Chapter 2

Megan held the Gucci purse possessively with her free hand. She felt self-conscious as they descended in the elevator but a part of her mind constructed an elaborate fantasy - she was a wealthy heiress on an expensive dinner date, her fiancé at her side. She added detail after detail as they exited the elevator - she would dine with him and then they would take the motor launch out to his yacht anchored in the Marina where they would make love under the stars.

They walked across the lobby to the entrance to the hotel restaurant and waited by the reservation desk for the maître d' to attend them. Within a few seconds, a tall bald man in a black suit joined them.

"Ah. Monsieur Palmer et Mademoiselle. So good to see you again! Your usual table?"

"Yes, thank you," Dave replied.

The hotel restaurant was faux French, pretentious as hell with prices to match. However, the food was usually exceptionally good and was complemented by the views over the river though the windows that ran the full length of the south facing side of the salon.

They followed the maître d' past table after table, most of them unoccupied, and towards a small table situated directly against the river window.

"Monsieur," the man indicated the table with an elaborate gesture.

"Tonight your waiter will be Philippe," he pulled one of the chairs from underneath the table.

"Mademoiselle," he looked at Megan expectantly.

Megan made her best attempt to sit down elegantly, unaccustomed as she was to manoeuvring in elevated heels. She lay the purse down on the table in front of her.

"Merci," she replied, causing Dave to grin at the audacity of the girl.

The maître d' disappeared and Dave sat down opposite Megan.

"This is the life: fine food, sensational surroundings, beautiful girl and the evening young. What more could I ask for?" he thought.

They spent the next few minutes in silence, basking in the ambience of their surroundings until a smartly dressed young man in a dark crimson waistcoat appeared carrying two menus.

"Bonjour. I am Philippe. I will be your waiter for this evening." He handed the menus to Dave and Megan - Dave's included prices, Megan's did not. There was also a very fat wine menu.

"Something to drink, Monsieur?"

Dave considered. "I'll have a single Malt with ice, please."

"Oui, Monsieur. Et Mademoiselle?"

Megan fancied something strong to take away the salty aftertaste of his come, regretting not grabbing a polo mint from the packet in her jacket pocket whilst they were still in the suite.

"Bacardi and Coke," she ventured, a drink she and Annie would drink around the flat when they were not out working.

The waiter looked uncomfortable and addressed Dave.

"I am sorry, Monsieur. I don't think that I can serve that to Mademoiselle. Her age."

Megan scowled, looking disappointed.

Dave frowned, reached into his pocket and removed his wallet. He extracted a ten pound note and tendered it to the waiter.

"Just a 'coke' then," he replied, looking directly into the eyes of the waiter.

The waiter hesitated. He looked from the note to Dave to Megan and back to the note again. His tongue emerged and wet his lower lip.

The money disappeared into the waiter's side pocket.

"Oui, Monsieur."

The waiter broke eye contact and quickly departed.

Megan looked incredulous, mouth agape.

"Did you just bribe him?"

"I did that for my niece once, she wanted a 'Bacardi Breezer' on her birthday."

"I can't believe you just did that," she shook her head from side to side, grinning.

She looked around the room and continued.

"Are you a regular here?"

"Couple of times a month, since February," he replied.

"Different girl each time?"

"No. Actually you're the first."

Megan looked at him dubiously.

"What about your wife?" she asked.

"I'm not married."

"Really? Why not?"

"You ask a lot of questions," Dave told her.

Megan shrugged. "I'm like that."

"I guess I've never met anybody that I felt comfortable enough with. I sat back and watched my sister's marriage turn to shit and I just don't want the same thing happening to me."

Megan considered this as the waiter reappeared with their drinks atop a silver tray.

"A Single Malt, Monsieur and for Mademoiselle, a 'Coca-cola'" he intoned, the emphasis on the final four syllables unmistakable. He placed each drink in front of them on top of white paper doily which carried the name of the hotel and a fancy crest. Dave thanked the waiter who disappeared to take an order from an adjacent table.

Megan lifted up her drink and took a long pull.

"Ahhh. That's good," she smacked her lips, her eyes flashing as the alcohol warmed her insides.

Dave took a sip of the Malt. It was delicious and smooth and he idly wondered which brand it was. He opened the menu and considered what he wanted to eat. In keeping with the hotel's character, the menu was printed entirely in French with no attempt to cater to the typical English penchant for speaking only two languages, English and Slang.

Dave spoke no French whatsoever, having dropped it at school as soon as the opportunity presented itself. He had 'borrowed' a menu very early on in his visits and photocopied every page. He had spent hours the following weekend typing each of the menu entries into Google's translator, trying his best to make sense of them. He was still unsure what some of the dishes were but had memorised enough to be able to order without shooting totally into the dark.

"Do you need any help?" he asked Megan.

"I'll let you know," she replied.

Dave was not very adventurous when it came to food, so he tended to stick to a small subset of the menu, usually a steak of some kind and a simple starter. He decided what he wanted and closed his menu. Megan turned the pages slowly, stopping only to take long sips on her 'Coke'. Finally, she closed the menu, looked up at him and smiled.

The waiter quickly reappeared to take their order.

"Monsieur. You are ready to order?"

"Yes. I'll have the Prawn cocktail to start with followed by the Rump steak with chips and vegetables of the day, please.

"Oui. How would Monsieur like the steak?"

"Medium, please."

"Oui Monsieur," he turned to Megan "et Mademoiselle?"

