The restaurant was just a short drive away from my little flat, or at least it was the way Leon drove. I had a rough idea of how much that top end BMW must have cost him and really had to wonder why he wasn't more concerned about potentially wrecking such an expensive car. Did he really have so much money he could just go out and buy himself a new one as if it were nothing? Or did some men just never grow out of that 'boy racer' phase? And anyway, what was the price of a car compared to, oh say, the lives of its passengers?

I gripped the edges of my seat hard with both hands, my knuckles gleaming white through the darkness, and remained quietly thankful for the journey that passed in silence. I was certain, had I ventured to speak, that my voice would have wobbled with fear. As if I hadn't already been nervous enough about this date to begin with.

Leon didn't spare so much as a glance in my direction as he drove, his dark eyes fixed intently on the road in front of him; and, for once, I was entirely grateful for being ignored by my date. The more he concentrated the less likely he would be to crash, said the nervous passenger that was at the forefront of my brain. Just don't distract him.

It was with some relief that we pulled into the car park outside of the Midsummer House restaurant, roughly about twenty minutes after pulling out of my street.

“Here we are.” Leon announced in a pleased and mildly excited tone as he turned off the car engine.

I looked over at the building that housed the restaurant, the other cars already parked around us and the few people that made their way towards the brightly lit entrance.

“Looks nice.” I said simply, figuring he was waiting for some kind of reaction from me.

Fancy had actually been the word that had immediately sprung to mind, but I tried not to repeat my earlier thoughts. Plus, I supposed, I should give the place a chance when I was being treated to dinner by a nice, obviously rich, handsome man. I just wished that he had told me where we were going before hand, I could have bought myself something more appropriate to wear.

As we wandered through the doors, waiting for the hostess to show us to our reserved table, I looked around at the other diners and felt, self-consciously, under-dressed. Okay, so they weren't all togged up for a night out at the Oscars or something of that sort, but my simple black shift dress just seemed to scream local Bistro, not Michelin starred restaurant. At least no one, but Leon, seemed to pay any attention to me as we weaved past their tables and took seats at our own.

Unfortunately I didn't seem to feel any more at home when I was handed my menu. It might not have been a foreign restaurant, the menu wasn't written in French or anything, no I could read it fine, but that wasn't to say I understood it. I had never heard of half the things that were listed, were they food? Methods of cooking? Interesting sauces? I actually thought I might have had more luck if the menu had been in French.

I let Leon peruse the wine list as I studied the menu, having been there before he already had a favourite dish selected for his meal. I frowned as I read the description of each dish that sounded vaguely appealing, trying to deduce what their contents might be and whether I would still find it all palatable once it had been served at the table. I might not have been a chef, but I was an intelligent woman, I could figure out a menu. Besides, the place had two Michelin stars, chances were that whatever I chose to order would be pretty good.

Wine, however, was not really my area. I'd never been a big drinker, never really had the time for it during earlier teen years; when all of my peers had been pushing the boundaries of rebellion I'd had my head in books with dreams of student life at Cambridge. Then, once I was there, studies and work left me little time for much of anything else. I mentioned this to Leon, that wine wouldn't really be necessary, but, apparently, eating in a fancy restaurant without wine was like some form of sacrilege. So reluctantly I agreed. Well, what harm could a glass or two do?

In the end I selected a rabbit dish from the menu that sounded appetising and intriguing. A part of me really hadn't wanted to play it safe and go with something simple, like chicken. I wanted Leon to think me adventurous in my choice, and rabbit, I felt, spoke of that.

Leon smiled and added a wine to the order that would go well with my dish, then the waiter headed back to the kitchen and left us to our own devices.

It was then that the conversation stalled, not that there had been much in the way of conversation since we'd gotten into his car. It had been so much easier to talk freely with him under the guise of work. The character that I played while I was there could flirt and chat about any number of meaningless things, but that wasn't really me. I didn't flirt, and small talk made me feel uncomfortable. I could answer questions quite happily, but I couldn't initiate a conversation; not topic ever seemed to come to mind.

After several minutes of strained silence had stretched across the table between us I sighed and slouched back in my chair.

“I'm sorry, this probably isn't the way you were expecting this evening to go at all.” I managed to say with a shrug.

Leon smiled at me and, to my surprise, shook his head.

“On the contrary, Sarah, this is exactly how I anticipated this evening would go.”

I frowned. “I'm sorry?”

“Yes, you said that already.” He quipped.

“No,” I went on, suppressing the role of my eyes at his attempt at a joke, “I mean, you were expecting something like this to happen? The long silences, lack of conversation?

