atmosphere of great grandeur and beauty. Tonight was to be a very special occasion.
There was to be no stately tempo of a minuet, but something utterly scandalous. Lisel’s
heart fluttered with anticipation. The maestro walked purposely across the stage, took
up his baton, gently tapped it to bring the orchestra to attention, and the music began.
In an instant the cellos and violins galloped into the triple Kme pulse of… the waltz.

From across the room Captain Richard von Deering caught Lisel’s eye; the glance was
reciprocated. He rose, and in true militaristic style, strode purposefully across the dance
floor and asked Lisel for the honour of the first dance. Lisel blushed.

“Why of course Captain von Deering, I would be delighted,” she replied. Her voice was
soft, but her heart was racing with anticipation of dancing so intimately with this most
handsome of men. She bobbed courteously and inclined her head in
acknowledgement. He took her hand and gently pulled her towards him. They held
hands in the prescribed manner and stepped into history. Two bodies dancing as one.
As the dancers whirled and twirled, the matrons gasped and tuOed in disapproval, for
this scandalous dance, which was once merely a spectacle, was quickly becoming
fashion.

For Lisel and Richard, it was the culminaKon of excitement and heart pounding desire.
Lisel felt the floor Klt beneath her, not from the spin, but from the joy and pleasure of
being so close to her handsome captain.

All around them couples spun in every direcKon. Ball gowns billowed out like roses
blooming in the sunshine and laughter filled the perfumed air.

The dance came to a close. Richard took Lisel’s hand and began to escort her back
towards her table. “Oh dear,” whispered Richard, “your mama does not look very
pleased with us. There is another waltz to follow but, perhaps you would you prefer to
retire”

“Dear me no,” replied Lisel coyly. “In fact, I should very much enjoy another dance with
you. The feel of our bodies so close to each other was uOerly deligh`ul, and I should
like to experience that wonderous sensation again.” On hearing those last few words,
Mama closed her eyes, swayed gently too and fro, then fainted clean away.

A Triple Error

Luigi sighed and stared down at the tablecloth. This first date was not going well. For a
start, Thelma did not look as young as her photo on the dating app, and was now wearing
vivid pink glasses to match her dress and nails. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t
even pronounce her name. Heaven knows, he’d tried hard enough when she’d made him
say it again and again, and frowned when he simply couldn’t. Still, at least he’d tried.

He sat miserably in the restaurant’s grand surroundings, feeling like a schoolboy. And a
foreign one, at that. But he had to keep trying. After all, weren’t Italian men supposed to
be romantic? As for Thelma, she was obviously enjoying living it up as if she were a
duchess, basking in the waiter’s attention as she chose their best wine. Whatever was all
this going to cost him? Luigi looked longingly towards the door.

The conversation was awkward, to say the least. Luigi’s English was not at all good, and
Thelma’s table manners made him cringe. He wondered if all English women talked with
their mouth full. But all the same, it was quite riveting to watch pieces of chicken moving
from side to side as Thelma alternately chewed and spoke.

His mind was racing. What would she expect him to say next, he wondered. He smiled and
raised his glass delicately in her direction, while he tried to think of something intelligent
that might impress her. Perhaps he ought to be honest, and say he’d changed his mind
about dating, after all. But that would be unkind. Thelma was probably a nice person, even
if she did look ready to eat a man alive.

He put his glass down and looked up ... but Thelma wasn’t looking at him. She was busy
summoning the waiter, who sidled up and presented them both with the dessert menu.

‘The same as usual, Madam?’ he said softly.

‘Of course,’ Thelma replied with a laugh. ‘You can always read my mind.’

The glance between them said it all. Luigi felt his face go red, and hastily began studying the
menu. Words, words, words ... There was only one dessert he could recognise, among the
list of exotic concoctions on offer. He felt the panic rising, and hastily pointed to the one
dish that would come to his rescue.

‘Triple,’ Luigi said.

He saw the waiter’s left eyebrow rise into an arch as the man looked down at him, his head
slightly to one side.

‘Triple?’ The waiter’s voice made it sound like a crime against nature. But Luigi nodded
vigorously, pointing to the menu again, and the waiter walked away, shaking his head.

When the waiter returned, with a tray containing the three items from his order, Luigi looked
down at the table in dismay.

By this time, Thelma had made a good start on her exotic dessert, whatever it was, too
engrossed in it even to look up. But when she finally raised her eyes and saw what was lined
up on Luigi’s side of the table, she was so shocked that her spoon fell out of her hand.

‘What?’ she gasped.

Their eyes met for a few seconds only, before she left her dish, stood up and swept the coat
from the back of her chair.

‘You ...’ she shrieked. ‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a greedy man! You’re disgusting!’

And on that, she turned away and was out of the restaurant before Luigi could say a word.

The smirk on the waiter’s face said it all. ‘Coffee, sir?’ he said, surveying the table and the
remnants of Thelma’s elaborate cream concoction.

Luigi shook his head. ‘Why you give me three? I only wanted one.’

‘No, sir. Triple, you said. Three.’ He pointed to the menu. ‘Three trifles.’

‘Triffle - Ohhhhh ...’ The words came out before the awful truth began to dawn on him.
Trifle. This stupid English language! He vowed never to date an Englishwoman, ever again.

The waiter smiled obsequiously. A slip of paper appeared, lying on a small plate. Luigi’s gaze
went to the bottom of the page. One hundred and ninety-five pounds. Oh dear.