Cathy Glass - Run, Mummy, Run

‘Stay put and I’ll get the umbrella from the boot,’ he said, cutting the engine, ‘I’ll impress you with my chivalry. And don’t forget to tell Belinda.’

Aisha laughed easily, she felt far more relaxed now. Mark reached behind her, unhooked his jacket from the rear, slipped it on, and threw open his door. The wind and rain sprang to seek refuge inside the car before he slammed the door shut. Aisha heard the boot open and close, and then he was at her window, shaking out a large golfing umbrella, which he pointed into the wind. He opened her door and she got out and stood beside him, close, but not quite touching. With Mark holding the umbrella like a shield into the wind, they began across the car park. Aisha looked down and concentrated on trying to avoid the little potholes that were quickly filling up with water.

‘Who would ever live in this country?’ Mark shouted against the wind. ‘It’s a wonder any of us survive in this climate.’

‘My father would,’ she shouted back. ‘He wouldn’t live anywhere else.’

‘He must be mad!’ he said. ‘But I’m glad for my sake he is, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.’

The door to the restaurant was opened from inside as they approached and to Aisha’s small surprise she found that not only was the maitre d’ waiting for them, but that he knew Mark. ‘Nice to see you again, Mr Williams,’ he said with a small nod. They shook hands. ‘It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been keeping well?’

‘Yes, and yourself?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

Mark passed him the umbrella, and then helped Aisha out of her coat.

‘Your table is ready,’ the maitre d’ said. ‘Or would you and your guest like a drink first?’

Mark turned to Aisha. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Shall we go straight through and order a drink at the table?’

She nodded and ran her hands over her skirt, wishing she’d changed out of her office suit. Now she was inside, the restaurant seemed very grand and she felt underdressed. The maitre d’ led the way from reception, down a small carpeted hall and into the dinning room, which was full and buzzed with conversation and the chink of cutlery. A huge inglenook fire roared orange and yellow and above it rose the crooked redbrick chimney from which the inn had taken its name. To their right a large party of a dozen or more were opening champagne for a birthday celebration, while the other tables, nestled between the exposed oak pillars, were occupied by small groups and couples. The room was warm and cosy and not as formal as Aisha thought it might be. The maitre d’ led them down the centre aisle, between the tables with their single candles and flowers. Aisha noticed that the other diners, men and women, looked up as Mark passed, their gaze lingering. It wasn’t just Mark’s stature, she thought, although it was true he didn’t stoop as some tall men do, but he had that unmistakable quality – that presence of being – that drew people’s attention. Aisha felt proud that she was with him for she also noticed that as a diner’s gaze left Mark, it went to her, as though some of his charisma was rubbing off.

The maitre d’ removed a reserved sign from a table in a secluded alcove and drew out a chair for Aisha. He eased it under her as she sat, while Mark took the chair opposite. The maitre d’ handed each of them a large leather-bound menu. ‘Would you like a drink now, sir?’ he asked as a waiter appeared and hovered, ready to take their order.

Mark looked at Aisha. ‘A mineral water, please,’ she said.

‘And a gin and tonic for me, with ice and lemon,’ Mark added.

‘Very good, sir,’ the maitre d’ said and, with another slight nod, left, followed by the drinks waiter.

Aisha opened the menu and propped it between the table and her lap. She began studying the extensive list of dishes presented in flourishing italics.

‘Well?’ Mark asked after a moment. ‘What do you think?’

‘I’m not sure yet. There’s so much to choose from.’

‘No, I mean the restaurant. Do you like it?’

She looked up with a nervous little laugh. ‘Oh, yes, it’s very nice. I’m so pleased you suggested it.’

‘Good. Although I can’t take all the credit. I ran it past Belinda first.’

Aisha laughed again. ‘Belinda has very good taste.’

‘Absolutely,’ Mark said, and his eyes lingered admiringly until she looked away embarrassed. ‘Anyway, Michael Winner reviewed it once in his column,’ he continued. ‘Do you read the Sunday Times?’

She looked up again. ‘I do. But the arrogance of the man! It’s a wonder restaurateurs let him in. I’m sure I wouldn’t.’

‘I suppose any publicity is better than none.’ Mark laughed.

The starters arrived and as they ate and talked of work – a subject which came easily to them both – it crossed Aisha’s mind how proud her father would be to see her sitting here now, in this very nice restaurant, as confident and relaxed as Mark and the other diners. She thought that one day she would treat her parents to dinner here: book the table, order the food, and call for the bill at the end, to show them just how self-assured she could be, how at home she was in these surroundings.

‘I’m incredibly well organized,’ Mark said by way of confession as her chicken and his steak arrived. Aisha nodded and helped herself to the vegetables from the dishes the waiter had placed in the centre of the table. ‘It can be seen as a fault,’ he said. ‘Angela certainly thought it was.’ Aisha looked up and met his gaze. ‘Belinda told you about Angela, didn’t she?’ Mark asked, slightly concerned.

‘Not really, she mentioned that you had been married before, but that was all.’

‘I see.’ Mark looked down and sliced into his rare steak. ‘OK, it’s probably a good idea if I tell you now and then we’ll get it out of the way.’ He chewed and swallowed before continuing as Aisha sipped her mineral water, waiting. ‘It was the classic tale of marrying too young really,’ he began, ‘and then spending too much time at work. I was in my first position with the company and wanted to do well. My career has always been important to me, as I know yours is to you.’ Aisha nodded. ‘You don’t get a second chance in my line of work – if you haven’t made it by the time you’re thirty, you can forget it. With hindsight, I can see how isolated Angela must have felt, alone in the house all day with only the children for company. She became very depressed and was prescribed Valium. It turned out to be the worst thing that could have happened. We might have ridden out the rough patch had it not been for that drug. It affected her moods and she became a different person.’ Mark suddenly stopped talking. He held his cutlery still and looked carefully at Aisha. ‘You don’t mind me going into this detail, do you? Only I feel it’s important we’re honest with each other right from the beginning.’

‘No, not at all,’ Aisha said. ‘I’m pleased you can.’ She latched on to the word ‘beginning’ as proof there could be more: another meeting, another date, which meant Mark was finding her company acceptable and possibly even enjoying it.

‘Angela cited unreasonable behaviour as grounds for the divorce,’ Mark continued. ‘The little time I spent at home, my neglect of her and the children, and something she called my obsessive attention to detail. I wasn’t going to sign the divorce petition to begin with – it made me sound like a nut case, when all I had been doing was working my socks off to try and provide the best for my wife and family. But my solicitor said I should sign it, that it was the easiest way out, and it would be expensive to defend a divorce, so I did. I signed the papers and gave Angela the house and everything in it. She moved her new bloke in the same day I moved out. I’d no idea she was seeing someone. I was gutted.’