“Would you like anything else, sir?”, the waiter’s honey-soaked voice broke his reverie. He turned around and found his eyes meeting the disdain-filled ones of the man in the white pantsuit. He replayed the words in his mind; the tone was more sarcastic than considerate.
The waiter spoke again, “Anything else, sir?”. The derision was unmistakable. He might as well have said,” Pay the bill, get up and get moving. She ain’t coming back and I have customers waiting – other customers whose better halves don’t have to go through the ignominy that was inflicted upon the lady who was sitting opposite to you. So, make yourself scarce, will you?”
“Can you give me a moment please”, Pat found the strength to say something intelligible.
“Most certainly, gentleman”, the waiter curled his lips and proceeded to the next table.
Pat sunk his head into his palms, trying to figure out something that he had not been able to figure out for some years. He was not expecting such an abrupt end – either to his plans of a perfect evening or to his relationship with Patricia.
He lifted his head and found the head waiter making his way to his table. They really wanted him out of this place, quick. As the burly moustached man inched closer, Pat found his self-respect screaming for redemption. There was a pause before the head waiter spoke.
“Sir, Would you like anything else or should we get the bill?”, he hissed.
“Yes, most certainly. 1976, Bordeaux. Quick”
Pat could not believe his ears. Who was this man who had lunged from behind the head-waiter and cackled an order for the most expensive wine in the restaurant? The head waiter promptly departed.
“My name is Christopher Darlington; Professor Christopher Darlington. Mind if I take a seat?”, the strange man bellowed.
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