the taxi arrived and we made an intermediate stop at theflower shop.

i had not been inside this shop – or indeed purchased flowersat all –since i’d stopped visiting daphne. daphne for daphne;obviously the appropriate choice for this evening was roses. thevendor recognised me and i informed her of daphne’s death.

after i purchased a dozen long-stemmed red roses, consistentwith standard romantic behaviour, she snipped a small quantityof daphne and inserted it in the buttonhole of my jacket. thesmell brought back memories of daphne.

i wished she was alive to meet rosie.

i tried to phone rosie as the taxi approached her apartmentbuilding, but there was no answer. she was not outside whenwe arrived, and most of the bell buttons did not have namesbeside them. there was a risk that she had chosen not toaccept my invitation.

it was cold and i was shaking. i waited a full ten minutes,then called again. there was still no answer and i was aboutto instruct the driver to leave when she came running out. ireminded myself that it was i who had changed, not rosie – ishould have expected her to be259/290late. she was wearing the black dress that had stunned me onthe night of the jacket incident. i gave her the roses. i readher expression as surprised.

then she looked at me.

‘you look different … really different … again,’ she said. ‘whathappened?’

‘i decided to reform myself.’ i liked the sound of the word:

‘re-form’.

we got in the taxi, rosie still holding the roses, and travelledthe short distance to the restaurant in silence. i was looking forinformation about her attitude towards me, and thought it bestto let her speak first. in fact she didn’t say anything until shenoticed that the taxi was stopping outside le gavroche – thescene of the jacket incident.

‘don, is this a joke?’

i paid the driver, exited the taxi and opened rosie’s door. shestepped out but was reluctant to proceed, clutching the roses toher chest with both hands. i put one hand behind her andguided her towards the door, where the ma?tre d’ whom wehad encountered on our previous visit was standing in hisuniform. jacket man.

he recognised rosie instantly, as evidenced by his greeting.

‘rosie.’

then he looked at me. ‘sir?’

‘good evening.’ i took the flowers from rosie and gave themto the ma?tre d’. ‘we have a reservation in the name oftillman. would you be kind enough to look after these?’ it wasa standard formula but very confidence-boosting. everyoneseemed very comfortable now that we were behaving in apredictable manner. the ma?tre d’ checked the reservation list.

i took the opportunity to smooth over any remaining difficultiesand made a small prepared joke.

‘my apologies for the misunderstanding last time. thereshouldn’t be any difficulties tonight. unless they overchill thewhite burgundy.’ i smiled.

260/290a male waiter appeared, the ma?tre d’ introduced me, brieflycomplimenting me on my jacket, and we were led into thedining room and to our table. it was all very straightforward.

i ordered a bottle of chablis. rosie still seemed to be adjusting.

the sommelier appeared with the wine. he was looking aroundthe room, as if for support. i diagnosed nervousness.

‘it’s at thirteen degrees but if sir would like it less chilled … ormore chilled …’

‘that will be fine, thank you.’

he poured me a taste and i swirled, sniffed and noddedapproval according to the standard protocol. meanwhile, thewaiter who had led us to the table reappeared. he was aboutforty, bmi approximately twenty-two, quite tall.

‘professor tillman?’ he said. ‘my name’s nick and i’m the headwaiter. if there’s anything you need, or anything that’s aproblem, just ask for me.’

‘much appreciated, nick.’

waiters introducing themselves by name was more in theamerican tradition. either this restaurant deliberately chose todo so as a point of difference, or we were being given morepersonal treatment. i guessed the latter: i was probably markedas a dangerous person.

good. i would need all the support i could get tonight.

nick handed us menus.

‘i’m happy to leave it to the chef,’ i said. ‘but no meat, andseafood only if it’s sustainable.’

nick smiled. ‘i’ll speak to the chef and see what he can do.’

‘i realise it’s a little tricky, but my friend lives by some quitestrict rules,’ i said.

rosie gave me a very strange look. my statement was intendedto make a small point, and i think it succeeded. she tried herchablis and buttered a bread roll. i remained silent.

261/290finally she spoke.

‘all right, gregory peck. what are we doing first? the my fairlady story or the big revelation?’

this was good. rosie was prepared to discuss things directly.

in fact, directness had always been one of rosie’s positiveattributes, though on this occasion she had not identified themost important topic.

