Background

Meet Aubrey, Gemini, salt and pepper hair, was very tall (6ft 4in) and slim (78 kilos). He had never been married, had no children and was thirty-nine-year old – a perfect age for me. His profile said that he lived in East Central London.

My one big issue with him from the very start was that in all but two out of the ten pictures on his profile, Aubrey looked like Lionel Jospin, the former Prime Minister of France (please Google him to see why that is bad). This made me wonder if Aubrey was really thirty-nine, he looked a bit older. But well, I was experiencing, wasn’t I?

Pre-date

So, at first, what I appreciated about him was his determination and his frankness. After two or three emails and a chat on the phone, we decided to meet. Great bonus - he spoke French. And honestly, if I ignored the Jospin-esque aspect of some of his pictures, he seemed to be a very handsome man.

We set our date for two days later.

The Date

6.20pm - I took a cab to Farringdon Station, our meeting point. Aubrey called me on the way to inform me that he was coming by car, proudly stating that it would be a fluorescent green (really?!) convertible BMW. The thought of being in anything fluorescent, let alone a convertible car, made me want to disappear into the British soil straight away. I instantly hated the idea and thought about cancelling. But did I? No, of course not. Let’s go fluorescent!

Seconds later, I saw the flashy car arrived. Aubrey parked and walked towards me.

Wow! Rewind… Let me introduce him again - Meet Aubrey, white hair, (5ft 11in), and not very slim at all (90 kilos at least, to include the weight of his pot belly). And Merde, he looks a billion years.

And he looked old, much older than thirty-nine. But as he came closer, I realised that sure, he was older, but his face was still charming.

After a brief, but courteous hug, he led me to his car and opened the door for me. He ensured that I was properly installed in the seat and then respectfully closed the door, like a true gentleman.

Aubrey drove us to Malmaison, a hotel bar just a few blocks away. We descended the hotel stairs to get to the bar downstairs. The place was totally my style: uber cool, but with a romantic atmosphere. It was quirky yet classy, a very nice place.

As I looked around however, I began to feel paranoid. It felt like everyone was judging us. Thoughts like, look at them, the old guy with his bimbo, how disgusting, flooded my mind as we looked for a seat. I almost felt ashamed for what I saw as no good reason; we were doing nothing wrong.

Thank God, we managed to find a quiet and secluded corner of the bar; I had to admit to myself that I just didn’t want to be seen with him.

Aubrey chose a bottle of Veuve Clicquot La Grand Dame, one of the best champagnes in the world. A prestigious selection and I felt very honoured. After clinking our glasses in a toast and tasting the sweet, fine and complex fragrance of the champagne, it dawned on me that since he had ordered a bottle, I would have to spend at least an hour in his company. I had been blinded by superficiality and now I would have to listen to him talk about his life back in the 1930s…

But despite my first impressions, it was a pleasant evening, full of surprises! I learned a little more about Aubrey: he said he loved fashion, art and sculpture. He was a gem dealer and he made his living connecting buyers and sellers internationally. Aubrey explained that he had always lived in central London, hates the suburbs, and never goes out of Zone 1 (snob alert!).

He also told me that his sister was a multimillionaire. In 1996, she received a big redundancy cheque, which her asset manager advised her to invest in a small company, unknown at the time, called Yahoo! Smart girl. She sold her shares in 2000, once their value had increased dramatically, making a huge profit. Aubrey regretted not taking the same chance at the time and half-joked that he was very jealous of his super-rich sister.

Later, he walked me to the nearest station and gave me a polite peck on the lips.

Post-date

Would I see Aubrey again? Age is nothing but a number, right? Plus, he was very interesting and cultured. He was a nice company and his dreams and ambitions were similar to mine. So why not?

Pre-date No.2

The day after that first date, Aubrey called me during my lunch. I appreciated the personal touch rather than a text; it was so rare these days. I defo wanted to see him again.

Date No.2

So, we arranged to meet at St James' Park Underground for lunch. When I arrived, he was already there and he kissed me like there was no tomorrow. Wow! Aware of his potential advanced age, I looked around at the same time to see if anyone I knew was watching - my lips being licked and sucked in a very weird, tacky way.

Okay, so I wasn’t head over heels for this guy (yet?), especially after that.

Again, Aubrey opened the car door for me, ensuring that I was properly belted into his flashy car before arranging himself behind the wheel like a robot. Once we were away, he said he was taking me to Motcomb Street.

