Twelve Red Herrings (39 page)

The waiter
returned to remove the half-finished plates. “Was everything all right, sir?”
he asked, sounding anxious.

“Fine, just
fine,” I said unconvincingly. Anna grimaced, but made no comment.

“Would you care
for coffee, madam?”

“No, I don’t
think I’ll risk it,” she said, looking at her watch.

“In any case, I
ought to be getting back. Elizabeth will be wondering where I’ve got to.” She
stood up and walked towards the door.

I followed a
yard behind. She was just about to step onto the pavement when she turned to me
and asked, “Don’t you think you ought to settle the bill?”

“That won’t be
necessary.”

“Why?” she
asked, laughing. “Do you own the place?”

“No. But it is
one of the three restaurants I manage.” Anna turned scarlet. “I’m so sorry,
Michael,’ she said. “That was tactless of me.” She paused for a moment before
adding, “But I’m sure you’ll agree that the food wasn’t exactly memorable.”

“Would you like
me to drive you home?” I asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

Anna looked up
at the black clouds. “That would be useful,” she replied, ‘if it’s not miles
out of your way. Where’s your car?” she said before I had a chance to ask where
she lived. “I left it just up the road.”

“Oh, yes, I
remember,” said Anna.
“When you jumped out of it because you
couldn’t take your eyes off me.
I’m afraid you picked the wrong girl
this time.” At last we had found something on which we could agree, but I made
no comment as we walked towards the spot where I had abandoned my car. Anna
limited her conversation to whether it was about to rain again, and how good
she had thought the wine was. I was relieved to find my Volvo parked exactly
where I had left it.

I was searching
for my keys when I spotted a large sticker glued to the windscreen. I looked
down at the front offside wheel, and saw the yellow clamp.

“It just isn’t
your night, is it?” said Anna. “But don’t worry about
me,
I’ll just grab a cab.” She raised her hand and a taxi skidded to a halt. She
turned back to face me. “Thanks for dinner,” she managed, not altogether convincingly,
and added, even less convincingly, “Perhaps we’ll meet again.” Before I could
respond, she had slammed the taxi door closed.

As I watched her
being driven away, it started to rain.

I took one more
look at my immovable car, and decided I would deal with the problem in the
morning.

I was about to
rush for the nearest shelter when another taxi came around the corner, its
yellow light indicating that it was for hire. I waved frantically and it drew
up beside my clamped car.

“Bad luck,
mate,” said the cabbie, looking down at my front wheel.

“My
third tonight.’

I attempted a
smile.

“So,
where to, guv?”
I gave him my address in Lambeth and climbed into the back.

As the taxi
manoeuvred its way slowly through the rainswept post-theatre traffic and across
Waterloo Bridge, the driver began chattering away. I just about managed
monosyllabic replies to his opinions on the weather, John Major, the England
cricket team and foreign tourists. With each new topic, his forecast became
ever
more gloomy
.

He only stopped
offering his opinions when he came to a halt outside my house in Fentiman Road.
I paid him, and smiled ruefully at the thought that this would be the first
time in weeks that I’d managed to get home before midnight. I walked slowly up
the short path to the front door.

I turned the key
in the lock and opened the door quietly, so as not to wake my wife. Once inside
I went through my nightly ritual of slipping off my jacket and shoes before
creeping quietly up the stairs.

Before I had
reached the bedroom I began to get undressed.

After years of
coming in at one or two in the morning, I was able to take off all my clothes,
fold and stack them, and slide under the sheets next to Judy without waking
her. But just as I pulled back the cover she said drowsily, “I didn’t think
you’d be home so early, with all the problems you were facing tonight.” I
wondered if she was talking in her sleep. “How much damage did the fire do?”

“The
fire?”
I said, standing in the nude.

“In
Davies Street.
Gerald phoned a few moments after you’d left to say a fire had started in the
kitchen and had spread to the restaurant. He was just checking to make certain
you were on your way.

