Dream London by Tony Ballantyne

polished floor. This was what I would be wearing tomorrow, I guessed.
    I slipped out of the suit and pulled on some more casual clothes, topping them off with my military jacket. I wanted to look the part for dinner.
    There was a knock on the door.
    “Come in!”
    Anna stood there, looking even more stunning in a grey dress.
    “Mother said to tell you that dinner was ready.”
    She turned and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the dining room, watching the sway of her perfectly rounded bottom through her dress.
    The table was spread with a large white cloth. I counted the silver cutlery arrangements to see that it was set for five. Alan and Margaret were already there, along with Alan’s ‘friend’.
    “Thank you Anna,” said Margaret. She gave me a brittle smile. “We’ve had drinks already, James. I hope you don’t mind, only we were beginning to wonder if you were coming.”
    The room smelt of sweetness and gravy.
    We sat down. Alan sat at the head of the table. I sat to his left, his lover to his right, facing me. Margaret sat on my left, Anna took her place across the table.
    A maid dressed in a blue and white striped dress carried a large tureen into the room.
    “Egg soup,” said Margaret, and then she added, rather proudly, “Well, we do have the best egg market in the city on our doorstep.”
    The maid began to ladle clear soup into our bowls.
    “We’ve got the best of everything on our doorstep,” said Alan. “Except for a cheese shop of course. That’s the only thing that Farringdon does better than us. What do you say, Shaqeel?”
    Shaqeel didn’t say anything. He gave a louche smile and I guessed from the movement of his arm just where his hand was currently wandering beneath the table. Beside him, Anna kept her eyes fixed deliberately on her bowl.
    A bowl of soup was placed before me, eggs floating within, both whole and sliced. Large hens’ eggs and tiny wrens’ eggs. Cautiously, I dipped my spoon inside. To my surprise, it tasted rather good.
    “So,” said Alan, breaking the awkward silence that settled upon the table. “How was your day at school, Anna?”
    “Very good, thank you, Father.”
    “Anna is doing five A Levels,” said her mother, proudly.
    “Really?” I said. “What are you doing.”
    “English Literature, Music, History and Art.”
    “That’s only four,” I said.
    “Everyone has to do Sex and Sexuality as part of PSHE now,” said Anna.
    “PSHE?”
    “Personal, Social and Health Education. It’s all about sex.” She sipped at her soup, making perfectly clear the topic was at an end.
    “Still,” I said. “All those subjects. You must be quite the artist.”
    “I wanted to do Maths and Physics, but they are no longer suitable for girls. Even the boys study only Accountancy and Economics now, rather than any real science.”
    “What did you study at school, James?” asked Margaret, obviously unwilling to listen to a familiar complaint any longer.
    To my right, Alan and Shaqeel were playing footsy, oblivious to the conversation.
    “I left school at sixteen,” I said. “Joined the army.”
    “Did you kill anyone?” asked Anna, looking at me appraisingly over her spoon.
    “Anna! I’m sure that’s not a polite question! I’m sorry, James. You were saying.” She leant a little closer to me, and I smelt her perfume. She smelt strongly of flowers, the sort my girls used to put themselves and their clients in the mood of a night.
    “Well, that’s it really,” I said. “I left school. I went in the army. I left last year.”
    “Why did you leave?” asked Anna.
    “Anna!”
    We finished our soup. The maid took the bowls away and replaced them with white plates decorated in a blue willow pattern. I touched the rim of the plate.
    “I see that you’ve noticed our dinner service,” said Margaret. “It’s from Chinatown, you know.” I felt her hand stroke the outside of my thigh.
    “Chinatown,” I said. “How nice.” I looked directly at