‘We all dance and sing.’
The woman in the tight leather trousers and an expression like a bulldog eating a pickled onion appeared behind him, slamming down a tray of cutlery onto the table at the far end of the room.
‘Dance. Sing,’ she muttered and stamped out again.
‘My beautiful wife, Anjelica,’ Rocco explained. ‘She is assisting in the kitchen as the chef has failed to appear.’
‘Assisting?’ came a screech from behind the door, where Anjelica had evidently been lurking. ‘Kilos of onions I have chopped. Kilos of rice I have washed. Is not assist.’
‘She is a wonderful cook,’ Rocco continued smoothly, ‘better even than my mother.’
‘Not difficult,’ Anjelica shouted, sticking her head around the galley door again, ‘your mother could burn anything. Pudding, salad, water.’
‘A little joke.’ Rocco chuckled. ‘We love to laugh.’
Anjelica left, muttering darkly to herself.
‘I will leave you in the helpful hands of our maître d’ Bernardo, who will be here momentarily,’ Rocco said, and he hurried after her.
More guests had arrived and settled into their places. On the table next to ours, Roy the retired CEO had already helped himself to some red wine and his wife Eileen was gazing out at the view and fidgeting with her pashmina. Craig the car dealer was on their table too, studying the menu card.
‘Turkey risotto,’ he said, and his wife Dawn looked worried. ‘Chicken salad, some sort of couscous extravaganza or spareribs.’
‘Yes, but do you think the turkey and the chicken are free range and organic?’ she said, tugging at her husband’s sleeve.
‘Of course it is,’ Craig said firmly, ‘I’m sure it said in the brochure.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said. ‘I hate to think…’
‘It probably led a better life than we have, with clean sheets every day and trips to the cinema at the weekend.’ Roy chuckled.
Dawn looked even more concerned, her sculpted eyebrows disappearing into her fringe.
‘Perhaps I’ll ask.’
A young couple arrived in the dining room and Roy raised his wine glass in salute.
‘You must be the honeymooners! Welcome to married life. Come and introduce yourselves now you’ve managed to find daylight. I remember what it was like when we were first married, don’t you, Eileen?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed unenthusiastically, ‘I do.’
‘Peter Evans,’ the young man said, ‘and this is my wife, Paige.’
He was a short stocky man, his wife a pretty brunette, and at the introduction they turned to each other and blushed.
‘Aw, now isn’t that sweet,’ Craig said. ‘“My wife”. You’ll get used to saying it, lad. The novelty will wear off.’
‘Come and join us,’ Roy said.
‘Actually, we booked a table for just the two of us, and my wife has said she would like to sit over there,’ Peter said, squaring his shoulders. ‘So perhaps we’d better.’
‘There you go. Now it begins,’ Craig chortled.
Evelyn rolled her eyes at me and I tried not to giggle.
A new couple arrived at the table next to us. He in slacks and a blazer with a flashy badge on the breast pocket, and she in a rather elegant grey dress.
‘Evening, everyone,’ the man called out. ‘I’m Don Marshall, this is my wife Belinda. Nice to meet you all. We’re really looking forwards to this. We’ve been just about everywhere apart from the Dalmatian Islands. It will be a new experience. Now then, does anyone play bridge?’
