The fog had started to clear, sooner than expected, so the cab made good time and I arrived early. I waited for Ellen in the lobby of the Golden Moon, which was a favorite restaurant of ours. The prices had escalated sharply since our courting days, but little else had changed. It was one of the few physical links we had to our happier past.

Ellen arrived promptly at nine, looking her elegant best. She kissed my cheeks and gave me a hug. The eyes of the other men in the lobby were tinged with green. That was the great thing about dining with her in places like this — I might be shabby as a sheep in the run-up to shearing, but I still had the most beautiful woman in the city clinging to my arm.

“You could have worn a suit,” she said critically as she let go of me.

“If I wore a suit, next thing I’d have to start shaving regularly, washing daily and changing my underwear once a week.”

“Horror of horrors.” She smiled, straightening my tie. “Did I buy you that shirt?”

“Probably.” It was a dark purple satin number. Of course she’d bought it — I despised the damn thing and wouldn’t have worn it otherwise.

“Suits you,” she murmured, then we headed up. A curt waiter directed us to our table. We ordered before sitting, without looking at the menu. In the old days there’d have been two or three bottles of wine to accompany the meal, but tonight we shared a bottle of mineral water instead.

“Any luck with the fishing?” she asked.

“Don’t ask,” I groaned.

We discussed work — mostly Ellen’s, since she never enjoyed hearing about the Troops — and old friends. Not a word about my alcoholic past or all the times I’d let her down. Ellen wasn’t bitter or vindictive that way.

It was my fault the marriage didn’t work.