Anthony Blunt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flightfromennui) wrote2018-11-19 10:38 pm
flightfromennui) wrote2018-11-19 10:38 pm
(no subject)
When, earlier that week, Anthony had asked a colleague if there were any new and interesting restaurants she would recommend, she had all but pounced.
“You have a date, don’t you?” Isabelle had said with barely suppressed glee, her smile sly. Isabelle, who wrote grants for exhibitions, had good taste and a wry sense of humor that Anthony appreciated, and they had become somewhat regular lunch companions.
“I’m having dinner with a friend,” Anthony demurred.
“Look, Anthony, I don’t know how they do things where you come from, but going to dinner with a ‘friend’ you’re sleeping with counts as a date.”
Despite her teasing, she had offered up her recommendation, and, now seated at a table, Anthony cannot find fault in her choice. The restaurant is the kind that some people might call old-fashioned—there’s nothing fiddly about the food, both the wine list and the dinner menu are full of fine French staples, the decor of the white-tablecloth’d variety. Isabelle had called it classic. Frankly, that made Anthony feel older than his years, which really wasn't fair, but she had had exactly the right idea of what to recommend.
He hasn’t told Gabriel much—only that he should meet Anthony for dinner at seven. Having come a few minutes early, Anthony examines the wine list as he sits at his table and waits for him to arrive.
“You have a date, don’t you?” Isabelle had said with barely suppressed glee, her smile sly. Isabelle, who wrote grants for exhibitions, had good taste and a wry sense of humor that Anthony appreciated, and they had become somewhat regular lunch companions.
“I’m having dinner with a friend,” Anthony demurred.
“Look, Anthony, I don’t know how they do things where you come from, but going to dinner with a ‘friend’ you’re sleeping with counts as a date.”
Despite her teasing, she had offered up her recommendation, and, now seated at a table, Anthony cannot find fault in her choice. The restaurant is the kind that some people might call old-fashioned—there’s nothing fiddly about the food, both the wine list and the dinner menu are full of fine French staples, the decor of the white-tablecloth’d variety. Isabelle had called it classic. Frankly, that made Anthony feel older than his years, which really wasn't fair, but she had had exactly the right idea of what to recommend.
He hasn’t told Gabriel much—only that he should meet Anthony for dinner at seven. Having come a few minutes early, Anthony examines the wine list as he sits at his table and waits for him to arrive.