A Vision of Loveliness - By Louise Levene Page 0,98
waiter over and complained that it was cold.
‘It’s vichyssoise, sir,’ he hissed, happily. He always enjoyed this one.
‘I don’t care what it’s supposed to be. It’s stone cold.’
The waiter stayed dead pan and whisked the soup away, planning the usual kitchen revenge. Henry and Suzy had hardly noticed but Jane felt sick with embarrassment. Johnny’s soup came back hot but he had more sense than to drink it. Instead he began cutting up his bread roll with his butter knife. An old bitch in beige lace at the next table eyed him with utter contempt. Models. What could you expect?
When Johnny’s steak arrived he took a sip of Chablis, tucked his napkin into his collar and began sawing away at it, holding his knife like a pen.
It was more like two tables for two than a foursome. Suzy had angled her body away from Johnny and seemed determined to keep talking – or get Henry talking – anything to keep Johnny quiet. Henry was telling Suzy about a property he’d just acquired in South Kensington somewhere – a friendly little bargain he’d struck with Jane’s Mr Mutation so maybe the girl wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The house was a complete wreck at the moment, all carved up into poky little bedsits, but it would be ideal, apparently. Ideal for what?
‘I wouldn’t care where it was.’ Which was sort of true. Eaton Square would have been fine too.
Johnny had dropped his napkin and was asking the waiter for another serviette.
‘Why are you doing this?’ hissed Jane.
He looked at her hard and drained another glass.
‘Doing what, Janey? What am I doing exactly?’
‘You know perfectly well what you’re doing.’
Oh God. Don’t whatever you do complain. You sound your shrillest and look your worst when you do. She’d better keep that note out of her voice. Only married women could afford to take that tone. ‘You can’t see the look on the waiter’s face.’
‘I don’t want to see the look on the waiter’s bloody face, Janey darling. He could be stood there dolled up like Marlene bloody Dietrich for all I care, Janey darling. He’s there to bring my food. When I want his opinion of my manners, I’ll jolly well ask for it.’
Christ. The beige woman was staring now and the bad language meant that her husband would have to gear himself up to complain. Last thing he wanted. It was their wedding anniversary. Twenty-eight years and she’d still never actually touched it.
Johnny called the waiter over before the man could start.
‘Excuse me, garçon, could you direct me to your smallest room?’
Suzy thought this was very funny but then Suzy had had half a bottle of Moët and three glasses of Chablis. The woman at the next table set her off laughing again. It was an attractive laugh. But loud.
‘Do you know,’ announced Suzy, in what she thought was a whisper, ‘I thought for one terrible moment that that woman was starkers. Her dress is exactly the same colour as her skin. Couldn’t work out why she had ruched tits.’
By the time the baked Alaska arrived, they were all four of them plastered.
The manager (who’d been put in the picture by the head waiter) came over for a quick ooze.
‘Was everything all right this evening, sir?’ Johnny might have made the booking but it was still Henry they spoke to.
Henry, who was busy stroking the hand of the second Mrs Swan-to-be, looked up crossly.
‘What?’
‘Is everything all right, sir?’ He looked pointedly in Johnny’s direction. Johnny was holding his coffee cup in a very poncey way. Suzy went to powder her nose without waiting for Jane like she normally did. She hadn’t said one word to her all evening. Henry got up and headed off in the direction of the Gents’.
‘Why are you doing this?’
He looked sharply at her.
‘You can’t stand it when people break the rules, can you, Jane? But only the little rules. Suzy can sleep with another woman’s husband so long as she doesn’t drink red wine with fish. That’s it, isn’t it?’
Hard to know how to play that one for the best. Nothing fancy. Just a tear or two and a broken whisper.
‘She’s my friend, Johnny.’ Was she?
Piece of cake. He took her hand.
‘I know. I know. I’m sorry. Why won’t you let me take care of you?’
Buildings had caretakers. Men with overalls and buckets keeping everything tidy and disinfected and locked up securely after dark. Why would a girl want taking care of?