Anna leaned over to me and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s the only Italian wine he can pronounce correctly.”
“What would have happened if we’d chosen fish?” I asked her.
“He’s also heard of Frascati, but he’s never quite sure what he’s meant to do when someone orders duck.”
“What are you two whispering about?” asked Jonathan as he handed his menu back to Mario.
“I was asking your sister about the third partner in the practice.”
“Not bad, Michael,” Anna said. “You should have gone into politics.”
“My wife, Elizabeth, is the third partner,” Jonathan said, unaware of what Anna had been getting at. “She, poor darling, is on call tonight.”
“You note, two women and one man,” said Anna as the wine waiter appeared by Jonathan’s side.
“Yes. There used to be four of us,” said Jonathan, without explanation. He studied the label on the bottle before nodding sagely.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Jonathan. Michael has already worked out that you’re no sommelier,” said Anna, sounding as if she was trying to change the subject. The waiter extracted the cork and poured a little wine into Jonathan’s glass for him to taste.
“So, what do you do, Michael?” asked Jonathan after he had given a second nod to the wine waiter. “Don’t tell me you’re a doctor, because I’m not looking for another man to join the practice.”
“No, he’s in the restaurant business,” said Anna, as three bowls of fettucini were placed in front of us.
“I see. You two obviously swapped life histories during the intermission,” said Jonathan. “But what does being ‘in the restaurant business’ actually mean?”
“I’m on the management side,” I explained. “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 ended up in management.”
“But what does a restaurant manager actually do?” asked Anna.
“Obviously the interval wasn’t long enough for you to go into any great detail,” said Jonathan as he jabbed his fork into some fettucini.
“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 said with feeling.
“That bad?” said Jonathan.
“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 barman 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. “But I still wouldn’t want to be in any other …”
A shrill ring interrupted me. I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from until Jonathan removed a tiny cellular phone from his jacket pocket.
“Sorry about this,” he said. “Hazard of the job.” He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. He listened for a few seconds, and a frown appeared on his face. “Yes, I suppose so. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.” He flicked the phone closed and put it back into his pocket.
“Sorry,” he repeated. “One of my patients has chosen this particular moment to have a relapse. I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you.” He stood up and turned to his sister. “How will you get home, Pipsqueak?”
“I’m a big girl now,” said Anna, “so I’ll just look around for one of those black objects on four wheels with a sign on the top that reads T-A-X-I, and then I’ll wave at it.”
“Don’t worry, Jonathan,” I said. “I’ll drive her home.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Jonathan, “because if it’s still pouring by the time you leave, she may not be able to find one of those black objects to wave at.”
“In any case, it’s the least I can do, after I ended up getting your ticket, your dinner and your sister.”
“Fair exchange,” said Jonathan as Mario came rushing up.
“Is everything all right, sir?” he asked.
“No, it isn’t. I’m on call, and have to go.” He handed over an American Express card. “If you’d be kind enough to put this through your machine, I’ll sign for it and you can fill in the amount later. And please add fifteen percent.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mario, and rushed away.
“Hope to see you again,” said Jonathan. I rose to shake him by the hand.
“I hope so too,” I said.
Jonathan left us, headed for the bar and signed a slip of paper. Mario handed him back his American Express card.
As Anna waved to her brother, I looked toward the bar and shook my head slightly. Mario tore up the little slip of paper and dropped the pieces into a wastebasket.
“It hasn’t been a wonderful day for Jonathan, either,” said Anna, turning back to face me. “And what with your problems, I’m 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 glass.
“Except what?” she asked.
“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 theater. 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 theater, and searched everywhere until I saw you standing in the line 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. After I’d described you, which I was able to do in great detail, he handed it over without so much as a murmur.”
Anna put down her glass of wine and stared across at me with a look of incredulity. “I’m glad he fell for your story,” she said. “But should I?”
“Yes, you should. Because then I put two ten-pound notes into a theater envelope and took the place next to you,” I continued. “The rest you already know.” I waited to see how she would react. She didn’t speak for some time.
“I’m flattered,” she said eventually. “I didn’t realize there were any old-fashioned romantics left in the world.” She lowered her head slightly. “Am I allowed to ask what you have planned for the rest of the evening?”
“Nothing has been planned so far,” I admitted. “Which is why it’s all been so refreshing.”
“You make me sound like an After Eight mint,” said Anna with a laugh.
“I can think of at least three replies to that,” I told her as Mario reappeared, looking a little disappointed at the sight of the half-empty plates.