‘i’m in your hands,’ i said. standard polite method for avoidinga choice and empowering the other person.

‘don, stop it. you know who my father is, right? it’stable-napkin man, isn’t it?’

‘possibly,’ i said, truthfully. despite the positive outcome of themeeting with the dean, i did not have my lab key back. ‘thatisn’t what i want to share.’

‘all right then. here’s the plan. you share your thing; tell mewho my father is; tell me what you’ve done to yourself; weboth go home.’

i couldn’t put a name to her tone of speech and expression,but it was clearly negative. she took another sip of her wine.

‘sorry.’ she looked a little apologetic. ‘go. the sharing thing.’

i had grave doubts about the likely efficacy of my next move,but there was no contingency plan. i had sourced my speechfrom when harry met sally. it resonated best with me andwith the situation, and had the additional advantage of the linkto our happy time in new york. i hoped rosie’s brain wouldmake that connection, ideally subconsciously. i drank theremainder of my wine. rosie’s eyes followed my glass, then shelooked up at me.

‘are you okay, don?’

‘i asked you here tonight because when you realise you wantto spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want therest of your life to start as soon as possible.’

i studied rosie’s expression carefully. i diagnosed stunned.

262/290‘oh my god,’ said rosie, confirming the diagnosis. i followedup while she was still receptive.

‘it seems right now that all i’ve ever done in my life is makingmy way here to you.’

i could see that rosie could not place the line from thebridges of madison county that had produced such apowerful emotional reaction on the plane. she looked confused.

‘don, what are you … what have you done to yourself?’

‘i’ve made some changes.’

‘big changes.’

‘whatever behavioural modifications you require from me are atrivial price to pay for having you as my partner.’

rosie made a downwards movement with her hand, which icould not interpret. then she looked around the room and ifollowed her eyes. everyone was watching. nick had stoppedpartway to our table. i realised that in my intensity i hadraised my voice. i didn’t care.

‘you are the world’s most perfect woman. all other women areirrelevant. permanently. no botox or implants will be required.’

i heard someone clapping. it was a slim woman of about sixtysitting with another woman of approximately the same age.

rosie took a drink of her wine, then spoke in a verymeasured way.

‘don, i don’t know where to start. i don’t even know who’sasking me– the old don or billy crystal.’

‘there’s no old and new,’ i said. ‘it’s just behaviour. socialconventions. glasses and haircut.’

‘i like you, don,’ said rosie. ‘okay? forget what i said aboutouting my father. you’re probably right. i really really like you.

i have fun with you. the best times. but, you know i couldn’teat lobster every tuesday. right?’

‘i’ve abandoned the standardised meal system. i’ve deletedthirty-eight per cent of my weekly schedule, excluding sleep. i’vethrown out263/290my old t-shirts. i’ve eliminated all of the things you didn’t like.

further changes are possible.’

‘you changed yourself for me?’

‘only my behaviour.’

rosie was silent for a while, obviously processing the newinformation.

‘i need a minute to think,’ she said. i automatically started thetimer on my watch. suddenly rosie started laughing. i lookedat her, understandably puzzled at this outburst in the middle ofa critical life decision.

‘the watch,’ she said. ‘i say “i need a minute” and you starttiming.

don is not dead.’

i waited. i looked at my watch. when there were fifteenseconds left, i assessed that it was likely that she was about tosay no. i had nothing to lose. i pulled the small box from mypocket and opened it to reveal the ring i had purchased. iwished i had not learned to read expressions, because i couldread rosie’s now and i knew the answer.

‘don,’ said rosie. ‘this isn’t what you want me to say. butremember on the plane, when you said you were wireddifferently?’

i nodded. i knew what the problem was. the fundamental,insur-mountable problem of who i was. i had pushed it to theback of my mind since it had surfaced in the fight with phil.

rosie didn’t need to explain. but she did.

‘that’s inside you. you can’t fake – sorry, start again. you canbehave perfectly, but if the feeling’s not there inside … god, ifeel so unreasonable.’

‘the answer is no?’ i said, some small part of my brain hopingthat for once my fallibility in reading social cues would work inmy favour.