“I was. Or, at least, I was hoping I would be right in my judgement of your character.” He said simply.

The furrows in my brow deepened as I sat, thoroughly confused, and pondered Leon's words. “You were hoping? I'm not sure I understand. You met me at work, and I was...”

“...In character.” Leon finished for me.

“Yes.” I agreed carefully.

I had to raise an eyebrow in question. It was almost scary just how perceptive his was. I honestly hadn't believed any of the men who frequented the club could be quite so incisive, I was sure they believed I lived in my costumes, or felt more comfortable without my clothes than with. But Leon saw through all of that? He knew it was all just an act and had expected the real me to be an almost polar opposite of my work persona.

“So, you knew all along that the person you met at the club wasn't me? Not the real me. Even during your private dance, I still had my work brain on, and you knew?”

Leon chuckled at my attempt at an explanation. “I'm usually a fairly good judge of character.” He shrugged simply. “I picked you out for a private show because I had my suspicions, and our little rendezvous seemed to confirm them. I just needed to get you out on a proper date, away from that hole to know for sure. And I can say, most certainly, that you are different from the other girls I saw there that night.”

In that moment he studied me closely and I felt the heat of a blush creep up my cheeks under the scrutiny of his gaze. The conversation had started to make me feel uncomfortable, yet I wasn't entirely certain why; and that was exactly the question that formed on my lips.

“Okay, but why?” I was aware that I had started to sound even more suspicious, not to mention ungrateful to the man who had taken me out to an expensive restaurant for dinner. I shook my head and smiled, before he had a chance to reply. I hadn't actually intended to give him the third degree on his reasons for asking me on this date, why couldn't I just believe that he was a nice guy who had seen through the act and actually liked what he saw?

“No. Actually, you know what, forget I asked that. I'm sorry for all the questions and me acting all suspicious. I suppose it's just been a long time since I've been asked out on a date. Takes some getting used to again.”

Leon had just watched me as I rambled, a bemused expression on his face and I swear I heard a soft chuckle escape his lips.

“You're cautious, that's a good quality.” He eventually said, “But, as I said, I'm usually a good judge of character, and you seemed to be just the sort of girl that I had been looking for.”

Somehow his words had done little to comfort me, in fact they managed to unnerve me even more, but I was prevented from resuming my interrogation by the arrival of our food.

The grumbling in my stomach overruled any questions that my brain had managed to form and I started to tuck in to my rabbit dish with gusto. It was actually quite delicious, and the wine that Leon had picked to accompany it was so surprisingly pleasant that I had soon emptied my first glass.

Leon refilled my glass from the bottle that stood in an ice bucket beside our table, then refilled his own glass with water from the jug in the centre of the table. I was relieved to see he wasn't drinking, not even one glass. He might have remained under the drink-drive limit, but his driving sober had already made me nervous.

I'd finished three-quarters of my seconds glass of wine just as I emptied my plate, and I was starting to feel the warm relaxed glow of the alcohol as it coursed through my body. I told myself I had better not drink too much more; a drunken exit was not at all how I planned to end my date with Leon.

I didn't touch the last dregs in my glass until after the table had been cleared and the waiter had returned to take our dessert orders. The wine had certainly helped to loosen my tongue and the conversation had been flowing freely over dinner; only this time Leon had been asking the questions.

We talked about my childhood, where I grew up, my ambitions in life. When the talk turned to Cambridge and my University courses I struggled not to let the guilt read openly on my face. So many years of hard work, dedication, support from my family, and I was had started to, so willingly, throw it all away tow work in that seedy little club.

For some reason, talking with Leon about my hopes, my ambitions, brought my reality into stark relief. The truth I had been hiding from, the nagging voices I'd been ignoring, all came to light, and my meal started to churn in my stomach.

Before the waiter could return with our desserts I had to excuse myself from the table and head to the ladies room. The wine, rabbit and guilt had made an unpleasant mixture and I needed a moment to calm myself for fear of vomiting over the table; a sure fire way to not get invited out again.

I splashed some cold water onto my face and took a few deep breaths. I could see my grave expression reflected from the mirrors above the sink. I couldn't go on like this, not just the date but my life. It had taken Leon to help me realise the truth and I had to do something to fix it. I steeled myself, fixed my expression back to one of contentment, safe in the knowledge that I would do something about it. Starting the next day I would stop neglecting my education in favour of easy money; it wouldn't last, and I couldn't so easily give up on my dreams.

A new determined edge set in my stride, I head back out to the table where my dessert and a refilled glass of wine were sat waiting for me. Tomorrow, it would all start afresh, and I'd have Leon to thank for it.