A fool and his money

Night on the tiles

Bernard Hollowood

No one will be surprised if other fashionable restaurants follow the Caprice and shut up shop. Dining out in style is becoming too ostentatious for the mood of the times and those who still practise it are beginning to feel somewhat ill at ease in luxurious surroundings when politicians and pundits on all sides are prophesying doom and recommending hair-shirts.

I took my wife to the Nullabar the other night and felt thoroughly uncomfortable. As soon as we were .seated I became aware that someone was signalling to me from, another table. It was Tommy Loughran of UPK Industries, a man with whom I was on nodding terms in the old days when I was with Clifford's.

"Long time no see," he said. "Don't tell me you're dining a deux!"

He meant, "Great heavens! You can't be paying for a meal in a place like this!" and I blushed.

"Oh, no," I said, "our Japanese guest is a little late — held up at the Ministry. We're not millionaires, you know."

"Ah, well," said Tommy, "come over for a brandy or two later on if you can manage it. I'd like a chat."

"Will do," I said, and could have cut out my tongue.

"Why did you fib?" said my wife. "We're not expecting a guest, are we?"

"Sorry, luv," I said, "but it slipped out. You see, it's not done nowadays to eat out unless you're on expenses. It's considered unpatriotic." "But why?" she said. "You know very well that coming here will mean savage economies. I'm saying goodbye to a new frock and you won't be able to buy a seat for the Cup Final. We agreed all this last night." "True," [said, "but other people don't know our circumstances."

We ordered the table d'hOte and the cheapest wine on the sommelier's list, a carafe of red, and the head waiter came across to inspect us.

"Nice to see you again, Mr Hollowood," he said. "Madame. Everything satisfactory?"

I nodded.

"Again?" said my wife. "Are you a regular customer? And how did he know your name?" "Because that's his job," I said. "I gave my name when I booked a table from the office. And though I've never been here before they always assume or pretend that you have."

"He seemed very supercilious, condescending."

"That's because he disapproves," I said, "the head waiter is probably knocking back at least twice my salary and paying tax on about half of it. He's already decided that we're impoverished casual customers who'll leave the 15 per cent service charge and not a penny more. His main interest is the expense account client from whom he can expect largesse."

The restaurant was pretty full. At most tables four people were seated and each group seemed to consist of two Englishmen and two foreigners, male. One of the Englishmen would be a boss, probably, a director, and the other a senior executive: the former was present

to impress the guests and the latter, a quiet type, was there to talk figures, set up a contract and laugh at the bossman's jokes. The for eigners were all extremely smart and seemed to enjoy airing their English.

At Loughran's table the two Germans were laughing extrava gantly at Tommy's cracks about the Irish. We were half-way through the turbot when I noticed that Tommy was signalling. With his forefingers he was pushing up the skin above his cheekbones and his top teeth were showing like a rabbit's. This pantomime was intended to remind me that my Japanese guests had not yet put in an appearance.

"Let's get out of here," I said. "I don't want ta be pestered by that chap," "But we must have coffee," my Wife said. "I had planned, to lift a few lumps of sugar!" So I ordered coffee at 40p a throw and my wife stashed away a dozen Or so Mr Cubes.

Suddenly Mr Loughran was by my side.

"Tough luck!" he said. "I wonder What happened to you Nip? Anyway, come over and have a brandy. I'd like you to meet two charming Krauts." "I really think we ought . . ." I said. But Loughran was already leading my wife by the elbow across the room.

The Germans stood and bowed deeply, and we were introduced and provided with chairs.

"Brandy, Mrs H," said Tommy, or a Benny?" "A Benedictine, please," said my Wife.

"A pity about your Japanese friend," said Loughran. "Costly business, too, when you can't put a do down to exes."

Herr Willi Klein asked my wife Whether she would care to dance

and they shuffled away. Herr Axel Birnbaum begged to be excused

and was directed to the gents'. "Tell you what, old son," said Tommy, "we'll put your bill with ours. It won't show — and you can do the same for me some time. No trouble."

"I wouldn't dream , of it," I said. "Thanks all the same."

"No trouble, I tell you," he said. "Thanks," I said, "but no." "Nothing to it." "Definitely, no," I said. He seemed offended and the ensuing conversation had awkward edges. The Germans returned to the table and we all drained our glasses. Then Tommy snapped a finger and called for his bill.

"It's all settled," said Birnbaum. "I paid while I was away." "But you can't do that," said Tommy. "This is my shout." "Sorry," said the German, "but it's the least we can do." We shook hands and returned to our table where the bill awaited us. It came to 08.50 including 80p for a brandy and 85p for the Benedictine.

My wife was so disgusted that she helped herself to eight more cubes of sugar.

Bernard Hollo wood, formerly editor

of Punch, contributes this column Weekly to The Spectator