“We ran out of that two hours ago.” She checked her watch. “And you'll have to be quick. We close soon.”

“Close? With an unsatisfied customer?”

“Well, if we could find something you like-”

“But I've already found two things that I like, and you said they're both off,” he said, trying to sound peevish. He was really getting into the skin of the part now, seeking the point where her patience would fray. Turning the screw a little further, he added acidly, “This hardly seems a very well-run establishment.”

“It's a little backstreet café, not the flamin' Ritz,” she protested. “I know what my customers like and I cater for it.”

“You're not doing so well with me.” undervoice

“But you're not like the others. You should be at the Ritz. Are you sure you came to the right place?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he responded in a hollow voice.

“So what'll it be?”

“Since it all looks equally disgusting,” he snapped, “you'd better bring me anything that isn't 'off.' That is, if you can find something.”

That should test her temper to the limit, he thought. But when he looked up she was regarding him with quizzical amusement.

“You've had a hard day too, haven't you?” she asked kindly.

“Yes,” he said, suddenly dazed. “Yes-”

“What's the matter?”

“I-nothing.”

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I'm not. Just bring me the first dish you lay your hands on.”

He was glad when she left. He needed a moment to come to terms with his sudden sense of shock. It was nothing that could be precisely defined, just a strange sensation when he'd surprised that odd kindness on her face.

Suddenly he was a child again, with his Aunt Gertrude, his father's sister who'd raised him after his mother died. The boy had been throwing a temper about some childish tragedy. And when he'd kicked the furniture and shouted unforgivable things in his frustration and misery he'd looked up, expecting anger, but encountered instead his aunt's understanding smile.