“The lobster would have the advantage of mobility,” said Bruce. “But the oyster has pretty good defences, I would have thought. It would probably be a stand-off.”
“Yes,” agreed Julia. “Interesting.”
The waiter came and took their order. “And wine?” he asked.
Bruce looked at the list. “You know, I was in the wine trade for a while,” he said to Julia, but loud enough for the waiter to hear.
“I’ll fetch the sommelier,” said the waiter.
“No need . . .” Bruce began. But the waiter had moved off and was whispering something into the ear of a colleague. The sommelier nodded and came over to Bruce and Julia’s table.
“So, sir,” he said. “Have you any ideas?”
Bruce looked at the wine list. “Bit thin,” he said. “No offence, of course. No Brunello, for instance.” He smiled at Julia as he spoke. She made a face as if to mourn the absence of Brunello.
“Oh, but I think there is, sir,” said the sommelier. “Perhaps you did not register the name of the producers. Look, over there, for example. Banfi. We don’t always feel it’s necessary to describe
exactly where a wine comes from. We assume that in many cases people know . . .”
“Where?” snapped Bruce. “Oh, yes, Banfi. Wrong side, of course.”
“Of what, sir?”
“The river,” said Bruce.
“But there isn’t a river in Montalcino,” said the sommelier gently. “Perhaps you’re thinking of somewhere else. The Arno perhaps?”
Bruce did not respond to this; he was peering at the list.
“What about a Chianti?” he said. “What about this one here?”
The sommelier peered over his shoulder. “Mmm,” he said.
“I find that a bit unexciting, personally.”
“Well, why do you have it on the list, then?” Bruce said. His tone was now defensive, rattled.
“Well,” said the sommelier, smiling, “we like to have one or two – how shall I put it? – pedestrian wines for some of our diners who have . . . well, not very sophisticated tastes. We don’t actually carry Blue Nun, but that’s pretty much for the diner who would go for a bottle of Blue Nun. I would have thought that you might be interested in something much more . . . much more complex.”
Bruce kept his eyes on the list. “We’ll have a bottle of this,”
he said, pointing wildly.
“Oh, a very good choice,” said the sommelier. “And well worth the extra money. I always say that when you pay that much, you’re on safe ground. Well chosen, sir.”
Bruce ate his lobster with gusto, watched by Julia, whose oysters had slipped down with alacrity. He offered her a claw, but she declined, a small appetite for one so curvaceous, Bruce thought.
126
“I prefer really small courses,” she said. “We went to a restaurant in New York once, you know the one near the new modern art thingy. Mummy, or whatever it’s called.”
“MoMA,” muttered Bruce, wiping mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.
“That’s the place. Strange name.”
Bruce reached out and patted her gently on the wrist.
“Nothing to do with mother,” he said. “It stands for the Museum of Modern Art.”
Julia thought for a moment. “I don’t get it. Anyway, this place, you wouldn’t know that it’s a restaurant, as there’s nothing on the door. Just a glass door. It’s really cool.”
Bruce nodded. “That’s to keep the wrong sort out,” he said.
“They have to do that. It’s the same in London. There are no signs outside the really good clubs. Nothing to tell you they’re there. You could spend weeks in London and not see any of the really good places because you just wouldn’t know.”
Julia looked at Bruce. She was studying his chin, which had a cleft that she found quite fascinating. She watched that and she noticed, too, how when he smiled the smallest dimple appeared in each of his cheeks. It was unfair, she thought, it really was that a man should have a skin like that and not have to worry about moisturisers and all the expensive things that she had to use. Unfair, just unfair. He put something on his hair, though, something with a rather strange smell. What was it?
Cloves? Perhaps she should ask him. Would he mind? Or she could find out by going through his things in the bathroom, that would be easy, and interesting. Julia liked going through men’s things in the bathroom; it was a sort of hobby, really.
She brought herself back to the present. “Yes,” she said. “That restaurant in New York served tiny portions. Tiny. This size.”
She made a tight circle with her thumb and forefinger.
