Siobhan and I were to meet Srba for a late lunch. It was her first introduction to him.
The hotel was the Kensington, and it had ornate gold inlaid chairs and white linen tablecloths and napkins—not our usual meeting place. We arrived early to find a separate room, or at least a separate area, where we could eat in private.
Read moreThe restaurant fronted the side of the hotel and was long rather than deep, with a glass façade that overlooked the entrance where the cars would drive up to the reception doors. The side rooms were at the back.
At first we were told there weren’t any open tables.
Siobhan knew we should have made a reservation before showing up.
I stood at the podium at the front of restaurant while Siobhan walked through the main room to double check for spaces. The room was dark lit with tabletop candelabra and crowded with the subdued sounds of silverware.
After I tired of waiting I followed her after her, only to discover that was she had settled at a two person table that was pressed against another table which sat four.
‘Why did you get only a table for two?’ I asked. Siobhan was wearing a fluffy pink sweater, and I wondered what Srba would think of that.
‘They didn’t have private rooms,’ she replied.
I sat down.
‘We can use the table next to us when they leave?’ she suggested. Siobhan nodded to the group of four by our side, but they were already getting up to go. Their napkins had been tossed haphazardly on their table.
I scanned the room to see if there was a better place and saw that the room was half empty. We have the pick of tables now that the lunch crowd is leaving, I thought. But are we too late to order?
Just then I saw Srba through the glass façade of the restaurant walking along the reception driveway. He wore a dark blue suit, a dark red tie and white shirt. Srba was still big, but also tall and in his hand he carried a briefcase and a wine bottle gift bag.
‘He’s bigger than you said,’ said Siobhan after I pointed him out—before he disappeared behind the open curtains of the restaurant’s glass front.
As Srba headed towards the entrance I hurried back to the podium to greet him. Siobhan got up to follow.
‘She’s taller than Sophie’, Srba said, as he looked over at Siobhan.
I grabbed him in a bear hug, just as he was about to extend his hand for a handshake.
My face was up against the crook of his neck as I hugged him and I raised my left leg, so that my shin rested comfortably against his inner thigh.
’Ox-fuck Street, Pick-a-Willy Circus, or Tottenham Cunt Road, wouldn’t do?’ I asked.
We hugged so closely that I felt the smooth skin of his jowls.
RIP Srba Cvetkovic Srba C