‘don, you don’t feel love, do you?’ said rosie. ‘you can’t reallylove me.’

264/290‘gene diagnosed love.’ i knew now that he had been wrong. ihad watched thirteen romantic movies and felt nothing. thatwas not strictly true. i had felt suspense, curiosity andamusement. but i had not for one moment felt engaged in thelove between the protagonists.

i had cried no tears for meg ryan or meryl streep ordeborah kerr or vivien leigh or julia roberts.

i could not lie about so important a matter. ‘according to yourdefinition, no.’

rosie looked extremely unhappy. the evening had turned intoa disaster.

‘i thought my behaviour would make you happy, and insteadit’s made you sad.’

‘i’m upset because you can’t love me. okay?’

this was worse! she wanted me to love her. and i wasincapable.

‘don,’ she said, ‘i don’t think we should see each other anymore.’

i got up from the table and walked back to the entrance foyer,out of sight of rosie and the other diners. nick was there,talking to the maitre d’. he saw me and came over.

‘can i help you with anything?’

‘unfortunately, there has been a disaster.’

nick looked worried, and i elaborated. ‘a personal disaster.

there is no risk to other patrons. would you prepare the bill,please?’

‘we haven’t served you anything,’ said nick. he looked at meclosely for a few moments. ‘there’s no charge, sir. the chablisis on us.’ he offered me his hand and i shook it. ‘i think yougave it your best shot.’

i looked up to see gene and claudia arriving. they wereholding hands. i had not seen them do this for several years.

‘don’t tell me we’re too late,’ said gene, jovially.

i nodded, then looked back into the restaurant. rosie waswalking quickly towards us.

‘don, what are you doing?’ she said.

265/290‘leaving. you said we shouldn’t see each other again.’

‘fuck,’ she said, then looked at gene and claudia. ‘what areyou doing here?’

‘we are summoned to a “thank you and celebration”,’ saidgene.

‘happy birthday, don.’

he gave me a gift-wrapped package, and put his arm aroundme in a hug. i recognised that this was probably the final stepin the male-male advice protocol, indicating acceptance of theadvice without damage to our friendship, and managed not toflinch, but could not process the input any further. my brainwas already overloaded.

‘it’s your birthday?’ said rosie.

‘correct.’

‘i had to get helena to look up your birth date,’ said gene,‘but “celebration” was a clue.’

i normally do not treat birthdays differently from other days,but it had struck me as an appropriate occasion to commencea new direction.

claudia introduced herself to rosie, adding, ‘i’m sorry, it seemswe’ve come at a bad time.’

rosie turned to gene. ‘a “thank you”? thank you? shit. itwasn’t enough to set us up – you had to coach him. you hadto turn him into you.’

claudia said, quietly, ‘rosie, it wasn’t gene’s –’

gene put a hand on claudia’s shoulder and she stopped.

‘no, it wasn’t,’ he said. ‘who asked him to change? who saidthat he’d be perfect for her if he was different?’

rosie was now looking very upset. all of my friends (exceptdave the baseball fan) were fighting. this was terrible. iwanted to roll the story back to new york and make betterdecisions. but it was impossible. nothing would change the faultin my brain that made me unacceptable.

266/290gene hadn’t stopped. ‘do you have any idea what he did foryou?

take a look in his office sometime.’ he was presumablyreferring to my schedule and the large number of rosie projectactivities.

rosie walked out of the restaurant.

gene turned to claudia. ‘sorry i interrupted you.’

‘someone had to say it,’ said claudia. she looked at rosie, whowas already some distance down the street. ‘i think i coachedthe wrong person.’

gene and claudia offered me a lift home, but i did not wantto continue the conversation. i started walking, then acceleratedto a jog. it made sense to get home before it rained. it alsomade sense to exercise hard and put the restaurant behind meas quickly as possible. the new shoes were workable, but thecoat and tie were uncomfortable even on a cold night. i pulledoff the jacket, the item that had made me temporarilyacceptable in a world to which i did not belong, and threw itin a rubbish bin. the tie followed. on an impulse i retrievedthe daphne from the jacket and carried it in my hand for theremainder of the journey. there was rain in the air and myface was wet as i reached the safety of my apartment.