The Stranger

Once, on the 1st September, a police officer named Traisman, began his routine watch. A horoscope overheard on the radio in last night foretold him a meeting with a beautiful stranger. While Mark Traisman does not believe in horoscopes, but, being still unmarried at thirty years old, he went to watch a little excited.
The street, which he got today for watch, was full of shop windows, and this fact probably meant something... because crowds of children hurrying to school, were now on the other streets where his colleagues were on duty. And he had to watch exclusively for ladies.
The doors of shops opened and closed, old ladies in dresses and hats of strict decorum passed by, middle-aged ladies in business suits rapidly disappeared around the corner, and girls moved in flocks, flitting in colorful outfits, like tropical butterflies. They were often stopping to ask way by Mark Traisman, joking and trilling of gay laugher. And one of them, flapping her long lashes, asked to see his whistle, and before Mark Traisman looked around, she was booing on the street. Her friends supported their frolicsome girl by loud screaming, and then girls took themselves hastily. Well, is it really true if his beautiful stranger could be someone of the young, but silly creatures?
In meditations, Mark Traisman drew his attention to the monument of some gentleman. It stood a few houses from Mark, opposite the entrance to a store. The gentleman was dressed in the fashion of the XIX century (although it could be easily as well XVIII century, as Mark Traisman not particularly versed in such things): a frock coat with long tails, tight pants, boots, and he held his cane and hat in his right hand, and left one had rested in the thigh. Some kind of a London dandy.
At this time the street became nearly empty, so Mark Traisman could not help noticing a lonely lady who emerged from the shop next to the monument. She was wearing a black dress, hat and dazzling white scarf, she was holding an umbrella-stick in one hand, and in another one, she was holding a small bag and a gift bag from the shop. Lady was slim, but he was the mostly amazed by her royal posture...
Approaching the monument, she walked it around and then stopped, so that Smith could only see her back. For a minute she stood in front of him, then nodded and tied her scarf to the stone gentleman. Mark Traisman adjusted his slipped eyeglasses, as it seemed to him that the monument nodded back to her!
Perfect Stranger (and now Mark Traisman had no doubt that it was her) walked directly toward him. Her wavy hair was slightly waving while walking, light smile was playing on her lips, and his gait was as if she was not walking, but swimming. Approaching him, she asked by a pleasant, soft voice:
- Sir, could you please tell me what time is it?
Mark Traisman did not answer immediately. And then suddenly he added:
- Sorry, miss, why did you give away your scarf?
She smiled, as if he was slow-witted kid:
- This was my gift to London. Is it true that white color is very refreshing for it? – She slyly looked the monument.
- Yes, I think so, Mark Traisman.
Stranger was about to leave, but Mark Traisman, touching her elbow, and being struck his own by his courage, still managed to ask:
- Is it possible I'll give you a cocktail tonight?
- Tonight? Unfortunately no.
She carefully opened the umbrella, though the sky was clear, and there were no signs of rain. A sudden gust of wind shook her umbrella and tossed her hair over her shoulders.
- Wind is eastern, and it’s time for me to fly away. I’m waited on the Isle of Beauty.
When the lady had disappeared around the corner, Mark Traisman could not resist and went to the monument, and, looking around, took off his scarf. Gripping silken cloth in his hands, he felt that it was real. Breathed easy, but intoxicating smell of the stranger’ perfume. Now he has to know the number of her card in the shop, to find her by name and, finally, herself. This would be difficult for a simple guy, not for him. Well, it is not so bad to be a policeman.