No prices graced the menu for Horatio’s. Polly searched in vain and then stared into the lengthy descriptions of the dishes, written half in French. “This is too expensive,” she concluded, folding up her menu.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Peter said, from behind his menu.
“Tonight’s wine selection, sir,” the waiter announced, thrusting a bottle in between them. Polly looked to the label but could not see anything to suggest whether she should accept or reject the wine. Peter glanced at the bottle and said, “Don’t you have the 1971?”
“Of course, sir,” the waited agreed. “Do you wish me to retrieve it for you?”
“Not on my account,” Polly said. “I can’t drink wine. It doesn’t agree with my medication.”
“Just Perrier for us both then,” Peter ordered.
“You are spoiling me,” Polly told Peter. “I’m glad Lyndsey is not with us. He’d be mortified.”
“He should spoil you all the more.”
“I mean that he would be humiliated. He could never afford a dinner like this.”
“Which is the very reason to let me provide it.”
A woman drifted up until she stood leaning against the table. Polly noted she wore a fine cashmere shawl over her silk wrap dress. She cleared her throat until Peter lowered his menu and looked up to her. “I just want you to know that I’m keeping the baby,” she announced. She wrapped herself in the shawl and sashayed away. Polly watched her stop at a table and gather a sparkly clutch. A man rose from the table and let one glance stray over to Peter before he escorted the woman towards the door. Peter studied the menu more closely.
“How strange,” Polly said. “Mistaken identity, I suppose.”
Peter murmured, “Their steak of the night is a Delmonico strip.”
“You don’t know that woman.”
“Don’t worry about it, Polly. I anticipate she will manage mostly by herself.”
The waiter arrived with the Perrier, garnished with lemon and lime and presented in graceful goblets. “Are you ready to order?” he asked as he placed the glasses before them.
“The Delmonico please,” Peter said. “Medium rare, mushrooms on the side.”
“Very good. Madame?”
Polly looked up to the waiter, her eyes wide and teary. “Nothing. I couldn’t eat a thing.” He gathered up her menu and bowed as he pulled away. Polly excused herself to the ladies’ room, swaying as she walked, her eyes drawn by the chair the woman had left out and away from the table.
