Twelve Red Herrings (38 page)

She pushed the
grey doors open, and once again I followed in her wake. We descended a flight
of steps into a basement restaurant buzzing with the talk of people who had
just come out of theatres, and waiters dashing, plates in both hands, from
table to table.

“I don’t expect
you’ll be able to get a table here if you haven’t booked,” said Anna, eyeing a
group of would-be customers who were clustered round the bar, impatiently
waiting for someone to leave.

“Don’t worry
about that,” I said with bravado, and strode across to the reservations desk. I
waved a hand imperiously at the head waiter, who was taking a customer’s order.
I only hoped he would recognise me.

I turned round
to smile at Anna, but she didn’t look too impressed.

After the waiter
had taken the order, he walked slowly over to me.

“How may I help
you, sir?” he asked.

“Can you manage
a table for two, Victor?”

“Victor’s off
tonight, sir. Have you booked?”

“No, I haven’t,
but...”
The
head waiter checked the list of
reservations and then looked at his watch. “I might be able to fit you in
around .5 – x-3 at the latest,” he said, not sounding too hopeful.

“No sooner?” I
pleaded. “I don’t think we can wait that long.’

Anna nodded her
agreement.

“I’m afraid not,
sir,” said the head waiter. “We are fully booked until then.”

“As I expected,”
said Anna, turning to leave.

Once again I had
to hurry to keep up with her. As we stepped out onto the pavement I said,
“There’s a little Italian restaurant I know not far from here, where I can
always get a table. Shall we risk it?’

“Can’t see that
we’ve got a lot of choice,” replied Anna.
“Which direction
this time?”

“Just up the
road to the right,” I said as a clap of thunder heralded an imminent downpour.

“Damn,” said
Anna, placing her handbag over her head for protection.

“I’m sorry,” I
said, looking up at the black clouds. “It’s my fault.

I should have...”

“Stop
apologising all the time, Michael. It isn’t your fault if it starts to rain.” I
took a deep breath and tried again. “We’d better make a dash for it,” I said
desperately. “I don’t expect we’ll be able to pick up a taxi in this weather.”
This at least secured her ringing endorsement. I began running up the road, and
Anna followed closely behind. The rain was getting heavier and heavier, and
although we couldn’t have had more than seventy yards to cover, we were both
soaked by the time we reached the restaurant.

I sighed with
relief when I opened the door and found the dining room was half-empty,
although I suppose I should have been annoyed. I turned and smiled hopefully at
Anna, but she was still frowning.

“Everything
all right?”
I asked.

“Fine.
It’s just that
my father had a theory about restaurants that were half-empty at this time of
night.” I looked quizzically at my guest, but decided not to make any comment
about her eye make-up, which was beginning to run, or her hair, which had come
loose at the edges.

“I’d better
carry out some repair work. I’ll only be a couple of minutes,” she said,
heading for a door marked “Signorinas’.

I waved at
Mario, who was serving no one in particular. He hurried over to me.

“There was a
call for you earlier, Mr. Whitaker,” Mario said as he guided me across the
restaurant to my usual table. “If you came in, I was to ask you to phone Gerald
urgently. He sounded pretty desperate.’

“I’m sure it can
wait. But if he rings again, let me know immediately.” At that moment Anna
walked over to join us. The make-up had been restored, but the hair could have
done with further attention.

I rose to greet
her.

“You don’t have
to do that,” she said, taking her seat.

“Would you like
a drink?” I asked, once we were both settled.

“No, I don’t
think so. I have an early start tomorrow morning, so I shouldn’t overdo things.
I’ll just have a glass of wine with my meal.”

Another waiter
appeared by her side. “And what would madam care for this evening?” he asked
politely.

“I haven’t had
time to look at the menu yet,” Anna replied, not even bothering to look up at
him.

“I can recommend
the fettucini, madam,” the waiter said, pointing to a dish halfway down the
list of entres. “It’s our speciality of the day.”

“Then I suppose
I might as well have that,” said Anna, handing him the menu.

I nodded,
indicating
The
too,” and asked for a half-bottle of
the house red. The waiter scooped up my menu and left us.

“Do you
... ?”

“Cani
... ?”

“You first,” I
said, attempting a smile.

“Do you always
order half a bottle of the house wine on a first date?” she asked.

“I think you’ll
find
it’s
pretty good,” I said, rather plaintively.

“I was only teasing,
Michael. Don’t take yourself so seriously.’

I took a closer
look at my companion, and began to wonder if I’d made a terrible mistake.
Despite her efforts in the washroom, Anna wasn’t quite the same girl I’d first
seen – admittedly at a distance – when I’d nearly crashed my car earlier in the
evening.

Oh my God, the
car. I suddenly remembered where I’d left it, and stole a glance at my watch.

“Am I boring you
already, Michael?” Anna asked. “Or is this table on a time share?”

“Yes. I mean no.
I’m
sorry,
I’ve just remembered something I should
have checked on before we came to dinner. Sorry,” I repeated.

Anna frowned,
which stopped me saying sorry yet again.

“Is it too
late?” she asked.

“Too
late for what?”

“To do something
about whatever it is you should have checked on before we came to dinner?” I
looked out of the window, and wasn’t pleased to see that it had stopped
raining. Now my only hope was that the late-night traffic wardens might not be
too vigilant.

“No, I’m sure it
will be all right,” I said, trying to sound relaxed.

“Well, that’s a
relief,” said Anna, in a tone that bordered on the sarcastic.

