Charlotte Street was lively this time of night, and a well-dressed intoxicated couple nearly bumped into them as they got out of the taxi. Robin put a hand at the small of Quentin's back.
"Southeast Asian," Robin said, leading him inside what appeared to be a rambling four story Fitzrovia townhouse. "A taste of 1930s Saigon." Which was one of the reasons Robin liked it. He'd spent some time there in just that time period.
Inside it was all bamboo, tobacco-washed walls, dark wooden blinds, peppered with intimate nooks and crannies. The hostess was a beautiful woman in a tight, black dress, and when Robin spoke to her in Vietnamese she led them to a small, private room. Typically held for small parties of perhaps ten people, but they'd put in a smaller table.
"I'm not just showing off," Robin said with a grin as he pulled a seat out of Quentin. "They were very booked up for the evening."
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"Southeast Asian," Robin said, leading him inside what appeared to be a rambling four story Fitzrovia townhouse. "A taste of 1930s Saigon." Which was one of the reasons Robin liked it. He'd spent some time there in just that time period.
Inside it was all bamboo, tobacco-washed walls, dark wooden blinds, peppered with intimate nooks and crannies. The hostess was a beautiful woman in a tight, black dress, and when Robin spoke to her in Vietnamese she led them to a small, private room. Typically held for small parties of perhaps ten people, but they'd put in a smaller table.
"I'm not just showing off," Robin said with a grin as he pulled a seat out of Quentin. "They were very booked up for the evening."