It Should Be Easier This Time

There was definitely something about Sally. I don't just mean her looks. Although she was very good-looking. Very good-looking indeed. But there was something about the way in which, when she walked into a room, she immediately filled the space with positive energy.

The first time I met Sally was at The Tobeck Gallery. It was the opening of a Diane Tyler exhibition. 'Oh good,' my friend Hamish said, 'Sally Franklin's here. I should introduce you two. I think you'll like her. She has a certain something about her. I'm not sure what it is, but... well... come and meet her. You can decide for yourself.'

Sally was chatting with Billy Tobeck, the patriarch of the Tobeck Gallery. We walked over to where they were standing and Hamish introduced us. And, yes, I did like her. Immediately. I don't know why. As Hamish had said, there was just something about her.

'And what do you do to keep the big bad wolf from the door?' she asked.

'Me? I'm a writer,' I said.

'A writer?'

'Well, a copywriter. Advertising. Stuff like that.'

'An advertising copywriter? Gosh, that must be fascinating.'

Most days, being a copywriter is far from fascinating. Most days being a copywriter is a hard uphill slog. And most copywriters that I know are just waiting for a publisher to pick up their novel. Or they are waiting for a producer to pick up their film script. But, for a moment or two, Sally made me feel that being a copywriter might just be the best job in the whole world. 'Fascinating? Umm... yes... I suppose it can be,' I said. 'You know. On a good day. Of course... not every day's a good day. But....'

The next time that I saw Sally was outside Shakespeare's Globe. To be honest, I wasn't sure that she would recognise me. But she did.

'Oh, hello. We meet again. Are you a fan of the Bard?' she asked.

Was I? 'I'm... I'm a fan of some of his stuff,' I said. 'The comedies mainly. You know.

Much Ado About Nothing. The Taming of the Shrew. A Comedy of Errors

. I'm afraid I'm a rather shallow fellow. I'm always happier to laugh than to cry.'

Sally nodded and laughed. 'Yes. I'd never thought of it like that,' she said. 'But I can see what you mean. All that angst in the tragedies can be a bit draining, can't it? The comedies certainly tend to be a bit more... well... life-enhancing.'

The third time I saw Sally I had just emerged from The Baker Street Tube Station. 'We need to stop meeting like this,' I told her. 'My wife is starting to become suspicious.'

'Oh? I didn't realise that you had a wife,' she said.

'No. Well... actually I don't,' I told her. 'But perhaps your husband is starting to become suspicious. Has he not mentioned anything?'

She shook her head. 'He's up in Edinburgh this week,' she said. And she glanced at her watch. 'In fact, right now I expect he's fucking his secretary. Getting a quick one in before the cocktail hour.'

I laughed. But then I realised that Sally wasn't laughing. 'Oh. Sorry. You're... umm... serious,' I said. 'Is he...?'

'Well, I can't think of any other reason for him to take her with him everywhere he goes. The poor woman is practically illiterate. And probably innumerate too. Anyway, what brings you to this corner of town?'

'I'm just on my way to The Green Door,' I told her.

'The Green Door?'

'It's a bar. Well... a private dining club. Just along in Paddington Street.' And then I thought: Fuck it. Why not? And I asked her if she'd like to join me.

'Well... if you would like me to,' she said. 'Yes. Why not? That would be very nice. Thank you.'

And that's how it all began.

After a couple of G and Ts, Sally had to head off. She was having supper with her parents who lived just up the road in Maida Vale. But we somehow agreed that she would come and have supper with me on Friday evening. 'Yes. Friday would be perfect,' she said. 'Blair won't be back from Scotland until Saturday afternoon.'

To be honest, I was a little nervous about making supper for Sally. She was, after all, the proprietor of not one but two highly-successful delicatessens. I decided to keep things simple: crispy-skinned salmon steaks on crushed new potatoes, with steamed asparagus, and a lemon sauce.

'This is very good,' she said. 'Very good indeed. Are you a secret chef?'

'It's a recipe I got from a book,' I told her.

'Oh? Rick Stein? Prue Leith?'

'No. A novel actually,' I said. '

Something Fishy

. By Juliet Smythe. It's a whodunit? The detective hero -- heroine -- whatever -- has most of her case-cracking insights while preparing food.'

Sally smiled and nodded. 'I've been rather neglecting fiction of late,' she said. 'But

Something Fishy

sounds like something I should read. Juliet Smythe you say?'

'Juliet Smythe.'

Sally also approved of my wine choice: a chilled pinot noir. Most people go for a dry white with salmon. Chardonnay. White burgundy. Something like that. But I tend to prefer a chilled red.

'Just so that we are not in any doubt,' Sally said, 'what is your objective for this evening? Is it your intention that we should end up sans culottes, in your bed, or wherever else you favour for first times?'

'Gosh, you certainly cut to the chase, don't you?' I said.

'I find it easier that way,' Sally said. 'I think there is less room for disappointment if we all know where we are headed.'

To be honest, I didn't really have plans for where the evening might go. I didn't really have much experience of married women. Well... none, to be honest. 'I'm not sure that I had thought that far ahead,' I told her. 'In fact... well... no.'

'No?'

'No.' And then, trying to read her reaction, I added: 'But I suppose if that's how we should end up....'

Sally nodded. 'OK,' she said. 'So we'll just play it as it lays then.'

