Second Opinion by Claire Rayner Page B

learned to prefer to the New York Martinis that had once been her choice — and he had sunk a couple of half-pints of best bitter while they had talked easily and a little lazily of the world news as seen on the TV at the end of the bar, arguing amiably over the rival merits of CNN and the British service, while the chill of the day seeped out of her bones and she began to feel a deep sense of wellbeing. Now, as they reached the brightly lit front of the fish-and-chip shop and restaurant that was the pride of Gus’s fleet she felt even more warmed, and that made her feel warm towards him, too.
    ‘It looks great, Gus,’ she said as they pushed open the door and went in. And indeed it did. The large plate windows were engraved thickly in the old public-house fashion, but only around the edges; passers-by could still see in easily to the great bank of glittering chrome fryers and the bustling staff in their natty blue-and-white outfits with anchors and mermaids embroidered over the left breast.Beyond them in the interior were the tables with their blue-and-white gingham cloths and striped blue-and-white china, and the vast fish tank at the back in which gaudily coloured tropical fish swam in aristocratic splendour, clearly unworried by the fate of their humbler cousins who, encased in the crispest of batters, were being slapped down on the tables before hungry eaters. It all looked extremely inviting, and she was happy to tell him so. ‘You ought to be really proud of it.’
    ‘I am,’ Gus said and beamed as one of the waitresses spotted him and darted over to fuss them to a table bang in the middle of the restaurant. ‘Wotcha, Kitty. Like the new uniforms, do you?’
    ‘Dead fancy, Guv,’ the girl said. ‘Bit snug, mind you,’ and she wriggled a little as she pulled the tight skirt down over her neat round bottom.
    Gus leered. ‘I’m not daft, girl. I make sure they’re so tight so’s you won’t eat me outa business. And it makes a nice view for the customers, don’t it?’
    “N’t ‘e a right MCP, Dr B.?’ the girl said, but without any rancour. ‘You ought to teach ‘im better ways.’
    ‘I’ve tried,’ George said and sat down. ‘I thought you were at the Watney Street shop, Kitty?’
    ‘I was. But ‘e’s bin and gone and made me manager ‘ere.’ She jerked her head at Gus. ‘Shown a bit o’ sense, eh? Well, what’ll it be, Guv? The ‘alibut’s a treat and Dave said as how he’s got a lovely piece o’ turbot if anyone special comes in. You’re special, I s’pose, so if that’s your fancy —’
    ‘Keep the turbot to sell to the bookies. They’ve got the big money for it. We’ll have the ‘alibut, eh, Dr B.? Will that suit you?’
    ‘Cor, what a tight wad!’ Kitty said and leaned over to rearrange the already perfectly set knives and forks and to swish at the spotless tablecloth with her napkin. ‘Tell ‘im you want the turbot, Dr B.’
    ‘I think I will,’ George said.
    The girl grinned at her as Gus threw his eyes up in mock consternation and then said, ‘And an order of jellied eels, too. The really big ones from Tubby’s. Give some to Dr B. —’
    ‘I won’t eat them,’ George said, grimacing.
    ‘— and a plate o’ prawns in case I can’t tempt her. Oh, and a bottle of the Sancerre.’
    Kitty went and Gus watched her appreciatively. George shook her head at him in only partially mocking despair. ‘You really are an unreconstructed —’ she began but he held up both hands in surrender.
    ‘I’m everythin’ you ever said or thought a man could be, ducky, so let’s not waste our time listin’ my faults. All right, then. Do you like the way the place looks?’
    ‘I told you I did.’
    ‘Then I’ll do it exactly the same way next time.’
    She raised her brows. ‘Next time? Are you making all of them glitzy like this?’
    ‘Not all of ‘em. The ones over at Bethnal Green — down Cambridge Heath Road and the other one down by Roman Road — I’ll leave