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It would have been a pretty impressive place to own.
Dead ahead was a heavy ornate desk, behind which sat a severe-looking but nevertheless well-preserved old battle-axe, the kind who would effortlessly deflect any attempt to bullshit one's way into the main dining room. The doorway to that hallowed sanctum lay beyond. Next to the aged dowager stood the pale and skeletal figure of Strathallan, looking as calm and unperturbed as ever. I swaggered up to the reception desk and leaned on it nonchalantly. Always best to overplay these situations, I find. When hamming it up, use the whole pig. "Name of Gask," I said, giving the prissy matron behind the desk the full effect of my prize-winning sneer, "I have a reservation." "Good evening, Mister Gask," Strathallan said urbanely before the receptionist could even open her mouth. She glanced up at him, a frown creasing her forehead. He returned the puzzled look compounded with mild frustration, pointed with a long elegant finger at an entry in the leather-bound ledger - to his credit, the ink didn't even smudge - then tapped twice in a peremptory fashion. His attention returned to me, smiling one of those insincere official-issue head-waiter smiles that neither showed his teeth nor quite reached his eyes. "Your table is ready, sir," he went on with a maximum of oiled obsequiousness, "Please do follow me." He turned on his heel and led the way through the mystic portal to the inner sanctuary. I nodded ironically to the old dear, who glared back at me with a calculated intensity finely balanced between delivering a proper expression of her annoyance and her understandable desire to retain a well-paying job. Inside, the dining room was filled by the busy buzz of those torn between giving their full attention to a really good dinner and the necessities of conversation with one's dining companions. The widely-spaced tables were set with crisp white linen tablecloths, heavy silver cutlery and fine china discreetly monogrammed with a red-and-gilt "R". Low murmurs emanated from most places set for two or more, while those who dined alone were oases of reverent silence. Strathallan directed me to a place set for one and held the chair for me politely. I sat. He fussed for a few moments, then presented me with a heavy leather-bound menu. As I looked up, he indicated with a subtle movement of his eyes the sole diner seated at another table not fifteen feet away. Then he nodded urbanely and backed away. I opened the menu, which was substantial enough to warrant a fairly thorough study, and pretended to be taking it seriously. I actually spent those few minutes studying through hooded eyes the bulky middle-aged Goblin at the other table.
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The foyer was a masterpiece of elegance and luxury. The walls were clad with dark wood panelling that exuded the patina of well-cared-for agelessness, as well as the regular application of beeswax. The polished stone floor was inlaid with an intricate mosaic and a high ceiling discreetly enhanced with a repeating motif of gilt fleur-de-lys was held up by carved marble columns at regular intervals. Dotted here and there were glass-fronted cabinets displaying an eclectic collection of doodads, most of which I could not even identify. They looked expensive, though.
Part 11