"Je voudrais le terraine de Canard et aussi le poulet provenciale avec les legumes et pommes de terres, s'il vous plaît," she replied.

Dave almost swallowed his tongue, not quite believing what he heard. Her accent was quite convincing to his ears - he didn't have a clue what she had said.

"Oui, Mademoiselle. Merci."

Megan lifted her almost empty glass towards the waiter.

"Et un autre 'Coca-Cola', s'il vous plaît."

"D'accord."

The waiter was fighting hard to suppress a smile.

"Monsieur. Do you wish to order wine?"

On his previous visit, Dave had usually stuck to the malt or a beer. He felt like doing something a bit special tonight and looked anxiously towards the unopened wine menu.

"Que recommandez-vous?" Megan rescued him.

The waiter smiled and thought for a second. "Nous avons un Médoc Baron Phillipe de Rothschild de l'année 1998."

"Oui. Tres bon. Merci."

The waiter wrote onto a small notepad and turned to leave.

"Merci, Mademoiselle," he said to her as he disappeared towards the kitchen.

Dave was shaking his head from side to side, grinning from ear to ear.

"Fabulous," he said "I'll remember that for a long time. I didn't realise you spoke French."

"Un peu," she teased.

"What?"

"A little. I've been doing French at school and my folks have been going to Brittany on holiday since I was ten."

Dave said nothing, just nodding, his mind trying to get him to consider the implications of her remark.

"They'd get me to order when we went into a restaurant," she said. "My dad said we got served a lot faster when I did."

She suddenly looked a little upset, having revealed more than she had intended and quickly drained the remainder of her drink.

Dave pressed his luck. "Why did you leave home?"

She was looking clearly sorrowful now but still answered.

"Nobody cared! My sister got all the attention ... I ... I don't want to talk about it," she stated emphatically.

"How long ago?" he fished.

She deliberated for a few seconds wondering why she was telling him all this.

"A few weeks."

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with Megan's refill. She gave him a brief smile and waited for him to depart.

"Do you always travel around with a wardrobe full of woman's clothes?" she inquired.

Dave laughed.

"No, I bought a load of stuff for my niece recently and I bought your stuff at the same time," he confessed.

"What's her name?"

Gulp. "Sarah"

"Have you got a thing for her?"

"What? Christ no! What kind of person do you think I am? She's barely thirteen for God's sake"

"How old do you think I am?" she asked, taking a long sip out of her fresh drink and fixing Dave with an icy stare.

Dave felt uncomfortable. "17. 16 Maybe."

Megan smiled in return.

Two waiters suddenly arrived at their table. Philippe carried and served their appetizers and moved aside for another, older waiter who held a bottle of wine. The wine waiter poured a small amount of the wine into Dave's glass. He gave it a cursory taste before motioning the waiter to pour more.

They both started to eat, Megan interspersing her pieces of toast and pâté with the 'Coke'.

"So! You were saying about your niece," she reminded him.

"Was I? Not much to tell? Good kid. Quiet."

"So I'm not her then?"

"What?" Dave was confused.

"Some men ... they like ... they want you to be somebody else, like their daughter or her friend or something. They'll call you by her name and want you to call them Dad or Uncle and sometimes talk dirty as they fuck you. I'm like a surrogate for somebody they can't have."

"That's sick." Dave was appalled.

Megan just shrugged. Dave tried to imagine what the girl's life was really like and what effects it had had on her. He realised that he should avoid taking anything for granted where she was concerned.

By the time the starters were finished and cleared away, and the main course was underway, her glass was empty again.

"Mind if I try the wine?" she asked.

Dave poured a small amount of the wine into Megan's wine glass and she tasted it.

"Nice," she held the glass up to him and didn't withdraw it until he added considerably more. It had been a while since she had drunk wine, back when she had shared a meal with her friend Rachel and her palate craved its fruity flavour.

"Go easy on it," Dave requested.

He looked across at her wrist holding the glass and noticed that she was not wearing a watch. However, a white tan line showed that she had worn one recently.

"No watch?" he asked.

She shot him a sharp glance then looked sad. "I lost it."

They ate in silence, Megan finished her wine and Dave poured her more. They were both sated, the food being plentiful and they were just playing with the leftovers, pushing them around the plate with the cutlery.

After a while Megan spoke.

"So why me? You don't look like the type that needs to pay for it? Or are you just into the young stuff?"

Dave was taken aback by her abruptness. It was not a question he particularly wanted to answer either to Megan or himself. He tried to change the subject.

"Who was the coloured girl from earlier?"

"Who? Annie? I live with her. Do you fancy her?"

Dave stared at Megan. "What?"

She giggled.

"Do you wanna fuck her? I can call her. You can do us both."

Dave looked around; the room had been relatively empty all night and thankfully there was nobody within earshot. Dave looked back at Megan, until now failing to notice the slightly glazed expression and dumb smile.

"Shit," he thought. "She's pissed."

"You wanna see two girls together? We can do a nice lezzy thing for you," she stuck her tongue out and wiggled it suggestively.

"Megan. Shhh." He looked around for the waiter. It was time to get away before things got out of hand. He spotted the waiter.

"Waiter!"

The waiter turned and Dave made a writing gesture, indicating that he wanted the bill. The waiter started to approach.

Megan looked as though she was feeling no pain and Dave thanked God that she had enough sense to keep quiet while he gave the waiter instructions to charge the food to his room. He dropped a couple of five pound notes on the table as a tip and stood to help Megan out of her chair, picking up her purse from the table. She stood and then immediately fell back against him.