After a leisurely round of the workout room, building up a minor sweat, I showered and went in to the café. I had brought a book with me, a comforting camouflage against intriguing glances from bored housewives. Any interest in their fit toned bodies was fleeting on my part. I was after something much more cerebral.

As I listened to vacuous self-serving conversations, minding my own business, she walked in. I glanced up from my book, The Wrong Man, a thriller to accessorise my image. I didn’t read fiction as a rule, preferring biographies about purposeful lives. The Wrong Man, a second-rate shelf-filler, however, offered potential opening conversational gambits. I’d rehearsed a few rejoinders for inquisitive chat-up lines. Prepared, watchful, smart and extremely patient was my mantra.

I did a second take, the way they do in movies. I looked at her, glanced back to my book but my eyes kept returning. Amber was my first thought but this lady was much taller. She was blonde with shorter but more lustrous hair than my absentee girlfriend. With flawless skin, pale under a faint tan, she was both exotic and beautiful. Something about the way she walked caught my attention. She stood tall and erect yet I sensed an apprehension as she looked around the foyer. Was she waiting for someone? A husband, boyfriend perhaps?

I gripped my thriller and read. She glanced in my direction then turned away. She was on the lookout. She checked the windows, and then traced the ceiling with her gaze. It was if she was casing the joint. Perhaps she was an architect, I mused, congratulatory at my powers of perception.

All around was the buzz of activity, people coming and going. I took my bag off the spare seat beside me. I tempted the beauty with a few pleasant words and indicated the free seat but she seemed wary and slightly ill at ease. Instead she moved to the back of the room and sat on her own.

I picked up my kitbag, disappeared towards the car park, and waited.

Thirty minutes later she came out. I slouched down in my car which was parked some distance away. I was keen to find out how she had journeyed to the club. As she headed towards me, I pulled up my coat collar and yanked my black woollen spy hat over my ears. It felt good to be back in disguise. At last I had a purpose. The black thick-rimmed spectacles, with plain glass lens inserts, fitted nicely.

She walked past my vehicle, and on up the incline to the other side of the car park. I got out, zapped my car closed and followed some distance behind, making sure to keep a safe distance. At one point, I was forced to hop into the rank-smelling public toilets at the top of the incline when she suddenly stopped and turned round.