Puzzled

“Pardon, Monsieur, it’s my fault. I haven’t told Mademoiselle about the reservation. It’s under my name – Mohamed Al Murshidi.” The young Arab, I watched this morning at breakfast, joins in, unexpectedly appearing at the entrance.

The headwaiter marks something in his list and motions us to follow him.

The Arab lets me before him.

The Dining Room is full: the devotees of French gastronomy made up of families, couples, and groups of friends, seem to occupy each and every table.

Mohamed’s table is set for one but this slip is instantly corrected. The headwater waves his hand and as if by magic a second set appears on it.

We sit down.

“Thank you very much. It’s most kind of you.” I say. “I’m afraid without your intervention I wouldn’t be able to dine here tonight”.

“My pleasure, but, honestly, even without my intervention you’d be perfectly fine tonight”, he replies, his English impeccable.

“Well, I don’t know… In this case, you might be slightly overestimating the power of feminine charm.” I say, throwing a look around. The restaurant is fully booked for tonight.

“I’m afraid, it has nothing to do with feminine charms, but with money.” He replies with a grin.

“Do you mean that I’ve got enough money to go around and bribe headwaiters in such restaurants like this one?”

“Yes.” He nods. “I dare say that even if you didn’t, you’d still find a way to accommodate in your budget for such an occasion.”

“Really? Why so?” I ask, surprised by his shrewdness.

“But it’s obvious.” He replies.

“What’s obvious?”

“Well, that you’re an assertive and rather determined woman…”

Episode 26 – Bar Menu

Swiss Hotel, Nice, 27 December 2010

I couldn’t have been so mistaken.

The woman who has just walked into the Swiss Hotel is undoubtedly her and no one else. I know perfectly well how she looks and what her name is. Perhaps she is just visiting someone in the hotel.

But what am I to do now?

I can’t spend all day, watching the entrance of the Swiss Hotel.

What if she stays over and leaves only tomorrow morning?

Perplexed, I stare at the receptionist. My stomach growls loudly.

“Excuse me,” I say, coming out of my bewilderment, “is there a restaurant in here?”

“No, there isn’t, I’m afraid. But we can offer you a bar menu.” The receptionist replies and pushes the menu to me.

I take it. It displays a big choice of alcohol drinks but nothing of a substantial nature to eat…