Eight
In front of her, the kitchen swam. Fiona staggered and clutched at the serving counter.
‘Fi,’ he whispered.
Her eyes darted round the room, checking for George. They were alone. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.
‘What do you think?’
She heard whistling, then Josh ambled in, grinning. ‘Fiona, meet the hero of the night.’
‘It’s a team effort, Josh,’ said Ru.
As Fiona turned and stumbled from the room, tears coursing over her face, she could hear Ru still talking.
In the staffroom, she yanked her bag and jacket off the hook and fled up the cobbled main street.
Halfway through Brambleton she flopped onto a bench and stared out to where lights from the night fishing boats twinkled and sparkled on the inky black sea.
What was she going to do now? There was only one reason Ru was here – he hadn’t listened to her. He was here to change Fiona’s mind.
Succumbing to the hollow emptiness piercing her chest might have been tempting, but it would result in facing new, and worse, heartbreak when he inevitably found someone else who was a better match.
How could she distance herself, give herself time to fall out of love with him?
Should she tell Rose that Ru was her ex?
That wouldn’t work. Asking Rose to choose between Ruben, the celebrity chef, and Fiona, the nobody, was a sure route to her losing her own job.
What if Fiona went back to London? But if she did that, Ru would come after her.
Maybe she should go travelling, work her way round Europe from one restaurant to the other.
Except now it was autumn, seasonal hires would be thin on the ground, and anyway, her precarious finances wouldn’t stretch to buying tickets for travel.
With a heavy heart, she knew what she must do. Stay in Brambleton until her exam. With luck, there would be another sitting soon. All she had to do was keep her job in the pub, throw herself into her studies and smother her love for Ru.
On Saturday morning she awoke full of resolve.
She forced herself out of bed and into the shower, then settled herself back on her bed, immersed in the wine world.
She was researching a topic close to her heart – the shift towards more eco-friendly practices.
She admired those wineries reducing their carbon footprint through organic and biodynamic farming.
While organic farming simply avoided chemicals, biodynamic practices ventured into more peculiar territory – burying cow horns filled with manure during specific lunar phases, fermenting yarrow in stag bladders, and spraying vineyards with the burned ashes of the very pests they were trying to eliminate.
These medieval sounding rituals followed astronomical calendars and cosmic rhythms. Amusing as these methods seemed, prestigious winemakers swore they produced more vibrant wines with superior terroir expression.
Nestled cosily under one of Ivy’s many crocheted blankets, she lost herself in her other world, blotting out all thoughts of who would be waiting for her at the pub.
Shortly before eleven, Fiona walked into Brambleton.
From here the distant sea looked like a tranquil blue quilt, its surface sparkling with the sun’s reflection.
All around her, trees were turning colour: an array of soft fawns, yellows and reds, smudged with the occasional dark evergreen.
Devon was in the throes of an Indian summer, and the warmth of the sun was a cruel reminder of the holiday she should have spent wrapped in Ru’s arms. She understood why he’d followed her.
It was a knee-jerk reaction from a supremely confident man focused on his goals – Ru never took no as the definitive answer from anyone.
For most people, having a marriage proposal rejected would extinguish the love flame like a bucket of cold water, but with Ru, it was more akin to pouring petrol on that fire. He would view this as a challenge. She must do everything to prove to him it was a hopeless case.
She passed Brambleton’s café cum bookshop, Prosecco explain why I did what I did.’
She sighed; Fiona didn’t want to listen to Ru claim his motive wasn’t his own career.
She would never match his talent or his success; but what hurt was realizing he never truly believed in her own abilities or her vision for that new restaurant, and instead of confronting her directly, he’d gone behind her back to the investors.
His admission still burned. And if she stayed with Ru?
He’d either find someone more talented eventually, or worse, she’d hold him back, becoming the compromise he silently resented.
‘I’m not sure I want to hear your explanation. ’
‘Please. I agonised over this all the way driving back up to London without you. I get how this must look to you, that you think I went behind your back—’
Her head snapped up. ‘Because that’s exactly what you did.’
‘But I did it for you ...’ he pleaded.
Her jaw fell slack. This was worse than she imagined. ‘For me?’
‘I knew you weren’t ready for that exam; I was trying to protect you.
I’m sorry, I was wrong, I should have talked it through with you.
’ Too dazed to reply, she listened as Ru rambled on.
‘And I guessed that’s why you turned me down and I get it, but I must put this right between us.
I can’t concentrate. Ben’s even had to take over organizing my new kitchen . ..’
There it was again, that word: ‘my’. A small word which punched above its weight. She knew right then that she’d made the right decision. ‘I just know we aren’t right for each other, Ru,’ she spluttered, keeping her eyes away from his handsome face.
‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘Look at me.’
She couldn’t look at him, not while the sight of him still sent an aching shudder of desire through her body. ‘Mousse,’ he said again, ‘please look at me.’
She lifted her face.
He smiled at her and raised his voice. ‘That’s better.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ she hissed.
‘You’re wrong. I know we are right for each other, and I’m here to win you back. I still love you and I know you love me. Is this about your failed exam? Or your debts? Who cares about them?’
His words hit her like a punch in the stomach. She was a failure in his eyes and always would be. Somehow, she had to convince him to listen to her – she needed to set him free to meet the right woman, someone worthy of his love.
‘Ru, you just don’t get it. I care. The whole world cares. Without that qualification, I’m nothing.’
‘Stop this nonsense. It’s a piece of paper. Rose and George don’t care that you’re not a member of the CMS.’
‘This is a pub in Brambleton, not a Michelin-starred London restaurant. When I am in the CMS I can command a proper salary in a proper restaurant.’
He rushed on, his voice thick with emotion. ‘We don’t need it. Let’s just be together. I’ll take care of you.’
She felt a hot spurt of frustration. He simply wasn’t listening.
‘I don’t want to be taken care of!’ With her heart pounding, she dredged her mind for a way to get him to back off.
He wasn’t listening to her real reasons, so she’d have to invent something he would believe.
She swallowed and summoned all the grief and pain that had built up over the last five weeks.
Then she leaned towards him and whispered, ‘I was only staying with you for the money, so you could fund my exams.’
His face crumpled. She heard him inhale loudly, then his voice, gruff and tinged with anger, filled the room. ‘And I was only with you because I felt sorry for you. You’re right – you are a failure, and I want my money back. I can do so much better than a washed-up waitress.’
Finally. The truth. Even though he’d finally said the words she always dreaded, it hadn’t made her hate him.
His words were like a splinter pulled from flesh.
Painful – oh, so painful – but with the promise of respite to come.
There was relief in knowing she was right all along.
Fiona exhaled, sensing her frustration subside.
‘So will you go back to London, please?’
He hesitated. ‘No. That’s not fair on George and Rose. I’ve promised to work here as the sous chef. Anyway, Ben’s in charge in London. We’ll just have to find a way to work together.’
‘Strictly professional?’
‘Of course,’ he said – too fast, too sharp.
‘Right.’
‘Right.’ he echoed.
She didn’t reply. Just turned and walked away.