Bankhaus by Neil Giarratana

Author:Neil Giarratana
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Armin Lear Press
Published: 2024-04-08T13:08:42+00:00

20

Restaurant Sonnengalarie

Seehotel Sonne, Seestrasse, Kuesnacht bei Zurich, Switzerland

July 2 19:52

Damn. The same beautiful drapery tassels and cords were still there, holding the drapes back from the very same window next to which he had sat alone, having dinner. two years ago. He’d smiled when he saw them.

However, in contrast to that long-ago evening, this time he was sitting across from what had to be the most attractive woman in the room.

No, make that all of Zurich.

He looked around while she studied the menu. The Sonnengalarie Restaurant, as always, compelling and inviting, the quiet ambiance of a restaurant managed by people who knew what the word class and service meant.

Her silk dress, off-white, with no sleeves, a purple silk sash wrapped around her waist and knotted at the side, intertwined with a gold chain, the end of which hung down her side. Her dark blond hair pulled back and held with an almost matching sea-blue hair band, her gold cross just visible above the low neckline of her dress.

He sighed. Well, at least I don’t look like a mess this evening, he thought. In fact, Felix was very pleased with himself and what he was wearing. Dark gray suit, blue-and-white, narrow-striped shirt with gold cuff links, and a dark blue, plain silk tie. Black oxfords on his feet.

When Anulka had arrived, her eyes had fixed on his face, then dropped down to his shoes, then reversed course and x-rayed their way slowly back up to his face. Then she’d smiled, a smile of approval worth every one of the thousands of euros he’d spent on new clothes that afternoon in Munich.

As agreed, he’d met her in the bar. They’d chatted for about fifteen minutes about the weather and the warm summer and the traffic problems in Zurich and the unacceptable high cost of flying short distances in Europe.

Then the waiter had arrived to take them to their table.

Sitting across from her, Felix sensed he was in for an unusual evening. This was not him getting ready to hustle a woman into bed. This was not a woman who was looking for adventure and ready to flirt her way there in any way possible.

This was also not going to be an evening of superficiality or boredom or empty commentary on what had been ordered for dinner. These hours with her were going to be a serious affair. At least for him, and, hopefully, also for her.

They placed their orders. For her, the poached lake trout with wild rice and, for him, instead of the trout he’d had the last time he ate there, the New Zealand lamb chops with potato croquettes. Before the main course, salmon carpaccio for them both. No bread, please. A large bottle of Pellegrino frizzante would be fine.

The choice of entrees, one suitable for white, the other suitable for red wine, meant splitting the wine choice. Felix solved the problem by ordering two half-bottles of wine—for her, a dry white from the Loire Valley with its own bucket of ice, and, for him, a robust red from the Medoc region of southwestern France.

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