C4 antho - Chamber Four

~232~ The Chamber Four Fiction Anthology
“Enough, that hurts?”
“No,” said Munro. “Enough, let’s have dinner.”
Sharon was uncertain.
“You mean sometime?” she asked.
“I mean now.”
“I couldn’t,” Sharon said. “I’m not dressed or anything.
Look at me.”
“I am looking at you. I have been for a couple of weeks.
You look fine. You’re dressed beautifully.”
“No, I’m not,” said Sharon. “Or, where did you think of
going?”
“No place,” said Munro. “Are you busy? Do you have to
be anywhere?”
Briefly, Sharon thought of Neil. Did she in that moment
discern the ineluctable advent of the next thing? Probably
she did. She thought of Neil.
“No,” she said.
Duncan Munro ordered dinner brought up―no ordinary
dinner, the kind of dinner Sharon didn’t get every night,
didn’t get every year. A dinner on heavy linen, perfectly
white, a dinner under silver covers, with a couple of bottles
of champagne, a dinner rolled in by two waiters, one to serve
and one to light the candles and pop the corks. With them
was a tall man wearing a blue suit, an Englishman.
“This is Patrick,” Duncan Munro told Sharon.
“Hi, Patrick,” said Sharon.
“Good evening, miss,” said the Englishman.
“You and I talked on the phone, didn’t we?” Sharon asked.
“Indeed we did, miss,” said Patrick. “Will that be all for
now, sir?” he asked Munro. Munro nodded and Patrick