for another four customers to be served before I managed to secure the dry martini and a Scotch on the rocks for myself. The barman didn’t deserve the tip I left him, but I hadn’t any more time to waste waiting for the change.
I carried the drinks back to the far corner of the foyer, where Anna stood studying her programme. She was silhouetted against a window, and in that stylish red silk dress, the light emphasised her slim, elegant figure.
I handed her the dry martini, aware that my limited time had almost run out.
“Thank you,” she said, giving me another disarming smile.
“How did you come to have a spare ticket?” I asked as she took a sip from her drink.
“My partner was held up on an emergency case at the last minute,” she explained. “Just one of the problems of being a doctor.”
“Pity. They missed a quite remarkable production,” I prompted, hoping to tease out of her whether her partner was male or female.
“Yes,” said Anna. “I tried to book seats when it was still at the National Theatre, but they were sold out for any performances I was able to make, so when a friend offered me two tickets at the last minute, I jumped at them. After all, it’s coming off in a few weeks.” She took another sip from her martini. “What about you?” she asked as the three-minute bell sounded.
There was no such line in my script.
“Me?”
“Yes, Michael,” she said, a hint of teasing in her voice. “How did you come to be looking for a spare seat at the last moment?”
“Sharon Stone was tied up for the evening, and at the last second Princess Diana told me that she would have loved to have come, but she was trying to keep a low profile.”
Anna laughed.
“Actually, I read some of the crits, and I dropped in on the off-chance of picking up a spare ticket.”
“And you picked up a spare woman as well,” said Anna, as the two-minute bell went. I wouldn’t have dared to include such a bold line in her script — or was there a hint of mockery in those hazel eyes?
“I certainly did,” I replied lightly. “So, are you a doctor as well?”
“As well as what?” asked Anna.
“As well as your partner,” I said, not sure if she was still teasing.
“Yes. I’m a GP in Fulham. There are three of us in the practice, but I was the only one who could escape tonight. And what do you do when you’re not chatting up Sharon Stone or escorting Princess Diana to the theatre?”
“I’m in the restaurant business,” I told her.
“That must be one of the few jobs with worse hours and tougher working conditions than mine,” Anna said as the one-minute bell sounded.
I looked into those hazel eyes and wanted to say — Anna, let’s forget the second act: I realise the play’s superb, but all I want to do is spend the rest of the evening alone with you, not jammed into a crowded auditorium with eight hundred other people.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
I tried to recall what she had just said. “I expect we get more customer complaints than you do,” was the best I could manage.
“I doubt it,” Anna said, quite sharply. “If you’re a woman in the medical profession and you don’t cure your patients within a couple of days, they immediately want to know if you’re fully qualified.”
I laughed, and finished my drink as a voice boomed over the Tannoy, “Would the audience please take their seats for the second act. The curtain is about to rise.”
“We ought to be getting back,” Anna said, placing her empty glass on the nearest window ledge.
“I suppose so,” I said reluctantly, and led her in the opposite direction to the one in which I really wanted to take her.
“Thanks for the drink,” she said as we returned to our seats.
“Small recompense,” I replied. She glanced up at me questioningly. “For such a good ticket,” I explained.
She smiled as we made our way along the row, stepping awkwardly over more toes. I was just about to risk a further remark when the house lights dimmed.
During the second act I turned to smile in Anna’s direction whenever there was laughter, and was occasionally rewarded with a warm response. But my supreme moment of triumph came towards the end of the act, when the detective showed the daughter a photograph of the dead woman. She gave a piercing scream, and the stage lights were suddenly switched off.
Anna grabbed my hand, but quickly released it and apologised.
“Not at all,” I whispered. “I only just stopped myself from doing the same thing.” In the darkened theatre, I couldn’t tell how she responded.
A moment later the phone on the stage rang. Everyone in the audience knew it must be the detective on the other end of the line, even if they couldn’t be sure what he was going to say. That final scene had the whole house gripped.
After the lights dimmed for the last time, the cast returned to the stage and deservedly received a long ovation, taking several curtain calls.
When the curtain was finally lowered, Anna turned to me and said, “What a remarkable production. I’m so glad I didn’t miss it. And I’m even more pleased that I didn’t have to see it alone.”
“Me too,” I told her, ignoring the fact that I’d never planned to spend the evening at the theatre in the first place.
We made our way up the aisle together as the audience flowed out of the theatre like a slow-moving river. I wasted those few precious moments discussing the merits of the cast, the power of the director’s interpretation, the originality of the macabre set and even the Edwardian costumes, before we reached the double doors that led back out into the real world.
“Goodbye, Michael,” Anna said. “Thank you for adding to my enjoyment of the evening.” She shook me by the hand.
“Goodbye,” I said, gazing once again into those hazel eyes.
She turned to go, and I wondered if I would ever see her again.
“Anna,” I said.
She glanced back in my direction.
“If you’re not doing anything in particular, would you care to join me for dinner …”
Author’s Note
Rare