Oh, shit! We were going to my own neighbourhood in daylight! I wasn’t happy about this and desperately began searching for my sunglasses so I could not be recognised by any of my friends or acquaintances. And of course, I had forgotten my sunglasses. Alas, I would be fully exposed as the bimbo of Knightsbridge/Chelsea, who spent her time dating old men.

I felt like having a panic attack. Aubrey parked the car and we were making our way toward the Ottolenghi restaurant, when at the sight of us, a woman stopped Aubrey in the street and whispered something to him that I didn’t understand, looking at him with disdain. I was so embarrassed! I remember cursing myself again for forgetting my sunglasses. Aubrey paid absolutely no attention to the woman, and we continued to walk along the street.

I followed him, but I was shocked. And that paranoia started to creep back in too: did that woman think I was too young for him? Maybe she knew something about Aubrey that I didn’t know yet, but should know ASAP?

We were welcomes by a rather dubious host at Ottolenghi, one of the rare places in Knightsbridge I had never been before. Once sat, I questioned Aubrey about the gall of that woman – what had she said to him so rudely?

He was adamant that he had not heard what she said, he hadn’t been paying attention. What?? I didn’t believe it for a second - it was impossible.

I began to ask myself, what was he hiding?

After a few drinks, I almost forgot about the angry woman in the street, or about seeing anyone from my neighbourhood, and began to enjoy our moment together. Subsequently, Aubrey invited me to his apartment. I almost refused, but then curiosity got the better of me. I told myself that I could investigate his place and possibly figure out how old he actually was, and I accepted.

It turned out that Aubrey lived in a very beautiful duplex with a small garden. The apartment was decorated with designer furniture from one of my favourite designers Zaha Hadid and paintings by contemporary artists that I love, such as Rashid Johnson. It was a very cosy and charming home, but also very contemporary and stylish. I smiled and wondered again how old he was…

We could not stop chatting and Aubrey was a perfect gentleman all the way. He cooked me dinner, accompanied by an exquisite wine, and decorated the dining table in the most romantic way.

In the background, he played music. We had some Beyoncé, Rihanna, Drake, Miley and Taylor. Contemporary, again. At least I knew we wouldn’t be dancing to songs older than my mum.

At one point, after dinner and lots of wine, we kissed and caressed a little, my eyes all the time checking for clues…

Frankly, it was nice.

At around midnight, Aubrey called me a taxi and I went home with a smile on my face. But I was still none the wiser as to what had happened earlier that afternoon between Aubrey and the strange woman in the street.

Post-date No.2

Once home, I could not stop thinking about the encounter. The absolute cheek of that woman! I was angry and I had to know more. So, I decided to start my little investigation with Google. Aubrey was self-employed with a limited company registered to his personal address; Companies House would give me the answers I was looking for.

Once on the Companies House website, I found all the standard mandatory information: company name, address, company number, status, date of incorporation, country of origin, company type, blah, blah, blah… Merde! Nothing interesting. Then, just as I was about to look elsewhere, I saw a link at the bottom of the page to: companycheck.co.uk. I clicked on it and the page loaded quickly.

I almost lost consciousness when I read the screen. My heart pounded faster, my hands began to sweat, and my body was shaking all over:

Aubrey McAllister born on 5 May 1945

Nooooo.... I couldn’t believe it! This couldn’t be him! That must be his father?!

I checked, then double-checked…checked once more. Then I searched and found his father, found an article about him with his biography. Aubrey was seventy year-old. He had lied to me. He has more than twice my age! It was horrifying - he was older than my dad!!

I wanted to puke… I felt the instant urge for a shower to get rid of every trace of him. I felt betrayed, abused. I decided right then never to see him again.

When I told my story to my friends, Camellia immediately asked to see his photo. She looked at it over and over, saying things like, “Seventy?? No way, not possible!”

Bianca surmised bluntly, “Darling, you need to change your contact lenses.”

My friends’ opinions failing me for once, I practically had to run a survey to check my own sanity. I had to ask friends, family and colleagues - even strangers - to give an age to Aubrey’s pictures. Nine out of ten people aged him at forty-five or below. Nobody even suggested that he was sixty, let alone seventy and that made me feel a little better. At least I wasn’t the only person he could fool.

I decided to lower my age preference even further for a while and didn’t bother replying to Aubrey’s texts. Next! Oh là là!