The Connoisseur

Chapter 2 - Sophia and Alexander

Mario's.  Why had she mentioned Mario's?  It wasn't bad, but it was hardly first date territory.  Everything on the menu came with half a ton of cheese.  Somehow the piped-in Italian duets were even cheesier, and a sixteen-strong party of students - even worse, a sixteen-strong party of first-years - were joining in with gusto.  Sophia knew why.  She lifted the glass to her lips.  The house white went down tremendously easily.

At least Alexander seemed to be enjoying himself.  Besides, he had leapt at the idea when she had mentioned Mario's and had fully tackled it to the floor when she tried to persuade him out of it.

"I haven't been to a place like this in years," he said, taking a bite of what was presumably foccaccia.  "There's something charming about the laziness of it all."

"That's a relief."

Alexander stopped chewing, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.  "Don't worry about it.  They could spill a case of wine over me and I wouldn't care.  It's fantastically real."

"The stains in your jacket would be real."

"They would be."  Alexander raised his glass of red to his eye, swirling it with his wrist.  "I suspect this would burn right through."

Sophia laughed, brushing away her long swept-back hair and nudging one of her moon-and-star earrings in the process.  It jangled.  Loudly.  No changing them now, she thought.  She wore a blue knee-length dress, a braided brown waist belt and high black boots.  Her eyeliner matched her dress.  She had only realised as she was applying it.  It hadn't seemed like an extra effort.

Alexander, meanwhile, wore a red cardigan beneath a dark gray jacket, with a white pocket square peeping out.  Sophia suspected he had thousands of pocket squares.  Probably a few hundred pairs of burgundy chinos for the summer, and a waistcoat or ten.

"What sort of restaurants do you normally go to, then?" she asked.

Alexander thought for a moment.  "Uptight ones.  Ones where the waiters are all one and the same man.  Where you suspect a junior chef is being berated in the kitchen for getting the sauce almost exactly the right taste.  Sometimes there's a delightful one, though, and the poor ones make them seem all the more so."

"And where does Mario's rank?"

"As of the starter, near the top.  It couldn't be a more stereotyped Italian if it tried.  It's fantastic.  I almost hope a violinist comes out to serenade us."

"Oh god, no."  Sophia laughed into her hands.  "I'd run out on you.  Sorry, you're a nice guy, but not enough to stop that."

She caught his eye.  When she realised she was holding his gaze, she looked away.

It was only when their main courses arrived that they turned to what should have been the first topics of their conversation.

"So what do you study here?" asked Alexander, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

"Chemistry."

"Chemistry?"  Alexander raised his eyebrows.  A forkful of pasta had stopped halfway from his plate to his mouth.

"Yep, chemistry," said Sophia, enjoying his reaction.  "Why are you so surprised?"

Alexander squirmed.  "Well, I'd thought...I'm not certain."

"Is it because of the play?  What, did you think I was going to be doing English, or studying the finer points of art history?"

"I must admit I did."  Alexander had stopped eating.  "I hope I didn't do you a disservice thinking so."