And sure enough, after what seemed minutes sitting in silence, a tray arrived carrying the wine and San Pellegrino and a bucket of ice, obviously to back up the need for the sauvignon to be at its particular ice-cold temperature. But it would weaken its mineral strength, the ice, he thought, staring at the silver bucket, seeing a convex face stare back. His reflection was surprised by his concern. Manita left the room, without attempting to pour anything, returning with the ribs and squab and lettuce. Lomita was in mid flow.

‘…and people pouring my wine in restaurants, and the water, is my absolute hate. I get so annoyed, I drink at my own pace, they don’t feed me for God’s sake, I don’t eat at their pace, so why in God’s name do they demand I drink at their pace. Moneymaker that’s all. The ribs are all for you. Did I tell you I hate them?’

‘You did.’

The first words he seemed to have said in a while, they sounded flat, but in no way did he wish to appear ungrateful or rude.

‘I am in a little pain so have taken a Vicodin, which I love – it makes me go a little trippy.’

The word ‘trippy’, which initially seemed out of place coming from her mouth, on reflection seemed appropriate as this was a girl who had grown up in the hippy era. A sixties, Aquarius, flowers-in-her-hair girl.

‘I have…’

She went on. There was no stopping her, he didn’t intend to try.

‘A pharmaceutical treasure chest, all brought back from Mexico, where I have a house. I love Mexico. Manita and I are always down there, I much prefer it to here. Don’t you want this plum sauce on your lettuce with your squab?’

Not really sure what squab was anyway, or the way to eat it, he spooned some of the sauce onto the lettuce. It seemed a very simple dish for a restaurant to bother with, and he got no tips from her as to what to do, she had pushed the squab to one side and was doing her usual, well it was only his second experience of her eating habits, but he was familiar with her thing of picking at a lettuce leaf. It tasted like chicken and he took a knife and fork to the whole thing, in the absence of any alternative being proposed, desperate to move on to the spare ribs. The things that all men loved.

‘You mentioned though, that you sometimes watch a movie after dinner, and I assumed, I’m not sure why, it would have been one of yours.’

He instinctively thought he should attempt to crawl out of the hole.

‘Well I am sure, sorry, because of your looks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to appear, sorry, I can’t think of the word.’