At a table set for two, tucked away in the corner of a restaurant whose name she couldn’t pronounce, Miss Williams slipped into the leather upholstered seat. A crystal pendant light hung low above the table, casting nightmarish shadows from the proud napkin-swans across the white tablecloth as she set down her clutch and keys.
‘Can I get the wine menu for you, Ma’am?’ The waiter asked. He was a tall slick man with not a hair out of place.
‘Actually,’ Miss Williams said with the faintest of smiles, ‘I think champagne might be in order.’
‘Very well, then. I shall bring you our best bottle.’
‘That will be delightful.’ Miss Williams shrugged off her lilac pashmina and draped it across the back of her chair. Her elbow brushed the back of the man sitting behind her. She apologised but the scowl on his face suggested she’d made him spill his drink. Turning back around, Miss Williams took a deep breath to calm the nerves swimming in her stomach.