THE RESTAURANT IS LOVELY, sunshine spilling through the windows over our table. A bottle of excellent ‘House Red’ stands open beside the grinder and a small bowl of shredded Parmesan. But I’m uneasy.
Borje stirs the food round his plate.
I grind pepper over my ravioli, then spoon over a bit of cheese. “Don't you like it?”
He winds fettuccine around his fork, but doesn’t eat it, doesn’t reply.
“Are you angry with me?”
“No, not angry. A better word would be disappointed. I thought we had something.”
“We do have something, but... you dragged me into a s*x-shop. You wanted to...”
He cuts me short. “Georgie, I think you badly need to chill out and to abandon some of your preconceptions. A couple who dress, behave and play to please each other, are not somehow immoral or debauched.”
My h
