Madly (New York 2)

“I’ve always thought cradle-robbing was a gross idea. I mean, either a woman is old enough that she’s a woman, or she’s not. She doesn’t become a baby just because the guy she’s with is super old. It gets all pervy in my head when I think about it.” She tipped her glass at him. “I’m twenty-six. Make of that what you will.”

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His eyes widened a fraction before he took them away to examine the wine in his glass. “I believe there’s a piece of cork in here.”

“That’s outrageous. You should tell the waiter.”

He glanced up to see if she meant it. She didn’t. She’d only been trying to get him to look at her.

“I couldn’t do that. If I told him, he’d be terribly embarrassed, and then I’d be embarrassed, and there’d be no way to put it right, and that’s our meal ruined.”

“I don’t know how you people ever managed to build an empire.”

He smiled. “I’ll admit, I’ve had the same thought.”

The waiter brought them a platter with crackers and breads of various sorts, cheese, and pickles.

“This is like a ploughman’s platter, right?”

“Like. Everything here is like it might be in England, but nothing here is as it would be actually. This is a sort of ploughman’s lunch, served as an appetizer course alongside wine you’d never find in an English pub, on a menu that includes everything from aged game to fish and chips to blood pudding, which comes from Scotland. It’s rather a mess.”

“That makes me like it so much more. And I already liked it a lot.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Why do you eat here if it’s a mess?”

“It was Beatrice’s idea the first time. She loves it. And it sounds like home, and looks a bit like my parents’ dining room at Leyton, if you squint.”

“Leyton? That’s the town?”

“That’s the name of the house.”

“I’ve never known anyone whose house had a name. It’s very Downton Abbey.”

“I haven’t seen it. It’s in my queue, though.”

“Mmm. So, I’m still waiting to hear you say something about twenty-six…? Don’t think I didn’t notice that whole duck-and-roll you did there.”

He put his index finger into the glass, removed a speck of cork, and wiped his finger on his napkin. Somehow, he made this seem as though it was the only thing to do, and perfectly correct in every way. “Twenty-six is your age, and so twenty-six must be the correct age for you.”

“Very deft, Chamberlain.”

He raised his glass and touched it to hers. “Cheers. Now, tell me about May.”

They snacked on the cheese and crackers as Allie caught him up on all the developments of her morning and he told her about work and Bea’s touristing around the city with Nev and Cath. Their salads arrived and were dispatched as they talked about some of the things Allie would need to decide if she was going to finance Ben’s restaurant, which Winston seemed to find an intriguing possibility.

He was in every way pleasant and interesting company. Which shouldn’t have been a completely unfamiliar experience to Allie. But it was.

The main courses arrived.

Allie poked her blood pudding gently with her fork. “It looks like ordinary sausage, but turned evil. The evil older brother of sausage.”

“What were you anticipating?”

“I sort of hoped I would cut into it and the blood would ooze all over my plate. Like molten chocolate cake, but more disgusting.”

“That’s vivid.” Winston had ordered filet of sole. It was a very correct piece of fish, with a wedge of lemon, a sprinkling of salt and pepper, and three precise sprigs of parsley.