'OK.'

He wanders over to the bar, taking the opportunity to light up. While he waits, he just stares into the middle distance, smoking absently. The tiredness creeps back over him when he's still, and the exertion out there doesn't help. But it's a relaxed kind of tired this time, with a buzz of anticipation prowling around inside. The promise of what's to come is enough to keep him going.

'Champagne,' he says to the bar. 'Bollinger. And two bottles of red - somethin' good - and two bottles of Johnnie Walker.'

She didn't tell him what she wanted to eat. His fingers tap the counter.

'Can the vermin deliver? Just - shit, I dunno. Something she likes for lunch. Whatever she had last time she was here at lunchtime. An' Dover Sole for dinner, about seven tonight?'

Bar does nothing for a moment, as if taking umbrage to the vague instructions. But then the bottles appear, with a note in the positive.

'Ta, luv. Oh, an' a couple of mugs of tea, soon as you like.'

He wanders back over, the bottles clinking in the bag as they bash against his leg. He has a feeling Dover Sole should come with white wine, but tough. She'll just have to make do.

'C'mon. The racket down here's doin' my head in.'