The Ascendant

Chapter Forty-Six

We were given a window seat with a view of the leafy street and horsey looking passers by. Valentine Moon was playing softly around us as we took our seats, thanking the Head Waiter for his efforts.

Dawn chose the wine - Chardonnay, “light and fruity with a hint of gooseberry” - which, like everything else on the menu, was ludicrously expensive. It was, however, every bit as light and fruity as the waffley description promised, even to my untended pallet. We perused the menu, and after an exhaustive internal struggle, I managed to avoid ordering the cheapest items on the menu, instead going mid-range and plumping for the crab pate with melba toast, as my starter and Italian ravioli in Romesco sauce for the main course. Dawn was utterly ruthless, choosing by far the most expensive starter and main course the restaurant had to offer. I was aghast but managed to rally my spirits after reminding myself of the sums I had carried out this afternoon. That aside, however, I was quickly learning how easy it was in London to spend as much money as you like, as quickly as you like.

Dawn told me about some of the japes she got up to when she was a student at Cambridge, most of them involving a bloke called Humphrey, a girl called Charmaine and rather a lot of cloudy beer. Not wishing to deceive or mislead on such a seminal night, I told Dawn about the time I was suspended from school for throwing a bucket of water out of a second floor window onto the head of an unsuspecting teacher below, thoroughly dowsing his cigarette in the process, not to mention instigating the most extensive manhunt the school had seen for many a summer.

‘They eventually tracked me down in one of the storeroom cupboards. How’s your starter?’, I asked through gritted teeth.

‘It’s wonderful. The salmon’s been grilled just right and the lemon butter sauce is so rich, it’s absolutely divine.’ I thought people only talked like this on the TV. ‘How’s yours Ben?’

‘Oh, about the same. I mean, it’s excellent, the pate is really rich and the toast is light and crispy, both at the same time. Very satisfying.’

Dawn gave me a quizzical look but was quickly appeased once I offered her some pate served on a small slice of rounded toast. ‘Mmmm, I see what you mean,’ she said, which restored the mood of our meal.

The wine continued to flow between courses, with Dawn talking as powerfully and passionately as ever, regardless of the subject matter: the restaurant’s ambience, The Victoria and Albert Museum, her boss’s mid-life crisis, my unfortunate choice of shirt. Her opinions were always strong, her questions pointed.

‘So Ben, you’ve been paid, you’re joining a gym, you’re taking me out for a sumptuous meal, what else are you going to splash your cash on? A new wardrobe perhaps? I could take you over to Bond Street at the weekend, get you kited out in some dapper outfits.’

‘I thought I was already quite dapper.’

‘Province-dapper maybe, London-dapper: I’m afraid not sweetheart. That shirt with those trousers. I mean, they’re all right, but I take it you want to really look the part of the high flying insurance exec, don’t you? You want to be with it Ben. Swinging London or minging London: the choice is entirely yours my dear, although I may offer the occasional guiding opinion from time to time.’

I loved her insults: a symbol of caring, I decreed. ‘I suppose I could do with a couple of new shirts.’

‘Sure. Jeans, trousers, you’ll be needing some tee shirts as well, spring is about to be sprung Ben. You don’t want to be left behind. What you have to remember is that last season is always very last season, my dear,’ she said, only half jokingly.

The main course arrived, accompanied by another bottle of wine. Dawn’s propensity for wine consumption was at a significantly more advanced stage to mine. I kept my pace at a few steps behind, allowing Dawn to display her full cultural prowess (etiquette was something else I had to learn fast; glass holding, cutlery usage, waiter signals, food appraisals, to name a few) while I reverted to a familiar role: looking and learning.

The food was arranged across two enormous, deep plates, Dawn’s stacked high in the centre with a decorative sauce running round the edges, while mine was more sparse, with maybe half a dozen ravioli parcels swimming in a disproportionate amount of sauce.

‘You’d better ask for some bread with that,’ Dawn suggested, and I waived at a passing waiter a couple of times, convinced he was deliberately ignoring me, before he took the order, no doubt ready to add another tenner to the bill; surely the going rate for a couple of crusty cobs in such a refined establishment.

‘I’ll just try some of the sauce,’ said Dawn, carefully spooning some out of the side of my plate. ‘If I take one of your parcels you’ll probably want to charge me five quid!’

Dawn laughed and I joined in, for a second or two anyway. Her calculations were about right, although the parcels were significantly larger than their tinned cousins whom I knew so well.

‘The sauce is fantastic, have you tried a bit yet?’

‘No, I thought I’d wait for the bread to arrive first.’

‘Here, try some of mine,’ said Dawn, scything through her succulent, juicy steak. ‘It’s really tender and they’ve cooked it just how I like it.’ She held the sizeable chunk over the table, barbecue sauce and blood dripping down her fork as she did so. She eased it into my mouth, resting it on my tongue.

I chewed through the meat, allowing the juices to well in my mouth while the morsel slowly disintegrated, and then slipped effortlessly down my throat.

‘I should have ordered the same as you.’

Dawn pursed her lips together in agreement before tapping my plate with her fork. ‘You haven’t given yours a go yet Ben.’

I tore a slice of bread in half - it was fresh and still warm - and touched the circumference of the sauce, gently skimming through the lighter, oily residue.

‘Dunk it in there you big woofter,’ said Dawn. ‘It’ll be stone cold by the time you even get a taste of it with all that carry on.’

I did as I was told, and the sauce really was as good as Dawn had been making out. I adjusted my chair to make myself comfortable and took another sip of wine, to get back on my mission of romance and relaxation; sliced up a ravioli parcel, inspected the contents - chicken, spinach, garlic and some funny looking stuff - and got on with eating the damned thing. ‘It’s good,’ I told Dawn, satisfied.

‘We’ll have to report back to the others about the food here. Joe has been on the look out for somewhere different to take his new boyfriend. I think this place is really nice, what do you think?’

‘Yeah, it’s excellent,’ I said, swallowing another fiver’s worth, but we had moved, effortlessly, on to the staring-dotingly-into-each-other’s-eyes stage, transmitting messages of love, hope, trust and lust.

The dessert menu came: sticky toffee pudding and death by chocolate were ordered, along with another bottle of wine, two Irish coffees, a couple of Cuban cigars and, a couple of hours later, a taxi home.