immortality | ben

savoy grill | april 2004

Bérénice was shown to her seat and a wine list was proffered; she took it, and saw she had not needed to worry — it was twenty-three pages long, with a contents list at the front. She scanned it quickly and flicked to the next page (WINE BY THE GLASS). “A glass of Château la Tour de l'Evêque, please. Thank you.” Once Ben arrived and he decided what he wanted to drink, perhaps they would order a bottle instead, but for now she needed something.

She had spent three days isolating in her hotel room, but wasn’t due to visit the London office until tomorrow morning and with no signs of Spattergroit (dieu merci) she had sent an owl via the front desk to Benjamin, asking if he would like to meet for lunch or dinner — dinner had suited his work schedule better.

As she read the menu her glass of wine was set down by the waitstaff, and Nice paused to check the delicate watch on her wrist for the time — he wasn’t late, yet. As if on cue, when she glanced up she saw him pointing at her from the entry; the maître d’ looked in her direction suspiciously, so Bérénice smiled and waved demurely.

The French witch stood as Ben approached and enveloped him in a warm welcome, with a kiss on either cheek. “Lovely to see you,” she murmured, squeezing his arm fondly before releasing him and taking her seat again. “Sorry for the last minute notice, I’m so glad you were free. How was work?”


@Ben Fletcher