'... with a beef and goats' cheese parfait!' The waiter finished his recital in the jubilant rush of a carol singer chorusing, and a partridge in a pear tree!
'All sounds delicious,' said Sam.
'Do you want me to go back over anything?' said the waiter.
'Absolutely not,' said Sam, and Clementine nearly laughed out loud. He'd always been good at delivering a dry, straight-faced line.
'Right. So, you have a think, and in the meantime I'll just check on your -' The waiter looked at Clementine.
'Shiraz,' supplied Clementine. 'Pepper Tree shiraz.'
'Too easy.' The waiter snapped his fingers, jaunty with relief now that he'd got through the specials.
'So,' said Sam, after the waiter had gone.
'So,' said Clementine.
'What are you having?' Sam lifted the menu in front of him like a newspaper.
'Not sure,' said Clementine, picking up her own menu. 'It all looks good.'
She needed to make a joke. A joke about the waiter. The specials. The non-arrival of the drinks. The girl behind the bar still obliviously polishing glasses. There was so much potential material. For a moment, it felt as though everything rested on this. If she could just make the right joke right now she would save the night, save their marriage. Something about the girl taking a Buddhist approach to her job? Mindfully polishing her wineglasses? If only she'd mindfully pour their drinks? Dear God, when did she become the sort of person who mentally rehearsed flippant remarks?
Someone laughed in the restaurant. A man's laugh. A deep, distinctive baritone laugh.
Clementine's heart lurched. Sam's head jerked up from the menu.
Not Vid. Not here. Not tonight.
chapter fifteen There it was again. Inappropriately loud for this soft-carpeted place.
Clementine swung her head to watch three men making their way through the restaurant. They all bore a superficial resemblance to Vid: the big, bullet heads, giant shoulders, proud stomachs and that European way of walking, not quite a swagger.
But none of them was Vid.
Clementine exhaled. The man laughed again, but it didn't have the particular tone or depth of Vid's laugh at all.
She turned back to Sam. He had closed his menu and let it fall back against his chest.
'I thought it was Vid,' he said. 'It sounded exactly like him.'
'I know,' said Clementine. 'I thought it was him too.'
'Jesus. I just didn't want to see him.' He took the menu and placed it back on the table. He pressed his hand to his collarbone. 'I thought I was going to have a heart attack.'
'I know,' said Clementine again. 'Me too.'
Sam leaned forward, his elbows on the table. 'It just brought it all back.' He sounded close to tears. 'Just seeing his face would -'
'The Margaret River shiraz!'
Their young waiter triumphantly presented the bottle like a prize.
It was the wrong wine but Clementine couldn't bear to see his face crumple. 'That's it!' she said in a 'well done you!' tone.
The waiter poured them overly generous glasses of wine, one hand behind his back. Red droplets stained the crisp white tablecloth. It might have been safer for him to use two hands.
'Are you ready to order?' the waiter beamed at them, flushed with success.