’ Sometime later in the meal, I asked her, as one does, what she did. Tony answered quickly, cutting across her. ‘She’s a waitress in a cafe. P...rt-time.’ Catriona looked defiant and hurt. ‘Not a cocktail bar?’ ‘No’, she said, ‘that much is true. No, I’m trying to write a book, a novel.’ ‘Dear sir or madam, will you read my book?’ I asked. She nodded, and her eyes danced again. ‘It’s the dirty story of a dirty man.’ ‘His clinging wife doesn’t understand?’ ‘Well, in my book they aren’t. You stare at her, not believing she can be so beautiful, catching glimpses of the neatly trimmed patch of red where the shirt-tails part.She's as at home in the kitchen as she is at work, confidently wielding a large knife to turn raw, fresh tuna into thin slivers of flesh so sweet in your mouth you would have never known it was taken from the sea. You feast, until the wine has you both giddy. Between fits of laughter she says your name. Then, in a careless, unguarded moment, you tell her you. More

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