I could hear the rustle of my new neighbour to my left as she wriggled in her seat to slough off her winter coat by removing her arms from the sleeves and allowing the coat to casually drape across the back of the chair inside out.
As she wriggled to seat herself more comfortably, she leaned across to me and said, "Thank you my dears, for making room for us. Henry was sure he had booked weeks ago but they didn't find our email until they checked the er … what was it dear?" She addressed her husband opposite.
He looked older than the fleeting image I had of his wife as they had approached. His face was long and thin, much wrinkled and tanned as if he worked outside a lot, or was a keen gardener or sailor.
"Junk file, sweet'eart," he said, "though I was sure I had a confirmation by return. Gettin' here ten minutes early, it's been no problem."
While her accent was that of a duchess or at least a lady, Henry was no lord. I had been born and raised in this mixed urban and semi-rural town and district and his accent was local and with more than a hint of rural than urban.
The woman turned back to me, "We saw the maître d look your way as we arrived and as Henry told him our names, I looked around and idly wondered why you were singles sitting next to each other at separate tables on this traditionally romantic night, but when your young lady got up and moved across, suddenly your table was available. Most fortunate for us. Anyway, thank you most sincerely. I'm Pat by the way and my husband is Henry, we're celebrating our 46th tonight, what about you two, are you celebrating anything special?"
She spoke with a cut-glass accent that seemed assuredly genuine rather than a put-on 'phone answering voice'. She looked regal too, to match the accent, age uncertain, but must be at least mid-60s I thought, a lot younger than hubby Henry. Her features were open, with high cheekbones and sparkling intelligent eyes that had that glint of joy and, I dare say mischief, in them. She carried that timeless classic beauty that endures in so few woman of age, like certain Hollywood or London theatre actresses that can perform as convincing 30-year-olds while celebrating careers (or marriages for that matter) that exceeded four decades.
Lottie, spoke up before I had a chance to marshal my own thoughts to mangle a strangled reply.
"We're Ken and Lottie, Pat, Henry, it's so lovely to see you here. Forty-six years, eh! How wonderful that must be! Now, Ken and I are actually strangers who've met for the very first time tonight, our acquaintance is less than an hour, more like 46 minutes than years at a guess, but I think we're fast becoming friends, we've had a lovely conversation, and Ken is such a sweet gentleman for company. Ken's wife of ten years, Lydia, was due to share his table tonight for their tin anniversary but is running late; she works long hours as a lawyer, a junior partner in her firm no less, and has just declared by phone message that she's settling for a pizza at work. I mean, honestly, pizza from a box when she could have dined in the best family restaurant in this town, what was she thinking? As for me, Pat, I'm presently single, my blind date is still wearing blinkers and probably stumbling around in the dark somewhere and is so far no show. I've been abandoned in my prime. So Ken very kindly invited me to join him to free up that table and he's even sharing his tipple with me. Now, isn't that nice of him?"
Pat turned back from Lottie to look at me. "Lottie's absolutely right, you are a gentleman, Ken. A rare gem indeed, in these days and, if your wife prefers work over celebrating such an important date in the calendar with the most important man in her life, then there must be a sensible reason. Is she defending an innocent person whose life-long liberty is in high jeopardy?"
I had to chuckle. She was right. I was in too silly and unreasonable a situation to make any sense of it. And I thought, 'Why should I make excuses?'
"She's a corporate lawyer, actually, if you pardon my language, she's a cum-sucking lawyer, no less and what she is doing to me, our children and our marriage is unreasonable to the point where I have no intention of enduring another minute, let alone another 36 years."
Pat reached out a hand and squeezed my lower left arm. I looked down and realised I had tightly clenched my fists on the table in front of me. Lottie leaned towards me and moved both her hands to comfortingly wrap around my right fist.
"No apologies for expressing heartfelt passion and anguish, my dear," Pat cooed gently in my ear, so close I could feel her warm breath. "Lydia is a foolish woman, when the jeopardy actually in question is her own marriage."
I relaxed my fists and released the tension in my spine and let out the breath I was suddenly conscious that I was holding. My eyes were brimming with tears and I think the tension that had been building all day, was venting and I was starting to feel better.
"What's going on, Ken?" came a voice from above that I instantly recognised without needing to clear the blurring tears.
I lifted my head and blinked away the tears, to see my wife Lydia standing slightly behind and to the right side of Lottie and glaring down at the table at me holding hands with two women. Although I had unclenched my fists, I felt Lottie and Pat were still holding on tightly.
"Oh, hi, hon, you actually made it and only an hour or so late," I said, "I have an anniversary gift here for you, but you'll have to get it yourself, I have my hands full at the minute."
"I can see that!" she snapped, "I came home early after getting a call from Mum because the kids wanted to say goodnight and then she said you were here for our …" She hesitated. "Lady Patricia? W-what are you doing here and why are you holding my Ken's hand?"
"Hello, Lydia, dear, long time no see, how have you been keeping?" Pat smiled up at her, "Smart business suit, dear, come straight from work then, have we?"
"Er, yes, I tried to get home and change but something's wrong with my key. How are you and, oh, hello, Mr Langston, I didn't see you there."
"Hello, Lydia," Henry smiled up at her from where he sat.
Then Lydia noticed Lottie sitting opposite me.
"Lottie? What the fuck!?"
"Hello, Lyddie, haven't had the pleasure to meet your husband before," Lottie looked up at her briefly before she switched her attention back to me, beamed me one of her lovely smiles and squeezed my hand. "I think he is very sweet and, with or without your permission, Lyd, I'd like to get to know him better, a whole lot better, actually."
Lydia stood there as if in shock.
"If you want your prezzies," I said to Lydia, "well, a prezzie and an envelope, you'll have to pick them up. They're down here by my chair. My hands are full of Lottie and er, is that Lady Patricia and Lord Henry?"
"Lady Patricia Langston, dear boy," Pat said, now holding my left hand with her left, and patting my forearm with her right, "I'm Rory's mother, Lottie's mother-in-law, but I truly regard her as my only daughter and want her to be happy, as she obviously deserves to be. As for my sweetheart Henry, he's—"
"Was a bus driver, Ken, and a part-time chauffeur when I first met Rory's mother," spoke Henry, "although for quite a while I was a pretty mean bass player in a rock band. So I'm just a plain Mr and been hanging on in there with Pat, happy and grateful."
"Which rock band?" I asked.
Three voices together said, "All's Well."
"Gordon Bennett's backing band?"
"Yeah. We were kids who grew up together," Henry smiled, "playing for fun in church halls in the early to late sixties, while still learning to play, doing covers of The Beatles and Stones, at weekends, until Pat and I met. Then, I needed to sharpen up pretty sharpish and make something of myself, especially after his Lordship the Earl of Burghley disowned my lovely new wife for following her heart and I had to become a breadwinner, so I became an impresario and did quite well for meself. Bit still playing as a guest in bands whenever I could."
"Indeed, Henry is my second husband," Pat admitted, "I was married off at 18 to somebody that only Daddy approved of, but Rupert was a complete arse, and I divorced him against Daddy's wishes within a year and married Henry here who, you must admit has stayed the course very well considering he played guest appearances with headline bands all over the world and we travelled together before and after having our only child. He was manager of lots of bands and impresario of concerts and festivals. And he's always forgetting to tell people that he has just met that he was knighted for services to the music industry over 20 years ago, so I'm Lady Patricia again through him and not my father."
"It was a fun ride for us, but I guess Rory never wanted for anything and he never really grew up," Henry said, "we only recently caught up with the rumours and Rory admitted his failed marriage was all his fault."