Two Saviours

The tall, top hatted man in front of you seems unassuming until you glance, in the mirror wall, hinted accusation and demand pinching his bland round face.
Whatever he has told the woman who seems to be deciding whether to serve him, is evidently not worth taking her hands off the bar about. No, nothing new under the chandeliers except the fresh oranges in the cut glass bowl which are nothing to do with him, and the pair of pink roses in the wineglass at which, one noticing, the other rediscovering, both try hard not to smile, like amateur actors.