Finn pushed the door open, and she entered the restaurant first, glancing around. Finn stepped up to her, and took out the letter, held it tightly in his hand, seeking Gladys out eagerly.

A moment later the waitress spotted Moira and came hurrying over, her face full of smiles.

‘Welcome back!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have just the right table for you.’

Finn said, ‘This is for ye, from Mr Kennedy.’ He handed her the letter. She took it from him.

Gladys smiled at him. ‘Hello, Finn. Welcome to you as well. Come along, there’s a lovely table right here, the one Mr Kennedy likes, it just so happens.’

They both sat down, and Moira said, ‘Thank you, Gladys. And perhaps you should read Mr Kennedy’s letter.’

‘Oh, yes, I will. In a minute. Can I get you something to drink, my lady? Tea? Lemonade?’

‘Tea for me, please,’ Moira murmured, smiling at her.

‘I’ll have the same, please,’ Finn said.

‘Right away, and I’ll bring the menus.’

As Gladys disappeared, Finn looked at Moira, and asked with a frown, ‘Why does she call ye my lady?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Finn,’ Moira muttered. ‘Perhaps she just means lady.’

‘Some waitresses call women madam,’ Finn pointed out. ‘And you’re a miss, aren’t you?’

Laughter trickled through Moira; she couldn’t help it. He was a smart one, Finn. When she managed, finally, to calm herself, she said, ‘She wants to be polite, that’s all. Gladys is that kind of person. She wants to please her customers.’

He nodded. ‘Well, how old are ye anyway?’

‘A man must never ask a woman her age, Finn.’

‘Oh, why not?’ He sounded genuinely puzzled.

‘Because it’s a very personal question, and just a bit rude, bad-mannered.’

‘I bet ye’re seventeen or eighteen,’ Finn shot back, squinting at her, obviously taking her measure, his eyes roaming over her.

Since she had nothing to hide about her age, Moira answered in an amused tone, ‘A good guess on your part, Finn. I was eighteen in May, early in May, in fact.’

Gladys returned with the tea and menus, and reminded them about the other dishes available, written on the blackboard in chalk on the far wall.

‘Take your time,’ the waitress said as she hurried away.

Moira picked up the menu and perused it for a while, not really feeling hungry. She wanted something light. She glanced over the menu, which was full of hearty dishes, when Finn said, ‘Do ye knows what ye want?’

‘I think I’ll have some fish, with vegetables. That’s it, yes, that’s enough. I have a small appetite.’

‘I see potted shrimps, I’ll have that.’

Finn put down his menu, and said, with a grin, ‘Mr Kennedy would say it’s a bit of a fishy tea we’re having.’