‘Together? I mean, spooned on top of the bun thing?’
‘Exactly.’
Georgia turned back to the menu.
‘My goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s a pudding here for a thousand dollars.’
‘The Golden Opulence,’ said Amy. ‘I never tried it, but I think you get gold leaf sprinkles and flavoured caviar and a golden spoon to eat it with.’
‘Hmm, my mother used to have a phrase: “more money than sense”,’ said Georgia.
‘Well, my mom used to bring me here on my birthday and she had a saying too: “you don’t come here for a salad”. You’ve gotta splurge. Seeing as it’s a special occasion.’
‘Speaking of which, when are you planning on seeing your parents?’
‘That’s up to you . . .’
‘You should go tomorrow night, of course. Christmas Eve. You should certainly wake up in your own bed on Christmas morning.’
What Georgia was suggesting was far more generous than Amy had been expecting.
‘But what about you?’
Georgia waved one thin, crepey hand.
‘Don’t worry about me. I intend to have a quiet night with a good glass of wine. Now, let’s order. How about a pot-pie and this thing called frozen hot chocolate?’
Amy giggled.
‘You’ve read my mind.’
They ordered from the waitress and Amy smiled at the sight of a table of noisy kids laughing and making a glorious mess. As she slurped her frozen hot chocolate, she glanced up and saw Georgia looking at her.
‘You didn’t feel very comfortable in the restaurant last night, did you?’
Amy shrugged.
‘The food and the wine were great, but it just reminded me of a night I had in London a couple of weeks ago. The night when me and my boyfriend kind of finished.’
Georgia prodded gently, and Amy found herself unburdening the story of the Foreign Office dinner.
‘I never thought it mattered which glass or knife you used, not really. But apparently it does to some people.’
‘It sounds as if your boyfriend’s parents set you up to fail, deliberately. I find unkindness more of a cardinal sin than any lapse in table manners.’
‘I think Daniel was just too influenced by his family, by his background.’
‘Are you making excuses for him?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m just sad. Sad that there are still people out there who want to make you feel bad about yourself just because of where you come from.’
‘I believe it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.’
‘So now it’s my fault?’ she queried.
‘Not at all. I just think you should stop thinking you’re not good enough and remind yourself precisely how wonderful you are.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Amy said, twisting her spoon around her empty glass. ‘I live in a tiny studio apartment, I have some great friend at the Forge, but we all know it’s just paying the rent. My career is going nowhere. My life is going nowhere . . .’