“Is everything all right, sir?” he asked, sounding anxious.
“Couldn’t have been better,” said Anna, who hadn’t stopped looking at me.
“Would you like a coffee, madam?” Mario asked her.
“No, thank you,” said Anna firmly. “We have to go in search of a marooned car.”
“Heaven knows if it will still be there after all this time,” I said as she rose from her place.
I took Anna’s hand, led her toward the entrance, back up the stairs and out onto the street. Then I began to retrace my steps to the spot where I’d abandoned my car. As we strolled up the Aldwych and chatted away, I felt as if I was with an old friend.
“You
don’t have to give me a lift, Michael,” Anna was saying. “It’s probably miles out of your way, and in any case it’s stopped raining, so I’ll just hail a taxi.”
“I want to give you a lift,” I told her. “That way I’ll have your company for a little longer.” She smiled as we reached a distressingly large space where I had left the car.
“Damn,” I said. I quickly checked up and down the road, and returned to find Anna laughing.
“Is this another of your schemes to have more of my company?” she teased. She opened her bag and took out a mobile phone, dialed 999, and passed it over to me.
“Which service do you require? Fire, Police, or Ambulance?” a voice asked.
“Police,” I said, and was immediately put through to another voice.
“Charing Cross Police Station. What is the nature of your inquiry?”
“I think my car has been stolen.”
“Can you tell me the make, color and registration number please, sir?”
“It’s a blue Rover 600, registration K857 SHV.”
There was a long pause, during which I could hear other voices talking in the background.
“No, it hasn’t been stolen, sir,” said the officer who had been dealing with me when he came back on the line. “The vehicle was illegally parked on a double yellow line. It’s been removed and taken to the Vauxhall Bridge Pound.”
“Can I pick it up now?” I asked.
“Certainly, sir. How will you be getting there?”
“I’ll take a taxi.”
“Then just ask the driver for the Vauxhall Bridge Pound. Once you get there, you’ll need some form of identification, and a check for £105 with a bank card—that is if you don’t have the full amount in cash.”
“One hundred five pounds?” I said quietly.
“That’s correct, sir.”
Anna frowned for the first time that evening.
“Worth every penny.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Nothing, officer. Goodnight.”
I handed the phone back to Anna, and said, “The next thing I’m going to do is find you a taxi.”
“You certainly are not, Michael, because I’m staying with you. In any case, you promised my brother you’d take me home.”
I took her hand and hailed a taxi, which swung across the road and came to a halt beside us.
“Vauxhall Bridge Pound, please.”
“Bad luck, mate,” said the cabbie. “You’re my fourth this evening.”
I gave him a broad grin.
“I expect the other three also chased you into the theater, but luckily they were behind me in the line,” I said to Anna as I joined her on the back seat.
As the taxi maneuvered its way slowly through the rain-swept post-theater traffic and across Waterloo Bridge, Anna said, “Don’t you think I should have been given the chance to choose between the four of you? After all, one of them might have been driving a Rolls-Royce.”
“Not possible.”
“And why not, pray?” asked Anna.
“Because you couldn’t have parked a Rolls-Royce in that space.”
“But if he’d had a chauffeur, that would have solved all my problems.”
“In that case, I would simply have run him over.”
The taxi had travelled some distance before either of us spoke again.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Anna eventually said.
“If it’s what I think it is, I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Then you go first.”
“No—I’m not married,” I said. “Nearly, once, but she escaped.” Anna laughed. “And you?”
“I was married,” she said quietly. “He was the fourth doctor in the practice. He died three years ago. I spent nine months nursing him, but in the end I failed.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling a little ashamed. “That was tactless of me. I shouldn’t have raised the subject.”
“I raised it, Michael, not you. It’s me who should apologize.”
Neither of us spoke again for several minutes, until Anna said, “For the past three years, since Andrew’s death, I’ve immersed myself in work, and I seem to spend most of my spare time boring Jonathan and Elizabeth to distraction. They couldn’t have been more understanding, but they must be heartily sick of it by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jonathan hadn’t arranged an emergency for tonight, so someone else could take me to the theater for a change. It might even give me the confidence to go out again. Heaven knows,” she added as we drove into the car pound, “enough people have been kind enough to ask me.”
I passed the cabbie a ten-pound note and we dashed through the rain in the direction of a little Portakabin.
I walked up to the counter and read the form taped to it. I took out my wallet, extracted my driver’s license, and began counting.
