London, September 14, 2001: something to celebrate
Giles is beginning to regret asking Olivia to choose the restaurant. Nothing elaborate, he told her, and she agreed. But Olivia's notion of "elaborate" was formed by years of dining out on a Saatchi and Saatchi expense account, wooing clients with old wines and new cuisines. This place, small and quiet and discreetly lighted, serving upscale versions of traditional English food, she probably considers casual and homely. Giles finds it faintly intimidating, even in the slightly more relaxed atmosphere of lunch. He hasn't eaten at a place like this since . . . well, since his goodbye dinner, the night before he left for Sunnydale. Olivia picked the restaurant then, too.
And this is the first time he and Oz have been in a restaurant together since their cafe breakfast last week. They've been cooking together, making stews and pasta sauces and other simple things, relearning each other's habits and tastes over long, talkative lunches and dinners. In their own kitchen, at their own table, they can stop and kiss if they like, and if they don't get back to the meal for an hour or two, that's all right. Going out in public, Giles thinks as he glances around at the full dining room and avoids eye contact with the attentive waiter, may be an overrated pleasure.
Giles looks at the menu for the third or fourth time, smiles at Oz, and silently curses Olivia for being late. She assured him she'd have no trouble nipping away from the office for a long Friday lunch, a determined optimism that he should have recognized and doubted. It's nearly half-past one; if she's not here by then, he's going to ring her.
Oz has been quiet since they arrived, which probably means he's uncomfortable. London's noise and crowding and polluted air, the constant low-key anxiety of city life that Giles has long since grown used to, still unnerve him. The few times they've gone out, Oz hasn't been able to tolerate more than a couple of hours before drawing in on himself. His face goes blank, he hunches his shoulders tensely, making himself small, and he stops looking around or trying to talk. That reaction embarrasses him, afterwards, although Giles has told him that he used to find London a bit of a shock too, coming home after one of his solitary hill-walking holidays in Scotland or Wales. And Oz was in Patagonia for more than a year. Giles tries not to worry that perhaps he misses it.
"You look very smart," Giles says. He's already said it at least once already, before they left the flat, but Oz tolerantly gives the compliment a half-smile and smoothes the collar of his dark-blue shirt. Yesterday he finally gave in and let Giles buy him some clothes. It was, Giles thinks, mostly a sign of how worried Oz has been, how pleased that Giles, for the first time since Tuesday, felt well enough to leave the flat. He didn't even argue when Giles insisted on his getting new things, from a proper shop, rather than going to one of that tatty street markets at Camden or Covent Garden.
The waiter comes by to refill their water glasses, but doesn't, after Giles frowns at him, ask again if they'd care to order. Giles is just asking if there's a telephone he can use when Olivia sweeps in, breathless and beautiful in a gray suit and high heels that make her nearly as tall as he is. "Happy birthday, Rupert," she says, and as he hugs and kisses her he realizes that he's missed her terribly. She seems to have forgiven him for all his neglect of the past month, and indeed the past year and more. Once again, he's been granted more luck, and more love, than he deserves.
"And you must be Oz," Olivia says, before Giles can introduce him. She smiles her warmest smile, holds out a hand, and says, "I'm so glad to finally meet you." There's not a hint in her voice of skepticism, not a hint that she remembers the long phone calls and the abrupt trip to Sunnydale that it took to put Giles back together again after Oz left town. But of course there wouldn't be. Olivia is the second most charming person Giles has ever known. Ethan was first, but unlike Ethan, she's not hiding malice under all that fluent social grace.
Giles hopes, far more urgently than he'd expected, that Oz likes her and the she likes him.