'We're out of stock.'
'Do you have any food at all?'
'None. We're having trouble with our supplier. I should have some in on Monday or Tuesday.'
'I'm starving,' I said, paying for the beers.
Peter overheard this exchange. 'People like that make me sick,' he said when I returned to the table. 'They don't deserve to be in business. They could easily go to a supermarket and buy half a dozen packets of nuts and crisps, how much initiative does that take?'
We consumed our second pints at a much more comfortable pace, while he speculated about the effect of his new job on Caroline, saying that she ought to have a good chance of finding work in New York. I listened and nodded, encouraging him to do most of the talking. After about an hour he was less agitated, and my hopes of escape rose when he seemed to be running out of things to say.
'What a way to start the weekend! That's enough of my troubles. What about you? What's happening to you these days?'
'Oh, nothing much.'
'Still living in Chiswick, on your own?'
'Yes, I'm still on my own.'
'Anyone special at the moment?'
What would he think of my relationship with Tom, so utterly different from his socially approved marital status? 'There is someone, a boyfriend. We're doing all right.' If he knew what Tom did for a living he was bound to sneer. Instead I talked about Andrew, how he was building up his business in Ferns and Foliage, about the nursery in Buckinghamshire and how he was hoping to expand onto land adjoining the site.
'I admire his type. They're resourceful and energetic. What he does is small scale, they're living above the shop types of business, but he has the satisfaction of being his own man. Nobody is going to be able to pack him off to the States when he doesn't want to go.'
All this time I was watching the level of beer in Peter's glass, matching my speed of drinking to his, hoping that soon we would finish our drinks and I would be able to go home. When his glass was empty, before I could stop him he was on his feet and at the bar ordering refills. On his return he said he was awfully sorry but he would have to go soon and we would have to make these the last beers, as though our being there had been at my instigation, not his.
Finally we left, a stomach too full of beer doing nothing to ease my hunger. The rush hour was over, but my train was full and I had to stand all the way back to Chiswick. My mind churned over all the events of the day, the alcohol jumbling everything up. Peter's support had helped my progress in the firm so much, his rapid downfall made me wonder about my own future. I had climbed to a level from which it would be difficult to go higher. Should I start looking for a better paid job elsewhere? Had the time come for me to make a complete change to something where I would no longer be vulnerable to humiliation by elderly accountants who considered themselves my superiors?