I suppose that it was fair that Sally had asked the question. I just hadn't expected it. I thought that we were just 'having supper'. But then I suppose that we had had a drink together earlier in the week. And she was, as I say, married. But perhaps not entirely happily married. And... well... yes, it was a fair question. Just not one that I had, at that stage anyway, considered.

'I made us a bit of pudding,' I said, after we had seriously dented the salmon. 'A baked fruit salad. Just something simple. And not out of a novel. My grandmother's recipe, actually. My late grandmother. Various seasonal fruits with cinnamon and fresh ginger, baked in wine. Granny used to serve it with lashings of whipped cream. But then Granny was a farmer's wife. I prefer it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. I like the contrast between the hot and the cold.'

'Sounds perfect,' Sally said.

The baked fruit salad was pretty nice.

'Why aren't you married?' Sally asked me, as I topped up our wine.

'So far, nobody has asked me.'

'No. Seriously?'

'Seriously? I'm not sure,' I said. 'Perhaps because I have a bit of an aversion to kids. I was ambushed by a whole gang of them on my first day at primary school. It was an experience from which I've never quite recovered.'

Sally laughed. 'Just because you're married, doesn't mean that you have to have kids,' she said.

'And yet most of my married friends

do

seem to have kids. One couple has six. I guess it took them a moment or two to work out what was causing them.'

'Hamish says that you used to work at Wright-Columbus.'

'Wright-Columbus? Yes. For a while.'

'And now you freelance.'

I nodded.

'I thought that Wright-Columbus was one of the places to work in your line of business.'

'It probably is,' I said. 'But I think I'm just addicted to variety. I quite like not knowing what tomorrow will bring.'

'Averse to kids yet addicted to variety?'

'Something like that,' I said.

Sally smiled and nodded.

We chatted on for a bit and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Sally said that she had had an offer for one of her businesses. 'Some chaps want to buy it. Lock, stock and barrel. What do you think?' she asked.

'Think?'

'Yes. Should I take up their offer? Should I sell up and move on?'

'Gosh. Not really my area of expertise,' I told her. 'Was that your plan? When you started out. Was it your plan to build up the business and then sell it on?'

'I'm not sure that I had a plan,' she said. 'As I recall, it was just some cheap space in an up-and-coming location. And there wasn't another deli until you get to Edgware Road. There was Marks and Sparks, of course. And Selfridges. But they're hardly delis, are they?'

'What would you do with the money?' I asked. 'If you sold.'

'Probably buy another business. Maybe set up a small restaurant. Nothing fancy. Not fine dining. Definitely not fine dining. Just something casual.'

We talked about what might constitute 'small' and 'casual', and whether small and casual could make money in the West End with rents the way they were. And then Sally said: 'OK. Let's get this out of the way, shall we? Where's the bedroom?'

'Oh? Do you think this is a good idea?'

'Probably not,' she said. 'But we may as well give it a go.'

I led her into the bedroom. We both got pretty much undressed and slipped under the duvet. And then there was an awkward moment or two while we tried to decide what to do next.

I think that that was the moment when we both realised that it really wasn't such a great idea. But we kept going for another five minutes or so. And then Sally said: 'No. This probably isn't going to work, is it?'

'Probably not,' I said. 'Why don't I make us some coffee? I think I may even have some Armagnac somewhere.'

We both got dressed again. I made some coffee. And, yes, I did find the Armagnac. A bottle of Baron Gaston Legrand 1984, as a matter of fact. Clarry Brown had given it to me for helping BGH to win the Vanity Fare business.

'You didn't exactly put up much of a fight,' Sally said, when we were halfway through our coffee.

'Much of a fight?'

'Yes. When I suggested that it probably wasn't going to work.'

'Oh? Was I supposed to? Put up a fight, I mean.'

'A girl likes to feel that she still has the goods,' Sally said. 'You could have made me say no a few more times.'

'Oh, you have the goods,' I told her. 'You definitely have the goods. No question about that. But I thought that no was supposed to mean no these days. Isn't that what they teach kids at school?'

It was a couple of months later that I next saw Sally. I was once again emerging from The Baker Street Tube Station. 'Gosh. Again!' I said. 'My wife. Your husband. We probably need to be more careful.'

Sally laughed. 'Actually, I'm in the process of getting rid of my husband. And you don't have a wife. Remember?'

'Your husband? OK.' And I nodded. 'But I thought that it was the deli that was being moved on.'

'Yes, well... they are

both

being moved on, as it happens,' Sally said. 'Anyway... I probably owe you a supper. What are you doing on Saturday night?'

Sally had a flat above the High Street deli. The flat had been kitted out with an almost-commercial kitchen. Top-of-the-line appliances. Acres of stainless steel. It looked like something straight out of a design magazine. Or the interiors section in a Sunday supplement.

'I'm trying out some simple dishes,' Sally said. 'I'm still toying with the idea of a small restaurant doing simple, casual food. Almost street food. But doing it well. I'm thinking a repertoire of simple dishes that can basically be prepared in advance and then finished off in just a few minutes. Also... I'm thinking that you and I should give it another go. Try again.'

'Try again?'

'Yes. The beast with two backs. Tab A, Slot B. Perhaps I had a bit too much going on last time. Too much on my mind. It should be easier this time. But don't worry: we'll eat first. Now... what can I get you to drink? Some chilled pinot noir perhaps?'