London Broil Read Free

unless they are very athletic,
     or fastidious dieters. He is neither of those, she thought. It's
     a silverback thing, a sign of maturity. How unfair that older
     men can look attractive even with fat, whereas older women
     cannot. In order to maintain her figure, she had to limit her
     intake of food on the non-restaurant days of the week.

 
    "Perhaps it's
     time we met," he said. "Since you're drinking a red tonight, I
     wonder if you'd like to share the rest of my bottle. It's barely
     been touched-- an Australian GSM blend." Something in his tone
     told her that he had observed her habitual preference for white
     wines.

 
    "I'd be
     delighted," she said. "Thank you. It's true I don't often drink
     reds. GSM's... aren't those similar to the Rhône reds?" Be
     careful, she said to herself. You've already had one glass. Let
     him drink most of it.

 
    As he leaned over
     to retrieve the bottle and his glass, she rose and pointing to
     the seat he was about to take, said, "I'll sit there. You sit
     facing the front." She quickly slid into the chair, brushing
     past him and inhaling his scent, which was warm spice mingled
     with tobacco. She pulled her plate and flatware across the table
     toward herself, and then leaned over to draw her purse from
     under the table and slip her book and reading glasses into it.
     As she looked up at him, still standing beside her chair, he
     raised one brow slightly, and then nodded. After arranging the
     wine, he settled in the chair opposite and put one hand up to
     loosen his tie. He refilled his glass, took a drink (holding the
     glass by the stem, she noted with approval), and there was a
     moment of silence while they assessed one another.

 
    The bustle of
     moving had attracted the attention of Babur, who arrived with an
     unhappy look on his face. "I'm sorry about the trouble, Babur,"
     she said, adding firmly, "we're going to finish the meal
     together." And to him she said, "Did you already order your
     food?"

 
    "Yes, beef qorma and sesame naan ."

 
    "All right.
     Babur, would you please bring me some sabzi ?" As the server
     left, she returned her attention to her new dinner partner, and
     thought, I can't believe he is sitting with me. How strange, and
     how delicious.

 
    "American, are
     you?" he said. "Why do you come here so often, and what shall I
     call you?"

 
    He was
     surprisingly direct for an Englishman, almost rude, she thought,
     but answered calmly, "My name is Laura, and I come here because
     I like the food. I've been eating here every Friday."

 
    "Yes, I know," he
     replied. "You usually come alone. That lanky bloke with the
     glasses, is he your boyfriend?"

 
    She paused, and
     then said smiling, "I don't see that it's any business of yours,
     but no, he is not my boyfriend."

 
    "Live around
     here, I suppose?"

 
    Instead of
     answering the question, she said, "May I ask your name, and why you come here so
     often?" With so many different women, it was on the tip of her
     tongue to add, but she didn't.

 
    He put out his
     hand and said, "James Whelan. I work near here. At the London Herald ."
     Grasping his hand, she gave it a firm squeeze and a shake,
     trying to ignore how warm it felt. So he was a journalist after
     all. That made sense; probably some of the people he brought
     here were those he worked with. The red-haired woman in the
     pantsuit, definitely, and the man. But she was not so certain
     about the others.

 
    "A journalist.
     That explains why you ask a lot of direct questions," she said.
     "I can't make anything of your accent. Are you a London native?"
     She finished her glass of wine and he quickly poured her some of
     the GSM.

 
    "Oh no, Ireland,
     though I don't have much Irish left in my speech. Belfast. I've
     not lived there for many years." He frowned slightly as he said
     this, causing two little lines to deepen between his brows. She
     wondered whether he'd been affected by the Troubles. If he