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‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘And remember...’
His voice halted mid-sentence as the mood in the room suddenly changed, everybody’s attention suddenly diverted. Not just Eric’s and not just Mary’s. The whole room turned—even waiters stopped for a brief second. Everybody was looking at the man who was entering the restaurant.
Costa Leventis wasnotwhat she was expecting.
Nor was her reaction.
Inexplicably she shivered, for it felt as if she’d just recognised a friend.
And Mary had no friends.
He was tall. Not just tall, but noticeably so. With black, longish wavy hair, he was distinctly unshaven. Given it was black-tie only, and he was not wearing one, a critic might say he was disrespecting the room. But as he approached she watched the fluid lines of his immaculately cut black suit which he wore with a black shirt. He was without a doubt the most naturally elegant person in the room.
She’d expected from Eric’s brief description someone brasher, and certainly younger, but she guessed he was in his mid-thirties. It would seem there was no one with him for Mary to ‘entertain’, for he had entered the restaurant alone.
Given the distasteful company she found herself keeping, Mary wasn’t quite sure why the sight of such an imposing man should feel something of a relief. Yet it did.
Safety in numbers, Mary told herself as she pushed her shaking legs to a stand on his approach.
‘Eric.’ Costa Leventis nodded as he shook Eric’s outstretched hand and then turned to Mary, briefly acknowledging her. ‘This is...?’ he politely enquired, holding out his hand.
There was a bit of hesitation from Eric as he searched his short-term memory. ‘Mary.’
‘Mary?’ he repeated, perhaps expecting a fuller introduction.
‘Mary from London,’ she replied as he took her hand and briefly shook it.
‘An unusual surname.’
She frowned, at first a little bemused by his words, then kicked herself for her stupid response. But there was no time to rectify it. And this man clearly did not need her surname, for his attention had already moved back to Eric, and it would seem Costa had a question for him.
‘We were supposed to be meeting at the bar, and yet they told me you were waiting for me in here?’
‘Of course.’ Eric nodded. ‘It’s your first night back in London and it’s been far too long since we sat down to dinner.’
‘Is that so?’ Costa said as they took their seats.
He looked as if he was the kind of man loathed anyone making presumptive claims on his time, and Ridgemont was speaking like a disgruntled lover.
‘How long are you here for?’ Ridgemont asked.
‘It depends,’ Costa responded evasively. He turned to the hovering waiter and ordered his favourite cognac.
‘I was thinking champagne rather than brandy.’
Eric gave a short burst of laughter and Mary realised that in Costa’s presence he was actually nervous.
‘There’s a lot to celebrate after all.’
‘Champagne for Mr Ridgemont,’ Costa said, and then glanced over to her. ‘Mary?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Have some champagne,’ Eric pushed.
‘No, thank you,’ she insisted, her anxiety rising, because surely if he were her real date then Eric would know that she didn’t drink. But oughtn’t she to join in if there was to be a celebratory toast? ‘I’ll have sparkling water, please.’
‘Champagne for the table,’ Eric snapped to the patient waiter.
