Mouse by D. M. Mitchell Page A

whatever you are having,’ she said quietly.
    ‘You may not like what I’m having,’ he said.
    ‘I’m not fussy, honest.’
    ‘I might like fish tonight,’ he said, looking up from his menu at her. She nodded. ‘Trout, salmon or sea bass; which might I choose?’
    ‘Possibly the trout,’ she said.
    ‘Yes, I do rather fancy trout tonight. For both of us, please,’ he said to the waiter.
    The waiter loped off. Vivaldi scratched the air. There was a gentle murmur of voices, the sharp clink of metal against ceramic.
    ‘It is a nice place,’ she said, looking about her, almost as if trying to convince herself. ‘And please call me Laura. Ms Leach sounds like a headmistress.’
    ‘Laura. You know, whenever I say that it sounds like someone breathing. It’s a nice name.’
    ‘You certainly didn’t have to go to all this trouble,’ she said. The waiter brought the water. Casper poured some out into her glass and she lifted it to her dry lips.
    ‘This is as far from trouble as I can imagine,’ he said. ‘It is my pleasure.’
    ‘Are you always such a gentleman?’ she asked. ‘Manners are fast becoming old fashioned these days.’
    ‘Only in the presence of a lady,’ he said, giving a mock bow. ‘Perhaps that’s it. Perhaps I am old fashioned. It’s just the way I was brought up, I reckon. I had a rather privileged background. Educated privately, boarding school, that kind of thing.’
    ‘Me too,’ she admitted. ‘I hated it.’
    ‘They’re not all Billy Bunter or Mallory Towers , are they?’ he said.
    She noticed a young couple walk in. The woman was terribly slim, hai r flicked neatly back, blue eye- shadow and heavy lashes. She sat down very elegantly, floating down like a feather to her seat. It made Laura feel uncomfortable all over again.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked concernedly.
    ‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Why do you ask?’
    He waved his fingers briefly in front of his face. ‘I can tell by your expression.’
    She began to colour. ‘Is it that obvious?’
    ‘To me it is,’ he said.
    ‘She’s so pretty,’ she said, nodding in the direction of the young woman.
    ‘I’m sure she is, to her boyfriend. But beauty takes many forms. Not everyone likes butterflies, you know. You are beautiful.’
    ‘I am not!’ she said, shocked. ‘You are just saying that to be polite. I was not fishing for compliments.’ Her features hardened and she felt herself going tense.
    ‘Please forgive me, Laura. There I go again with my big mouth. I speak what I think without thinking before speaking.’ He frowned. ‘Does that actually make sense?’ he smiled and she smiled back. ‘Am I forgiven?’
    ‘There is nothing to forgive. What happened to your wife?’ she blurted, and immediately regretted having said it. ‘Oh, now you must forgive me. That was very insensitive of me to have brought that up.’
    ‘That’s fine. She died of cancer. A long illness. We had only been married six years. We were very close.’
    ‘I’m very sorry,’ she said.
    ‘And has there ever been a Mr Leach?’
    Laura shook her head. ‘Only my father.’
    ‘So you live all alone?’
    ‘All alone, yes.’
    ‘That’s not good, to live all by yourself. I should know.’
    ‘I am used to it,’ she said.
    ‘I’m not,’ he sighed. ‘I loathe being by myself.’ He raised a glass. ‘But tonight I am not alone. Tonight I am sitting here with Laura and we are about to eat trout together.’ Their glasses clinked merrily against each other. ‘Though I admit I have never eaten trout before.’
    ‘Never?’
    ‘Never. Not a fan of fish.’
    ‘How do you know you will like it?’
    ‘I don’t, but I am willing to try anything once. I mean, what’s the point of life if we can’t stick our turtlenecks out from our shells every now and again, eh? Bring on the trout, I say!’
    She gave a squeak of a chuckle. ‘You are funny!’
    ‘Funny ha-ha, I hope, and not funny-peculiar!’
    ‘A bit of both, perhaps.’ She