The waitress who brought his Caesar salad over was a pretty girl. She had an easy-going manner and a ready smile, but she didn’t interest him. The delectable Sarah Hardy was the one who dominated his thoughts.

Since meeting Sarah, he hadn’t been able to find any joy in his hobby. None of the other women he’d seen since had measured up to her.

Just a couple of days ago, the waitress would have been admired for her girl-next-door looks and the well-filled blouse. Now she held the same attraction as a rotting carcass.

He knew it wasn’t the waitress’s fault and he recognised that she had a pretty face and shapely figure. It was all to do with him, and the fact he didn’t fancy her. Yet despite not feeling drawn to her today, he knew that in the normal course of events, he’d want to make her one of his angels.

Instinct turned his head when he heard the clack of high heels on the wooden floor. He saw a woman in a smart two-piece suit striding across the room towards the bar. The leather briefcase under her arm bulged, and she greeted the barman by name.

He watched as the barman came round and joined the woman at a vacant table. From where he was sitting, he could see the shape of her nylon-clad legs.

All he felt was sadness, bereavement even. The sleek and supple Ms Hardy had stolen his hobby and ground it into the dirt with a well-shod heel. Her beauty and radiance outshone that of every other woman he’d ever met. For him it was a cursed blessing. He’d met a woman who could dominate his thoughts whether awake or asleep, yet at the same time, her incredible beauty had denied him the appreciation of others.

Other women couldn’t be compared to her. Their looks were something he could no longer revel in. Where he’d once seen beauty he now saw pale imitations. Perfections were now marred by obvious flaws. Mismatched dimples, an over-padded backside or clothing that didn’t encase the body like a second skin were now noticed. Each tiny imperfection was overblown in comparison against the sublime Sarah. He often thought of her in alliterative terms. Sublime Sarah, statuesque Sarah, supple Sarah, even super-sexy Sarah.

If Sarah Hardy was a depiction of Helen of Troy, other women were the crude drawings of parents done by primary school pupils.

It pained him that he’d lost his appreciation for others. Many times he’d pulled out her card and thought about calling to cancel the test drive he had booked for Wednesday.

Something always stayed his hand though. He wasn’t sure he could endure not seeing her again, but by the same token, he knew seeing Sarah again would make other women seem even less desirable.

With his mind in a quandary, he picked up his fork and speared a crisp piece of lettuce. Despite it having a liberal coating of Caesar sauce, it felt dry and arid in his mouth.

Sarah Hardy was the one thing in the world that now gave him pleasure. He knew as he crunched on a crouton that he’d have to see her again. Have to make her his chief angel, regardless of how much of himself he’d invested into identifying his other angels.