Diary Entry
Thursday Evening
Tonights events are still replaying in my mind, like scenes from a distinctly British farce. William had invited me to The Covent Garden Brasserie for our second date, a place so overtly grand that it practically wore its opulence like an ill-fitting cloak. The barely-there lighting cast shadows across marble-topped tables, while servers glided noiselessly between patrons. William was every bit the image of wealth and self-assurancetailored suit, gleaming cufflinks, and that particular half-smile of someone utterly convinced the room revolves around him.
Order whatever you fancy, he proclaimed, not even glancing at the menu, I simply cant stand it when a woman feels the need to hold back.
His words sounded almost theatrical, like dialogue borrowed from a classic tale of a generous prince. And yet, I felt a subtle unease, perhaps because of the critical gleam in his eye, or how much he enjoyed recounting stories of former girlfriends, confiding how each seemed to only see him as a walking purse.
I settled on a duck and orange salad with a glass of Chablis. William, meanwhile, indulged in a perfectly cooked sirloin, beef tartare, and a very expensive bottle of Bordeaux. He rambled on about entrepreneurial exploits and lamented the superficiality of modern life, pausing only to consider the deeper questions of spiritual kinship and personal values. I nodded and listened, but it all felt less like a date and more like an interviewa strange and slightly uncomfortable audition.
The curtain rose for the next act as the waiter placed a discreet black leather bill folder on the table. Williams monologue didnt miss a beat. While discoursing on the supposed decay of British morals, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, then the other, then patted around his trousers, feigning mild bewilderment. The expression on his face shiftedconfidence now carefully replaced by an exaggerated air of confusion.
Oh, bother he murmured, locking eyes with me. It seems my wallet is either at the office or in the other car.
He gave a little helpless shrugthough not a trace of genuine anxiety. He didnt ask the waiter to wait, nor did he even check his phone for banking apps. He simply fixed me with a look, waiting.
How terribly awkward, he declared, leaning back. I dont suppose you could cover it? Ill transfer it to you later, or next time Ill treat you doubly well. Promise.
It was crystal clearthis was a planned test, one hed waxed lyrical about earlier in the evening. Id heard of these games before, usually on dating forums or low-rent television dramas, but I never thought Id find myself targeted by such a juvenile ploy, especially from a supposedly grown man of such apparent success.
His method was laughably transparent: if the woman quietly pays, she’s “lovely” and accommodating; if she objects, she must be greedy. In that moment, I realised I wasnt on a date with a businessman, but rather facing a petty manipulator intent on testing me as though I were an unwitting schoolgirl.
He clearly believed hed already wonthat the promise of a relationship with such a catch would have me scrambling for my purse without a word.
Keeping my voice composed, I calmly unzipped my handbag. William visibly relaxed, thinking his little game had worked.
Of course, not a problem, I said sweetly, signaling the waiter.
Could you split the bill, please? I asked, clear and firm. Ill be paying for my own half. The sirloin, red wine, and your puddings can remain with the gentleman.
His smile died on his lips.
What do you mean? he hissed, leaning in. I told you, I dont have my wallet.
I nodded, tapping my card on the machine. I do understandand as we barely know each other, it would be reasonable for you to pay your own way. Besides, its hardly my job to cover the dinner of a man who picked the most extravagant dishes in the house. Youre a grown-up, WilliamIm sure youll find a way.
The waiter lingered awkwardly, eyes darting between us. William turned red, his self-satisfaction peeling away, revealing irritation and bluster beneath.
Are you serious? he gritted out. Just over a bit of money? I did say Id repay you. I was only testing you!
And now you know, I replied, standing up. I’m a woman who doesnt let herself be manipulated.
I made my way to the exit, but there was a sense that the finale hadnt quite been reached. William remained, fuming and floundering, faced with a bill he had no means to settle.
Turning back, I fished out a handful of squashed notes and shrapnelthe sort that always litters the bottom of my bagand placed them by his goblet of Bordeaux.
If your wallets in the other car, I imagine you wont have cab fare either? I said quietly. Heres some for the Underground. Consider it my contribution to your research into the female psyche.
A couple at the adjacent table shot us curious glances. William looked thoroughly chastenedalmost as though Id slapped him.
Out in the cool London night, I felt oddly lighter. My dinner cost amounted to a salad and a glass of winea small price to see through a person and save myself years of disappointment. I can only hope he reflects on tonight; though, truthfully, men like him rarely change.
I wonder, if you were in my shoes, would you have chosen to rescue the forgetful cavalier, or drawn a firm and honest boundary?
