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Debbie to linger too
long over his profile.  She was more interested in knowing what she thought of
Anton.  She liked the name.  Anton, it rolled off the lips nicely – very exotic
sounding, a bit like its owner’s looks.
    ‘Well,’ said Debbie, summing up her thoughts on Ronald,
‘apart from the square name, why not Ronnie, after all, he seems quite
interesting.  In fact, are you sure he’s not a bit cultured for you?’
    ‘What are you trying to say?  I’m some sort of philistine?’
Gill said indignantly.
    ‘No, but you’re hardly going to start spouting forth on art
history, are you?’
    Clearly not.  Gill had been to the Uffizi in Florence
once, under duress.  She had made the mistake of not booking her ticket in
advance and had queued for two hours to get in.  After being blown away by the
first five enormous, floor to ceiling, religious paintings, she was fed up and
could no longer marvel at how amazing they were.
    ‘I’m not quite so sure about him, but apart from being
perhaps a little posh for you, I think he sounds OK,’ finished Debbie.  She
removed the coaster which was covering the photo.
    ‘Yikes!  Forty-nine.  There’s no way he’s forty-nine.  He
looks about sixty-five.  Has he had Botox in reverse?’
    ‘Yeah, I thought he might be lying about his age, too.’
    ‘Lying?  He should be prosecuted for fraud!  That’s a gross
misrepresentation.’
    Gill said nothing, as she was of a similar opinion herself.
    ‘So, can I take it, he’s a no?’
    ‘Yes,’ Gill smiled at Debbie, ‘of course he’s a no.’
    ‘Right, let’s see the last one.’
    Quietly confident over Debbie’s reaction to Anton, Gill
repeated the process and showed Anton’s profile without showing his photo. 
    ‘Oh.  Nice name,’ said Debbie.  ‘That was one of the names I
had chosen if we had a boy, but Gerry was having none of it.  Research
Scientist.  That sounds impressive. Or has he souped up his title, so he sounds
more impressive?  Maybe he does data entry.’
    Privately Gill had wondered the same thing, but she wasn’t
about to let Debbie know this.  Nor did she want Debbie’s judgment influenced
negatively or positively by her comments, so she held back from berating Debbie
for shattering her illusions.
    ‘He’s Russian.  Sounds first generation and he’s just older
than you and no more.  That could be nice,’ Debbie winked at her friend
conspiratorially.  ‘Vladivostok.  Do you remember work wanted me to attend that
conference in Russia years ago, in the middle of nowhere?  I think the nearest
hotel chain was four hundred kilometres from it, in Vladivostok.  That’s all I
know about Vladivostok.’
    Gill knew even less.
    ‘Oh, he’s tall, too.  I wonder if he’s ‘Dolph Lundgren in Rocky
IV playing the Russian boxer tall’, or if he’s a tall, slim thing?’
    ‘Who knows,’ Gill said noncommittally.
    ‘You share some interests and you could always try Zorbing!’
teased Debbie.
    ‘Yeah, because I wouldn’t feel sick doing that,’ Gill said
faintly.  An ex-boyfriend had once bought her a Zorbing session as a Christmas
present and she had been secretly delighted when the company had gone bust,
before she had the chance to use the voucher.
    ‘I wonder how good his English is, though,’ Debbie thought
out loud.
    ‘A lot of these boffins are used to speaking, reading and
writing English,’ Gill clarified.
    ‘Although it might be quite nice for him to be the strong,
silent type, if his English is limited.  Can’t imagine you’d need to be able to
talk to him much,’ Debbie winked at Gill again.
    ‘Will you stop that?  You’re making me nervous and it looks
like you’ve got a twitch.’
    Just then their main courses arrived.  They smelled and
looked amazing.
    Realising just how hungry they both still were, they tucked
in.  Between mouthfuls, Debbie managed to add, ‘He has my vote.’  She’d
uncovered the photo just after the waitress left and her