The Collected Short Stories Read online

  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 entrées. “It’s our specialty of the day.”

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

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

  “Do you … ?”

  “Can I … ?”

  “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 officers 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, realizing 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 were 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 her.

  “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 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 tao.” 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 aid.

  “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