His smile had no effect on her.
‘Bit cold in here too . . . Anything wrong?’
She looked at her watch. The penny dropped and he checked his own.
‘I’m sorry I’m late. I really am. I’m not normally a tardy person. I’ve been rushing around like a March hare all day. So many things to do and people to see, and then the bloody tube train broke down and I was stuck with a dozen people in the tunnel for ten, maybe fifteen minutes.’
‘You’re twenty minutes late,’ she said.
He looked wounded. ‘I swear if you knew the mileage I’d put in today you’d understand. When I finally got home I had the fastest shower I think I’ve ever had in my life. I left my place at the run and practically got dressed on the tube.’
She wasn’t impressed.
‘Look,’ he said, and stuck his feet out and pulled up the ends of his trousers to expose his socks: one black, one brown. ‘Odd socks,’ he exclaimed. ‘And that’s not all. As I was putting my shirt on I was hopping on one leg at the same time pulling on my underpants and I think I put one of my feet through the little slit that’s in the front because they’re god-awful tight and there’s a whole bunch of extra material at the back.’ He leaned over to lower his voice. ‘When I’m walking I think it looks like I’ve shit myself.’
She tried hard not to smile.
‘Please forgive me,’ he pressed his case. ‘It’ll never happen again. Let’s start over.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small gift-wrapped package, and placed it on the table in front of her. She looked at it and then at him.
‘It’s perfume. Good stuff, so I’m told.’
‘I don’t wear perfume,’ she said.
‘It’s not for you, it’s for your mum,’ he said, adjusting smoothly.
She smiled, catching the adjustment. ‘Thank you.’
‘You look absolutely gorgeous,’ he said and peered around the table to get a full look at her. ‘My God. She has legs too. I’ve never seen you in a skirt before.’
‘I can’t remember the last time I wore one. At school, I think.’
‘I’ll tell you something. If those old fogies back at you-know-where could see you now there might be a few shut faces. I’ve heard the complaints that you don’t look feminine enough. They must be a load of old fruits, that’s all I can say.’
‘They think I’m one.’
‘No way,’ he said, although he had heard that.
‘They call me the dyke.’
‘Well, I think some of those boys have spent far too long cooped up in that little camp with no one but each other for company.’
‘How do you know I’m not?’
‘If you are I’d have to say I’m flattered you think I’m the one who might turn you around. And I’d also have to say you’ve chosen wisely.’
‘You think highly of yourself.’
‘Is it true then? Are you a dyke?’
The waiter came over and handed them menus. ‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
Bill ordered the Sancerre, his favourite Loire, and the waiter left them.
She hadn’t answered and so he pushed on. ‘You don’t care to defend your sexuality either way then?’ he asked.
‘Is that all you’re here for?’
‘Well, I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit it was your beauty that got me interested in the first place. And yes, I would like to have sex with you before we get married.’
His forwardness fell on stony ground, which was a bit of a blow but his own fault. He had not stuck to his tried and tested theory to first get a woman talking about anything, then find their humour and get them laughing. Only then, when the temperature was right, steer the conversation to sex or a related subject that led to bodily contact. He was in a bit of a hole and had to get back on track. But before that he had to establish whether or not she was a lesbian.
‘I believe that when a man sets eyes on an attractive woman for the first time, and vice versa, the first question that pops into his head is, could this be the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with? Is she the one? Sometimes you get your answer the second she opens her mouth - bad teeth or something like that. But if you’re not put off you continue to get to know her, moment by moment, day by day, until she shows you something about herself that you could not live with. And of course, if you don’t find anything about her that you could not live with, then she’s the one for you.’
Before he got to the end of his little thesis, he felt like he was drowning in his own bullshit. From the way she looked at him, he realised this was not a theory to placate Aggy. ‘Maybe that’s too simple,’ he said, still wallowing. He knew that if he was going to get out of this now it was going to be with her help.
‘Would you still sleep with a woman who didn’t meet your expectations?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Having sex is a completely different thing. Most men would sleep with any woman whether he liked her or not, if she was physically attractive enough.’
‘And if you met a woman who was good enough to spend the rest of your life with and she jumped straight into bed with you, how would that affect her rating?’
‘You mean, before she got to know me?’
‘Yes.’
He grinned. ‘Alas, one of my biggest problems is my frankness and general honesty . . . So, yes, I’d have to say it could adversely affect her qualifications.’
‘You’d respect her less?’
‘I could only truthfully know that the next day of course, after I’d weighed everything in my mind, but probably.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d always be wondering if she might jump into bed just as quickly with someone else.’
‘What if she did it because you meant nothing to her?’
This was all wrong, Bill thought.They were talking about sex all right, but not in the way he’d anticipated. ‘I’d feel used,’ he said, trying to inject some fun into it.
‘And how do you feel about me?’ Aggy asked casually, without humour.
‘So far, I’d spend the rest of my life with you,’ he said without his usual smile.
‘So I shouldn’t even think about sleeping with you, unless I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you?’
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ he said. ‘Would you sleep with me if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with you?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Then we’re settled,’ he said, grinning, wondering if they had arrived back on firm ground.
She sipped her water.
‘I can’t believe none of them have hit on you - the guys in the detachment,’ he said.
She shrugged as she picked up the menu and perused it. ‘There’s not one that you fancy then? Not even a little?’ he asked, almost desperate to know if she was heterosexual. He might even welcome news that she had slept with one of the men at this point.
She glanced at him over the menu, wondering whether to tell him her more private thoughts or not.
‘Not that I’m worried about competition,’ he added. ‘I wouldn’t do anything such as get him transferred to another detachment, he said lying through his teeth.’
She smiled ever so slightly. ‘There was one,’ she finally admitted. ‘But he’s already left.’
‘That’s a pity,’ he said. It was a relief, not that the man had left, but that one had existed in her life.
‘He wouldn’t have been any competition anyway.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘It was a one-way street. I don’t think he fancied me.’
