Proximity

Chapter 2 - DINNER

He took me out to that new Italian restaurant around the corner, the one with those gloriously elegant carpets and taupe walls; designer lighting hung from the ceiling and the sound of echoing glass flutes and china plates was sonorous, not clunky. I think the last time I'd been anywhere this expensive was . . . - well, never.

Hamish had been a spendthrift. I was only ever treated to McDonald's , or maybe Bella Italia if I was lucky - because of him, I didn't date when going through uni. In fact, he was the only person I'd ever really been anywhere with.

Zac - that was the name of the man with the curly, brown hair and soon-to-be-ex-wife - had left his card on the counter. Not nearly as scrupled as he'd made out, obviously, as I wasn't exactly charming. Though I had called him, I guess, so I'm partly to blame for that too. And I suggested dinner, not coffee; in my defence, it was he who recommended the place.

I arrived late, due to not being able to decide what dress to wear - I mean, you have to wear something at least a little fancy to places like those. All I had were jumpers, cardigans and summer dresses that I wore with tights in winter. There was one white strappy one reserved for weddings. It was a compromise.

Zac was quite understanding, and pulled my chair out for me, when I got to our table. The long, white tablecloth was a screen between our knees. The restaurant was tiny; the tables very intimate. A small tea-light flickered in the centre, throwing off scents of vanilla and jasmine. My place was set with innumerable plates and about three different knives and forks.

I nervously wrung my hands, under the table.

"I hope you don't mind," Began Zac. "But I've taken an awfully presumptuous guess and ordered a bottle of red - do you drink?"

His tone was light and teasing.

"Copiously." I said, though it came out a bit forced.

I think he sensed my unease. I felt a light tap on my toe.

"Come on," He said, taking the bottle from the ice-bucket next to our table, and filling both of our wine glasses half-full. "I'm sure you can't keep up that school-ma'am guise all the time, or you're going to make me squirm."

He handled the bottle like a butler, and saw me gaping. "Oh, force of habit. I was a waiter through uni, at one of the food clubs on campus - brilliant tips."

Zac gave me a wink.

"You know, I did that too for a bit. The boys were too rowdy though - all that money and pomp going to their heads."

"Where were you?" He asked, swirling his wine around his glass, and staring into it. This was one of those awkward, getting to know questions that you couldn't really say without sounding either arrogant or like an ass.

"Magdalene, for a bit, but I went home to London to be with my boyfriend-"

Zac looked up.

"-at the time. We divorced a few months ago. Anyway, I finished my degree at King's."

"You don't look old enough to be divorced." He said, not seeming to realise what he'd said.

"Neither do you-" I countered, "- what, twenty six - maybe twenty seven?"

"Yeah, though it's not polite to guess a lady's age, so I decline to comment on yours."

Everything had suddenly got a bit awkward - the air as thick as the basket of bread and antipasti the waiter had just placed upon the table, along with the menus.

They were printed on heavy card, in elegant letterhead. I got one out and hid my face in it, though it didn't really work as the entire thing was in Italian; language I hadn't studied since school. It left me a dilemma - did I ask Zac what it meant, or just bluff? - Obviously bluff.