‘Well, I’ll just have to take you both out,’ he says.
‘Oh no, I couldn’tpossibly expect you …’ I say, giving Céline the thumbs-up.
‘Or better still, I’ll give my pal Drew a call and we’ll make it a foursome.’
‘Okay, if you’re sure …’
* * *
Ladies, I have good news! The age of chivalry is NOT dead. I can report first-hand that this ancient practice is still being carried out on the Firth of Clyde.
Pulling Out Of Chair ?
Buying Of Drinks ?
Listening skills ?
Helping On With Coat/Pashmina ?
Drew’s Land Rover whisks us away to Dunure, a small fishing village along the coast.
As we turn off the main road, we are tossed around on the back seat like pinballs, until Drew eventually parks up on a remote, steep, grassy bank.
‘It’s a short walk from here,’ he says, pointing to a row of twinkling lights, high up on the cliff’sedge. They each open a door for us (?), and we are led along a twisty, narrow pathway. Had I known a pre-dinner hike was on the menu, I would never have worn my new, kitten-heel boots with pointy toes. I stumble and stagger up the hill, battling to prevent my gypsy skirt from billowing up over my head.
Céline, on the other hand, is dressed perfectly for the occasion, in a classically tailoredtrouser suit with flat pumps. She strides elegantly ahead, as if on the catwalk, flanked by our two hosts, her well-cut bob swishing back and forth.
Duncan turns and waits for me to catch up. ‘Are you okay? Do you want to take my arm?’ he asks, like I’m some old granny trying to cross the road.
‘No, I’m fine, you go on ahead,’ I say brightly, my pashmina flying across my mouth and nose.
I look up, and coming into view at last, is a stone-built, whitewashed cottage, with tiny, leaded windows. A wrought-iron sign bearing the name Maggie’s Fish Restaurant in weatherworn lettering swings back and forth, squeaking in the blustery wind.
The heavy, wooden door creaks open and it’s like we’ve stepped back in time; there’s a fireplace big enough to sit in, a young lass, perchedon a beer barrel, plays a reel on the fiddle, lobster pots hang from the beams, candles glow from wax-covered bottles, and the smell of fresh fish, mixed with smouldering, damp wood, hovers in the air.
Duncan and Drew pull our chairs out for us to sit down (?) and order a bottle of wine.
‘So, ladies, how did you two meet?’ asks Drew, while we wait for menus.
‘On our cabin crew trainingcourse,’ I say, nervously twiddling my napkin and glancing at Céline.
‘Did you ever experience any emergency situations?’ he asks eagerly.
‘’fraid not. But lots of hilarious ones, didn’t we, Céline?’
‘Well …?’ says Duncan, filling our glasses, his voice enthusiastic.
‘Don’t get us started, please, we could be here all night,’ I say.
‘Go on,’ they implore, sounding genuinelyinterested. Oh well, they did ask …
We are in our element now, and our initial awkwardness gives way to uninhibited, frivolous banter.
Before we know it, Maggie’s coming over with the dessert menu. I drag Céline off to the ladies’ for a nose-powdering expedition.
‘Well?’ I say to her excitedly, as I close the door.
‘You have a little piece of broccoli in between your teeth,chérie.’
