The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [161]
As they entered the crowded room and waited by the bar for the maître d’, Michael could see it was the type of place that was frequented by the rich and famous and wondered if his pocket could stand the expense and, more important, whether such an outlay would turn out to be a worthwhile investment.
A waiter guided them to a small table at the back of the room, where they both had another whiskey while they studied the menu. When the waiter returned to take their order, Debbie wanted no first course, just the veal piccata, so Michael ordered the same. She refused the addition of garlic butter. Michael allowed his expectations to rise slightly.
“How’s Adrian?” she asked.
“Oh, as well as can be expected,” Michael replied. “He sends you his love, of course.” He emphasized the word “love.”
“How kind of him to remember me, and please return mine. What brings you to New York this time, Michael? Another film?”
“No. New York may well have become everybody’s second city, but this time I only came to see you.”
“To see me?”
“Yes, I had a tape to edit while I was in Washington, but I always knew I could be through with that by lunch today, so I hoped you would be free to spend an evening with me.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
She smiled. The veal arrived.
“Looks good,” said Michael.
“Tastes good too,” said Debbie. “When do you fly home?”
“Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock flight, I’m afraid.”
“Not left yourself time to do much in New York.”
“I only came up to see you,” Michael repeated. Debbie continued eating her veal. “Why would any man want to divorce you, Debbie?”
“Oh, nothing very original, I’m afraid. He fell in love with a twenty-two-year-old blond and left his thirty-two-year-old wife.”
“Silly man. He should have had an affair with the twenty-two-year-old blond and remained faithful to his thirty-two-year-old wife.”
“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’ve never thought it unnatural to desire someone else. After all, it’s a long life to go through and be expected never to want another woman.”
“I’m not so sure I agree with you,” said Debbie thoughtfully. “I would like to have remained faithful to one man.”
Oh hell, thought Michael, not a very auspicious philosophy.
“Do you miss him?” he tried again.
“Yes, sometimes. It’s true what they say in the glossy magazines, it can be very lonely when you suddenly find yourself on your own.”
That sounds more promising, thought Michael, and he heard himself saying: “Yes, I can understand that, but someone like you shouldn’t have to stay on your own for very long.”
Debbie made no reply.
Michael refilled her glass of wine nearly to the brim, hoping he could order a second bottle before she finished her veal.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Michael?”
“If you think it will help,” he replied, laughing.
Debbie didn’t laugh. Michael tried again.
“Been to the theater lately?”
“Yes, I went to Evita last week. I loved it—”Wonder who took you, thought Michael “—but my mother fell asleep in the middle of the second act. I think I’ll have to go and see it on my own a second time.”
“I only wish I were staying long enough to take you.”
“That would be fun,” she said.
“Whereas I shall have to be satisfied with seeing the show in London.”
“With your wife.”
“Another bottle of wine please, waiter.”
“No more for me, Michael, really.”
“Well, you can help me out a little.” The waiter faded away. “Do you get to England at all yourself?” asked Michael.
“No, I’ve only been once, when Roger, my ex, took the whole family. I loved the country. It fulfilled every one of my hopes, but I’m afraid we did what all Americans are expected to do. The Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, followed by Oxford and Stratford,