Life behind closed doors…

She wasn’t particularly beautiful, but there was something about her which caught the eye. That’s probably why I noticed her.

Despite the cold, she and her husband were seated at a table out on the veranda of the restaurant. He was a smoker. He was on his third drink by the time their food arrived. Her wine glass had been empty for a while, but he didn’t notice. She didn’t order for herself.

His steak was so big it filled the plate. I was starting to regret ordering carbonara. I can’t remember what she ate. They didn’t talk. Not at all. He was staring at the television set. In fact, when they decided on a table, he picked that one, ensuring he could keep an eye on whatever sport was being shown.

She had her back to the television, but it was obvious she had no interest. She was sort of smiling, looking around without seeing anything, immersed in her thoughts.

He asked a question and got irate when she didn’t respond immediately. He tapped her glass with his knife to get her attention.

It emitted a tone that reminded me of a bell used to summons servants in movies. It looked like he lost his line of thought, because he picked up the empty glass and waived it in the direction of the waiter, a signal to refill. He was watching the TV again.

The waiter took his empty plate and her half-eaten meal. She put her hand on his, but he withdrew, picked up his phone and typed a short message.

Next time I looked, they were walking to his car. He was a few paces ahead, very pleased that he had yet again spoilt his wife.

Later that night, after he had locked the doors, armed the alarm, and turned off the lights, she would have to perform the usual ritual he demanded as token of her appreciation. He would be snoring while she dried her tears.

It was a shock when, a few weeks later, the local newspaper reported that a well-known local businessman had been killed by his wife.

He was such a good man and they were so happily married.