Twelve Red Herrings

I couldn’t think of any comment worth making.

“The good news is we’ve caught the lad who stole it,” continued the police officer. “The bad news is that he’s only fifteen, doesn’t have a driver’s license, and, of course, he isn’t insured.”

“That’s not a problem,” I said. “I’m fully insured myself.”

“As a matter of interest, sir, did you leave your keys in the ignition?”

“Yes, I did. I was just making a quick phone call, and thought I’d only be away from the car for a couple of minutes.”

“Then I think it’s unlikely you’ll be covered by your insurance, sir.”

“Not covered by my insurance? What are you talking about?”

“It’s standard policy nowadays not to pay out if you leave your keys in the ignition. You’d better check, sir,” were the officer’s final words before hanging up.

I put the phone down and wondered what else could possibly go wrong. I slipped off my jacket and began to climb the stairs, but came to a sudden halt when I saw my wife waiting for me on the landing.

“Maureen …” I began.

“You can tell me later why the car is a total write-off,” she said, “but not until you’ve explained why you didn’t turn up for work this evening, and just who this ‘classy tart’ is that Gerald said you were seen with at the theater.”

OVERDONE

“No, I’m not doing anything in particular,” said Anna.

I smiled, unable to mask my delight.

“Good. I know a little restaurant just down the road that I think you might enjoy.”

“That sounds just fine,” said Anna as she made her way through the dense theater crowd. I quickly followed, having to hurry just to keep up with her.

“Which way?” she asked. I pointed toward the Strand. She began walking at a brisk pace, and we continued to talk about the play.

When we reached the Strand, I pointed to a large gray double door on the other side of the road. “That’s it,” I said. I would have taken her hand as she began to cross, but she stepped off the pavement ahead of me, dodged between the stationary traffic, and waited for me on the far side.

She pushed the gray doors open, and once again I followed in her wake. We descended a flight of steps into a basement restaurant buzzing with the talk of people who had just come out of theaters and waiters dashing, plates in both hands, from table to table.

“I don’t expect you’ll be able to get a table here if you haven’t booked,” said Anna, eyeing a group of would-be customers who were clustered round the bar, impatiently waiting for someone to leave.

“Don’t worry about that,” I said with bravado, and strode across to the reservations desk. I waved a hand imperiously at the headwaiter, who was taking a customer’s order. I only hoped he would recognize me.

I turned around to smile at Anna, but she didn’t look too impressed.

After the waiter had taken the order, he walked slowly over to me. “How may I help you, sir?” he asked.

“Can you manage a table for two, Victor?”

“Victor’s off tonight, sir. Have you booked?”

“No, I haven’t, but …”

The headwaiter checked the list of reservations and then looked at his watch. “I might be able to fit you in around 11:15-11:30 at the latest,” he said, not sounding too hopeful.

“No sooner?” I pleaded. “I don’t think we can wait that long.” Anna nodded her agreement.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said the headwaiter. “We are fully booked until then.”

“As I expected,” said Anna, turning to leave.