Except that now it was dark outside, and all that could be seen in the glass were the reflections of the few diners scattered about the little restaurant’s mostly empty tables.Ben automatically scanned each face and assessed the threat. He wasn’t going to be caught out the way he had been in Frigiliana. A solitary middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit who looked like a stressed-out salesman or low-flying business executive stopping over for the night on his way somewhere bigger and more important: threat level, zero. A young couple, maybe newly-weds, all rapt and dewy-eyed with adoration for one another. Threat level, ditto.Ben relaxed, smelled the cooking aromas wafting through from the kitchen and realised how hungry he was. When the waitress appeared, he ordered the biggest sirloin steak on the menu and a bottle of red wine. Raul opted for grilled fish in a butter and parsley sauce, and a glass of good Riesling.‘Just a glass?’ Ben said.‘I don’t like to drink too much.’‘If you were always this sober, I would never have got to know you,’ Ben said.‘Anyway, it’s too expensive by the bottle.’‘We’re not paying,’ Ben said, patting his pocket where the roll of cash nestled.