I only had eighty pounds in cash, and I never carry a checkbook.
Anna grinned, and took the envelope I’d presented to her earlier in the evening from her bag. She tore it open and extracted the two ten-pound notes, added a five-pound note of her own, and handed them over to me.
“Thank you,” I said, once again feeling embarrassed.
“Worth every penny,” she replied with a grin.
The policeman counted the notes slowly, placed them in a tin box, and gave me a receipt.
“It’s right there, in the front row,” he said, pointing out of the window. “And if I may say so, sir, it was perhaps unwise of you to leave your keys in the ignition. If the vehicle had been stolen, your insurance company would not have been liable to cover the claim.” He passed me my keys.
“It was my fault, officer,” said Anna. “I should have sent him back for them, but I didn’t realize what he was up to. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again.”
The officer looked up at me. I shrugged my shoulders and led Anna out of the cabin and across to my car. I opened the door to let her in, then nipped around to the driver’s side as she leant over and pushed my door open. I took my place behind the wheel and turned to face her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “The rain has ruined your dress.” A drop of water fell off the end of her nose. “But, you know, you’re just as beautiful wet or dry.”
“Thank you, Michael,” she smiled. “But if you don’t have any objection, on balance I’d prefer to be dry.”
I laughed. “So, where shall I take you?” I asked, suddenly aware that I didn’t know where she lived.
“Fulham, please; forty-nine Parsons Green Lane. It’s not too far.”
I pushed the key into the ignition, not caring how far it was. I turned the key and took a deep breath. The engine spluttered, but refused to start. Then I realized I had left the sidelights on.
“Don’t do this to me,” I begged, as Anna began laughing again. I turned the key a second time, and the motor caught. I let out a sigh of relief.
“That was a close one,” Anna said. “If it hadn’t started, we might have ended up spending the rest of the night together. Or was that all part of your dastardly plan?”
“Nothing’s gone according to plan so far,” I admitted as I drove out of the pound. I paused before adding, “Still, I suppose things might have turned out differently.”
“You mean if I hadn’t been the sort of girl you were looking for?”
“Something like that.”
“I wonder what those other three men would have thought of mer,” said Anna wistfully.
“Who cares? They’re not going to have the chance to find out.”
“You sound very sure of yourself, Mr. Whitaker.”
“If you only knew,” I said. “But I would like to see you again, Anna. If you’re willing to risk it.”
She seemed to take an eternity to reply. “Yes, I’d like that,” she said eventually. “But only on condition that you pick me up at my place, so I can be certain you park your car legally, and remember to switch your lights off.”
“I accept your te
rms,” I told her. “And I won’t even add any conditions of my own if we can begin the agreement tomorrow evening.”
Once again Anna didn’t reply immediately. “I’m not sure I know what I’m doing tomorrow evening.”
“Neither do I,” I said. “But I’ll cancel it, whatever it is.”
“Then so will I,” said Anna as I drove into Parsons Green Lane, and began searching for number 49.
“It’s about a hundred yards down, on the left,” she said.
I drew up and parked outside her front door.
“Don’t let’s bother with the theater this time,” said Anna. “Come at about eight, and I’ll cook you some supper.” She leant over and kissed me on the cheek before turning back to open the car door. I jumped out and walked quickly round to her side of the car as she stepped onto the pavement.
“So, I’ll see you around eight tomorrow evening,” she said.
“I’ll look forward to that.” I hesitated, and then took her in my arms. “Goodnight, Anna.”
“Goodnight, Michael,” she said as I released her. “And thank you for buying my ticket, not to mention dinner. I’m glad my other three would-be suitors only made it as far as the car pound.”
I smiled as she pushed the key into the lock of her front door.
She turned back. “By the way, Michael, was that the restaurant with the missing waiter, the four-and-a-half-fingered chef, or the crooked bartender?”
“The crooked bartender,” I replied with a smile.
She closed the door behind her as the clock on a nearby church struck one.
ALSO BY JEFFREY ARCHER
NOVELS
False Impression
Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less
Shall We Tell the President?
Sons of Fortune
Kane & Abel
The Prodigal Daughter
First Among Equals
A Matter of Honor
As the Crow Flies
Honor Among Thieves
The Fourth Estate
The Eleventh Commandment
SHORT STORIES
A Quiver Full of Arrows
A Twist in the Tale
Twelve Red Herrings
To Cut a Long Story Short
Collected Short Stories Page 64