They’ve got a plum table. It’s at the back, near enough the kitchen that the aroma of curry and saffron makes her mouth water. Jack’s pulled some strings to get this on such short notice, she’s sure, but considering it is her favourite Indian restaurant in all of Cardiff, she’s not likely to complain.
They’re no sooner seated than Jack’s ordered a bottle of the most expensive champagne on the menu. The waiter brings it out with a flourish, inquiring idly as to the occasion.
Charley smiles impudently and winks at her companion. “We’re celebrating my ninety-seventh birthday.”
The waiter looks startled but quickly covers it with an indulgent smile, insisting in a murmuring voice that she doesn’t look it. He then turns to Jack with a smile. “And you, sir? I suppose you are one hundred years of age?”
Jack grins and winks back at her. “Who, me? I haven’t even been born yet.”