Twelve Red Herrings

A POINT

“Thank you, Michael. I’d like that.”

I smiled, unable to mask my delight.

“Hi, Pipsqueak. I thought I might have missed you.”

I turned and stared at a tall man with a mop of fair hair, who seemed unaffected by the steady flow of people trying to pass him on either side.

Anna gave him a smile that I hadn’t seen until that moment.

“Hello, Jonathan,” she said. “This is Michael Whitaker. You’re lucky—he bought your ticket, and if you hadn’t turned up I was just about to accept his kind invitation to dinner. Michael, this is my brother, Jonathan—the one who was held up at the hospital. As you can see, he’s now escaped.”

I couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

Jonathan shook me warmly by the hand. “Thank you for keeping my sister company,” he said. “Won’t you join us for dinner?”

“That’s kind of you,” I replied, “but I’ve just remembered that I’m meant to be somewhere else right now. I’d better …”

“You’re not meant to be anywhere else right now,” interrupted Anna, giving me the same smile. “Don’t be so feeble.” She linked her arm in mine. “In any case, we’d both like you to join us.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“There’s a restaurant just down the road that I’ve been told is rather good,” said Jonathan, as the three of us began walking off in the direction of the Strand.

“Great. I’m famished,” said Anna.

“So, tell me all about the play,” Jonathan said as Anna linked her other arm in his.

“Every bit as good as the critics promised,” said Anna.

“You were unlucky to miss it,” I said.

“But I’m rather glad you did,” said Anna as we reached the corner of the Strand.

“I think that’s the place I’m looking for,” said Jonathan, pointing to a large gray double door on the far side of the road. The three of us weaved our way through the temporarily stationary traffic.

Once we reached the other side of the road, Jonathan pushed open one of the gray doors to allow us through. It started to rain just as we stepped inside. He led Anna and me down a flight of stairs 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’ll be impressed if you can get a table here,” Anna said to her brother, eyeing a group of would-be customers who were clustered around the bar, impatiently waiting for someone to leave. “You should have booked,” she added as he began waving at the headwaiter, who was fully occupied taking a customer’s order.

I remained a yard or two behind them, and as Mario came across, I put a finger to my lips and nodded to him.

“I don’t suppose you have a table for three?” asked Jonathan.

“Yes, of course, sir. Please follow me,” said Mario, leading us to a quiet table in the corner of the room.

“That was a bit of luck,” said Jonathan.

“It certainly was,” Anna agreed. Jonathan suggested that I take the far chair, so his sister could sit between us.

Once we had settled, Jonathan asked what I would like to drink.

“How about you?” I said, turning to Anna. “Another dry martini?”

Jonathan looked surprised. “You haven’t had a dry martini since …”

Anna scowled at him and said quickly, “I’ll just have a glass of wine with the meal.”