Gallery Whispers

36

With every passing minute Karen Neville grew more uncomfortable as she sat in the centre of the restaurant, facing the door, watching each shadow cast on its glass panel by the street light outside.

Giuliano's is at its quietest in the middle of the evening, since most of its trade comes from theatre-going diners before and after the nightly performances at the Playhouse.

She took yet another sip of her San Pellegrino, and glanced at her watch yet again: it showed nine thirty-three, and her aqua minerale was almost finished. She was sure that the young waiter was laughing at her as he sidled up to her table. 'Can I bring you a glass of wine, perhaps, madame?' he asked.

'No thanks,' she said, grimly. 'You can leave a menu though.'

'You are waiting for a gentleman, si?' She knew that his accent was authentic, since most of Edinburgh's Italian restaurants employ genuinely Italian waiters.

Karen fixed him with a look that would have frozen South Miami.

The waiter simply shook his head. 'He mus' be a crazy man, to keep you waiting,' he grinned.

On another night she would have gone along with the joke, perhaps flirted with the olive-skinned youth… who was not bad looking, she admitted to herself. On another night, in fact, she might have called his bluff. But the beginnings of anger were stirring in her; at that moment he was simply a nuisance to be blown away.

'No,' she said. 'He has responsibilities at home. He has to put his partner to bed every night; Dennis is very fussy about that. I'm used to it.' At that moment, the door swung open, and Wayne Ventnor swept into the restaurant. As he approached, she noticed that his limp seemed more pronounced than it had at the conference centre.

'Karen, I am so sorry,' he burst out. 'I was afraid you'd have given up on me by now.' He smiled as he sat opposite her, and she felt her annoyance dissolve.

'Another ten minutes,' she replied, 'and you'd have found me eating.

But it's okay. Did you have trouble with your friend?'

'No, that wasn't it. Edinburgh is a bloody awful place to find a taxi, that's all. No, Dennis is never a problem. He might look a bit grumpy, but he's a good bloke really.'

'Why's he in the wheelchair?'

Wayne frowned. 'He's got some sort of degenerative disease. Not MS, but something similar. I don't know. I'm ignorant when it comes to medicine.'

'How about you? Where did the limp come from?'

'From falling off a ladder on my rig.' He smiled at her. 'Hardly your stereotypical Aussies, are we? One in a chair, the other with a bent wing.'

'You're not limping just now,' she said, softly.

They concentrated on their menu cards for a few minutes; once the deflated waiter had departed for the kitchen with their orders, Karen turned to the Australian. 'So how did the rest of your day go?'

'Just like the part you saw. The sandwiches at lunchtime were okay, though. If it hadn't been for you, that would probably have been the highlight of the day. How about you?'

The? Oh, I just went back to base and got on with the preparation of our next event.' Inwardly she groaned. Don't chuck in unnecessary detail, she scolded herself.

'And what's that?' came the inevitable question.

'A group marketing seminar for a big insurance company,' she offered, hoping that it sounded sufficiently boring to end his interest.

'What's your company called?' he asked her. For a second, she wondered whether it might be a trick question.

'I thought I told you this morning, I'm freelance. I have an associate; we trade jointly as McGuire and Neville. We don't have an office, though; we work from home.'

She imagined that she saw a shadow cross his face. 'Ah,' he said.

'You live together.'

'No we don't. I'm sorry, I meant from each of our homes. He's married, and I…' She lowered her voice. 'I'm gay.'

In the silence that followed, she asked herself what had made her say that. Did she still suspect him? Or had she simply laid down a marker of her determination to follow McGuire's advice on pillow talk? Whatever the reasoning behind her instinctive remark, his reaction made it superfluous.

'That's all right then,' he said, taking her breath away as she had taken his. 'So ami.'

They laughed; spontaneously and simultaneously. 'I know a joke about a gay Australian,' Karen offered.

'Sure. He preferred women to beer.' Suddenly all her uncertainty was gone. She felt completely relaxed.

'Which one are you, by the way?' he asked. 'McGuire or Neville?

You realise I don't even know your second name.'

'Didn't you read my badge at the conference centre? Or are you dyslexic on top of everything else? I'm Karen Neville.' She smiled as she offered her hand. 'Pleased to meet you.'