Going back to Bluff part Three. The Meal

 There was a big window at one end of the space with a couple of tables beside it, one was occupied by what looked like a bored couple on holiday, I was wrong there, and the other was empty so I sat and looked out a the slowly fading daylight. Way down south evenings are long, they seem to fill that space between day and night with a drawn out yawn, stretching, easing back and reminding you something like , sleeps going to come well tonight, I was wrong there too. I could smell Billie's chips, someone else was having steak and that smell too filled the room. There were five tables of guests, the couple next to me, what looked like a couple of locals not dressed up at all and comfortable in the space, a man by himself dressed smart, a lawyer or something of that type down here on business, maybe to see an old couple with a big family trust to sort out, a well paid trip for him to take and to tell his partners about back in the city, he looked Wellington, smooth but honest, late forties, there were two women, obviously holidaying together, nice leather hand bags, nice leather flats, one with a silky shirt and slacks and the other a designer tee and smart black jeans and another table had three young Frenchmen, tourists, excited and voluble. So that was it, five tables of eaters enjoying Billie and Marco's, chattering amongst themselves, except for the lawyer he had some papers and he was flipping through between mouthfuls of pasta. He was near me and I leaned over, excuse me, I said, I hope you don't mind, but I plan to be here for a few days mind if I ask you what the pasta is like. He looked up, his mouth a little too full with a sort of squeezed goofy grin, bring his hand up to his mouth he chewed and swallowed, it's good, he said, I always come here when I'm down this way, always get the calamari and fresh tomato with a little chervil and pepper, Marco makes his own pasta, delicious. He was Wellington alright no doubt about it but not a lawyer, no, not careful enough, too open, I sort of shrugged and said, thankyou, what are you down here for. Now he was careful, he suddenly withdrew and replied, I just do a bit of regular work here for some locals who need advice. It turned out it was just one local, Marco, and just then the big man came over with the plate,want something to drink, he said, and told me Billie reckons you need a beer, he reckons you need fattening up. I heard a chuckle out back. OK, I told Marco, a lager, warm, and from out the back there was a choking sound followed by a loud laugh. Marco bought it over and glanced at the smooth guy, anything else he said, and the Wellingtonian shook his head, no thanks Marco, I'll be off I think, and with that he got up without a word and left, all the time Marco's eyes following him carefully then he looked around and gave me a sort of smile saying,what were you two talking about? This seemed strange, why should Marco be interested? Not much, I replied, I just wanted to know what the pasta was like. The big man wiped the table and picked up the plates, he says he always has the squid, I said. Marco looked and me and grinned, the first smile I saw from him, and said, he knows what he likes, busy man that man, very busy. So that was that, cod and salad, I always have warm lager with salad, and I settled down finishing my meal all the time wondering about desert, and that busy man. Money that's what he does, I thought, and I was right but it wasn't that clear cut as it turned out. So I got on with my meal and determined to sit around a bit, have desert and some drinks and get to know these guys, I was starting to become interested in the whole set-up, I don't really know why, I guess after a flat time in my life I was feeling inquisitive about everything again.