The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [277]
“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 you hadn’t expected me to make it in time, and that you might have put my ticket up for resale. Once I’d described you, which I was able to do in great detail, he handed it over without so much as a murmur.”
“More fool him,” said Anna, putting down her glass and staring at me as if I’d just been released from a lunatic asylum.
“Then I put