Stop the call; start the car.

When Lucy came on the stage for the first time Jake felt like he wanted to cry. Never before had he seen a woman of such beauty, such grace. Her eyes were like magnets, pulling Jake in; her red hair like a Muleta, drawing him towards her. Her acting skills left a lot to be desired, she missed her lines, or delivered them with all the life of an oak tree. But in Jake’s eyes she was the star of the show.  The play couldn’t be over quickly enough for Jake. As soon as the final curtain came down he made his way backstage to find his friend Rupert, the director of the play and his route to ‘her'. He kept a mask of cool when speaking with Rupert but as soon as he saw her, the mask slipped. When introduced he kissed her gently on her hand, a perfect gentleman. Amazingly, she seemed just as interested in him as he was in her. He left the theatre with her name, her address and an arrangement to pick her up for a drink later that week. He looked at her name, Lucy Hamilton-Jones, and her address, Chatterley House, it was an area of town he didn’t know, but Chatterley House sounded posh alright and a double barrelled name, he smiled to himself, not only was she gorgeous but she was from the same stock as him.  
On the night of the date he had to decide what car to take, the Porsche might seem over the top, but was the BMW X4 too understated, What would the Hamilton-Joneses of  Chatterley House  expect from him? He decided the Porsche, it was a bit ostentatious but he wanted to impress. The florist should have already delivered the flowers to her by now so the family would know he was serious and wealthy. He tapped the postcode into his satnav and set off, heart beating, butterflies swimming, head light with anticipation. He gunned the Porsche out of his drive and turned left, the GPS was taking him towards the river and then told him to go across London Bridge. He was heading in the direction of Greenwich, there were some nice places down there. Greenwich / Blackheath all very nice thank you. But to get there of course you had to go through New Cross, Deptford, not places he’d like to park the motor. It was as he was heading through Deptford that the Satnav suddenly announced… ‘you have reached your destination.’ This couldn’t be it. He pulled over to check the device, put the postcode in again.  Still the computer said that he was in the right place. He’d have to call her. He was a bit scared now, a few youths were beginning to gather about 10 metres from the car. He took in his surroundings, he was outside the largest, ugliest, most run down block of flats he ever did see. Why did people live in such squalor he thought to himself. He found her number and pressed call. It had rung once when he saw it, the thing that made him stop the call and start the car; on the dirty, ugly building, there was a dirty, ugly sign that read ‘Chatterley House’.