Twelve Red Herrings Read online

  “Just the two of us.”

  “Follow me, please, sir,” Mario said, leading us to my usual table in the far corner of the room.

  “Another dry martini?” I asked her as we sat down.

  “No, thank you,” she replied. “I think I’ll just have a glass of wine with the meal.”

  I nodded my agreement as Mario handed us our menus. Anna studied hers for a few moments before I asked if she had spotted anything she fancied.

  “Yes,” she said, looking straight at me. “But for now I think I’ll settle for the fettuccine, and a glass of red wine.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “I’ll join you. But are you sure you won’t have a starter?”

  “No, thank you, Michael. I’ve reached that age when I can no longer order everything I’m tempted by.”

  “Me too,” I confessed. “I have to play squash three times a week to keep in shape,” I told her as Mario reappeared.

  “Two fettuccine,” I began, “and a bottle of …”

  “Half a bottle, please,” said Anna. “I’ll only have one glass. I’ve got an early start tomorrow morning, so I shouldn’t overdo things.”

  I nodded, and Mario scurried away.

  I looked across the table and into Anna’s eyes. “I’ve always wondered about women doctors,” I said, immediately realizing that the line was a bit feeble.

  “You mean, you wondered if we’re normal?”

  “Something like that, I suppose.”

  “Yes, we’re normal enough, except every day we have to see a lot of men in the nude. I can assure you, Michael, most of them are overweight and fairly unattractive.”

  I suddenly wished I were eight pounds lighter. “But are there many men who are brave enough to consider a woman doctor in the first place?”

  “Quite a few,” said Anna, “though most of my patients are female. But there are just about enough intelligent, sensible, uninhibited males around who can accept that a woman doctor might be just as likely to cure them as a man.”

  I smiled as two bowls of fettuccine were placed in front of us. Mario then showed me the label on the half-bottle he had selected. I nodded my approval. He had chosen a vintage to match Anna’s pedigree.

  “And what about you?” asked Anna. “What does being ‘in the restaurant business’ actually mean?”

  “I’m on the management side,” I said, before sampling the wine. I nodded again, and Mario poured a glass for Anna and then topped up mine.

  “Or at least, that’s what I do nowadays. I started life as a waiter,” I said, as Anna began to sip her wine.

  “What a magnificent wine,” she remarked. “It’s so good I may end up having a second glass.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said. “It’s a Barolo.”

  “You were saying, Michael? You started life as a waiter …”

  “Yes, then I moved into the kitchens for about five years, and finally ended up on the management side. How’s the fettuccine?”

  “It’s delicious. Almost melts in your mouth.” She took another sip of her wine. “So, if you’re not cooking, and no longer a waiter, what do you do now?”

  “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 headwaiter in our second restaurant is off, claiming he has the flu, and I’ve just had to sack the barman in the third for fiddling with the books. Barmen always fiddle with 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 business.”

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

  “I shouldn’t have, really, and I wouldn’t have, except …” I trailed off as I leaned over and topped up Anna’s 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 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. The rest you already know.” I waited to see how she would react.

  She didn’t speak for some time. “I’m flattered,” she eventually said, and touched my hand. “I didn’t realize there were any old-fashioned romantics left in the world.” She squeezed my fingers and looked me in the eyes. “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.

  “Was 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 some coffee?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Anna. “But perhaps we could have it somewhere a little less crowded.”

  I was so taken by surprise that it was several moments before I recovered. I was beginning to feel that I was no longer in control. Anna rose from her place and said, “Shall we go?” I nodded to Mario, who just smiled.

  Once we were back out on the street, she linked her arm with mine as we retraced our steps along the Aldwych and past the theater.

  “It’s been a wonderful evening,” she was saying as we reached the spot where I had left my car. “Until you arrived on the scene it had been a rather dull day, but you’ve changed all that.”

  “It hasn’t actually been the best of days for me either,” I admitted. “But I’ve rarely enjoyed an evening more. Where would you like to have coffee? Annabel’s? Or why don’t we try the new Dorchester Club?”

  “If you don’t have a wife, your place. If you do …”

  “I don’t,” I told her simply.

  “Then that’s settled,” she said as I opened the door of my BMW for her. Once she was safely in, I walked round to take my seat behind the wheel, and discovered that I had left my sidelights on and the keys in the ignition.

  I turned the key, and the engine immediately purred into life. “This has to be my day,” I said to myself.

  “Sorry?” Anna said, turning in my direction.

  “We were lucky to miss the rain,” I replied, as a few drops landed on the windshield. I flicked on the wipers.

  On our way to Pimlico, Anna told me about her childhood in the south of