“So.
What’s it like
being a doctor?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Michael, it’s
my evening off. I’d rather not talk about my work, if you don’t mind.” For the
next few moments neither of us spoke. I tried again.

“Do you have
many male patients in your practice?” I asked, as the waiter reappeared with
our fettucini.

“I can hardly
believe I’m hearing this,” Anna said, unable to disguise the weariness in her
voice. “When are people like you going to accept that one or two of us are
capable of a little more than spending our lives waiting hand and foot on the
male
sex.
” The waiter poured some wine into my glass.

“Yes.
Of course.
Absolutely.
No. I didn’t
mean it to sound like that...”
I
sipped the wine and
nodded to the waiter, who filled Anna’s glass.

“Then what did
you mean it to sound like?” demanded Anna as she stuck her fork firmly into the
fettucini.

“Well, isn’t it
unusual for a man to go to a woman doctor?” I said, realising the moment I had
uttered the words that I was only getting myself into even deeper water.

“Good
heavens, no, Michael.
We live in an enlightened age.

I’ve probably
seen more naked men than you have – and it’s not an attractive sight, I can
assure you.” I laughed, in the hope that it would ease the tension. “In any
case,” she added, “
Quite
a few men are confident
enough to accept the existence of women doctors, you know.’

“I’m sure that’s
true,” I said. “I just thought...”

“You didn’t
think, Michael. That’s the problem with so many men like you. I bet you’ve
never even considered consulting a woman doctor.’

“No, but... Yes,
but...”
‘
“No but, yes but” – Let’s change the subject
before I get really angry,” Anna said, putting her fork down.

“What do you do
for a living, Michael? It doesn’t sound as if you’re in a profession where
women are treated as equals.”

“I’m in the
restaurant business,” I told her, wishing the fettucini was a little lighter.

“Ah, yes, you
told me in the interval,” she said. “But what does being “in the restaurant
business” actually mean?”

“I’m on the
management side. Or at least, that’s what I do nowadays. I started life as a
waiter,
then
I moved into the kitchens for about five
years, and finally...”

“...found you
weren’t very good at either, so you took up managing everyone else.”

“Something
like
that,” I said, trying to make light of it. But Anna’s
words only reminded me that one of my other restaurants was without a chef that
night, and that that was where I’d been heading before I’d allowed myself to
become infatuated by Anna.

“I’ve lost you
again,” Anna said, beginning to sound exasperated.

“You were going
to tell me all about restaurant management.” “Yes, I was, wasn’t I? By the way,
how’s your fettucini?”

“Not bad,
considering.”

“Considering?”

“Considering
this place was your second choice.” I was silenced once again.

“It’s not that
bad,” she said, taking another reluctant forkful.

“Perhaps you’d
like something else instead? I can always...”

“No,
thank you, Michael.
After all, this was the one dish the waiter felt
confident enough to recommend.” I couldn’t think of a suitable response, so I
remained silent.

“Come on,
Michael, you still haven’t explained what restaurant management actually
involves,” said Anna.

“Well, at the
moment I’m running three restaurants in the West End, which means I never stop
dashing from one to the other, depending on which is facing the biggest crisis
on that particular day.”

“Sounds a bit
like ward duty to me,” said Anna. “So who turned out to have the biggest crisis
today?”

“Today, thank
heaven, was not typical,” I told her with feeling.

“That bad?” said
Anna.

“Yes, I’m afraid
so. We lost a chef this morning
who
cut off the top of
his finger, and won’t be back at work for at least a fortnight.

My head waiter
in our second restaurant is off, claiming he has ‘flu, and I’ve just had to
sack the harman in the third for fiddling the books. Barmen always fiddle the
books, of course, but in this case even the customers began to notice what he
was up to.” I paused, wondering if I should risk another mouthful of fettucini.
“But I still wouldn’t want to be in any other business.”

“In the
circumstances, I’m frankly amazed you were able to take the evening off.”

“I shouldn’t
have, really, and wouldn’t have, except...”
I
trailed
off as I leaned over and topped up Anna’s wine glass.

“Except what?”
she said.

“Do you want to
hear the truth?” I asked as I poured the remains of the wine into my own glass.

“I’ll try that
for starters,” she said.

I placed the
empty bottle on the side of the table, and hesitated, but only for a moment. “I
was driving to one of my restaurants earlier this evening, when I spotted you
going into the theatre.

I stared at you
for so long that I nearly crashed into the back of the car in front of me. Then
I swerved across the road into the nearest parking space, and the car behind
almost crashed into me.

I leapt out, ran
all the way to the theatre, and searched everywhere until I saw you standing in
the queue for the box office.

I joined the
line and watched you hand over your spare ticket.

Once you were
safely out of sight, I told the box office manager that you hadn’t expected me
to make it in time, and that you might have put my ticket up for resale. Once
I’d described you, which I was able to do in great detail, he handed it over
without so much as a murmur.’

“More fool him,”
said Anna, putting down her glass and staring at me as if I’d just been released
from a lunatic asylum.

“Then I put two
ten-pound notes into a theatre envelope and took the place next to you,” `
:26
-’ I continued. “The rest you already know.” I waited,
with some trepidation, to see how she would react.

“I suppose I
ought to be flattered,” Anna said after a moment’s consideration. “But I don’t
know whether to laugh or cry. One thing’s for certain; the woman I’ve been
living with for the past ten years will think it’s highly amusing, especially
as you paid for her ticket.’