He’d cancelled
all the bookings for the next two weeks, but he didn’t think they’d be able to
open again for at least a month. I told him that as you’d left just after six
you’d be with him at any minute. So, just how bad is the damage?” I was already
dressed by the time Judy was awake enough to ask why I had never turned up at
the restaurant. I shot down the stairs and out onto the street in search of
another cab.

It had started
raining again.

A taxi swung
round and came to a halt in front of me.

“Where
to this time, guv?’

Point THANK YOU,
MICHAEL. I’D LIKE THAT.” I smiled, unable to mask my delight.

“Hi,
Pipsqueak.
I thought I might have missed you.” I turned and stared at a tall man with a
mop of fair hair,
who
seemed unaffected by the steady
flow of people trying to pass him on either side.

Anna gave him a
smile that I hadn’t seen until that moment.

“Hello, Jonathan,”
she said. “This is Michael Whitaker. You’re lucky – he bought your ticket, and
if you hadn’t turned up I was just about to accept his kind invitation to
dinner. Michael, this is my brother, Jonathan – the one who was held up at the
hospital.

As you can see,
he’s now escaped.” I couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

Jonathan shook
me warmly by the hand. “Thank you for keeping my sister company,” he said.
“Won’t you join us for dinner?”

“That’s kind of
you,” I replied, ‘but I’ve just remembered that I’m meant to be somewhere else
right now. I’d better...”

“You’re not
meant be anywhere else right now,” interrupted Anna, giving me the same smile.
“Don’t be so feeble.” She linked her arm in mine. “In any case, we’d both like
you to join us.”

“Thank you,” I
said.

“There’s a
restaurant just down the road that I’ve been told is rather good,” said
Jonathan, as the three of us began walking off in the direction of the Strand.

“Great. I’m
famished,” said Anna.

“So, tell me all
about the play,” Jonathan said as Anna linked her other arm in his.

“Every bit as
good as the critics promised,” said Anna.

“You were
unlucky to miss it,” I said.

“But I’m rather
glad you did,” said Anna as we reached the corner of the Strand.

“I think that’s
the place I’m looking for,” said Jonathan, pointing to a large grey double door
on the far side of the road. The three of us weaved our way through the
temporarily stationary traffic.

Once we reached
the other side of the road Jonathan pushed open one of the grey doors to allow us
through. It started to rain just as we stepped inside. He led Anna and me down
a flight of stairs 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’ll be
impressed if you can get a table here,” Anna said to her brother, eyeing a
group of would-be customers who were clustered round the bar, impatiently
waiting for someone to leave.

“You should have
booked,” she added as he began waving at the head waiter, who was fully
occupied taking a customer’s order.

I remained a
yard or two behind
them,
and as Mario came across, I put
a finger to my lips and nodded to him.

“I don’t suppose
you have a table for three?” asked Jonathan.

“Yes, of course,
sir. Please follow me,” said Mario, leading us to a quiet table in the corner
of the room. “That was a bit of luck,’ said Jonathan.

“It certainly
was,” Anna agreed. Jonathan suggested that I take the far chair, so his sister
could sit between us.

Once we had
settled, Jonathan asked what I would like to drink.

“How
about you?”
I said, turning to Anna. “Aother dry
martini ?’

Jonathan looked
surprised. “You haven’t had a dry martini
since ..

.” Anna scowled
at him and said quickly, “I’ll just have a glass of wine with the meal.”
Since when?
I wondered, but only said, “I’ll have the same.”
Mario reappeared, and handed us our menus. Jonathan and Anna studied theirs in
silence for some time before Jonathan asked, “Any ideas?”

“It all looks so
tempting,” Anna said. “But I think I’ll settle for the fettucini and a glass of
red wine.”

“What about a
starter?” asked
Jonathan.

“No. I’m on
first call tomorrow, if you remember – unless of course you’re volunteering to
take my place.”

“Not after what
I’ve been through this evening, Pipsqueak. I’d rather go without a starter
too,’ he said.
“How about you, Michael?
Don’t let our
domestic problems get in your way.”

“Fettucini and a
glass of red wine would suit me just fine.”

“Three fettucini
and a bottle of your best Chianti,” said Jonathan when Mario returned.

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 interval,” 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 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. “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.