Chapter 39
DINNER THAT NIGHT WAS goat’s cheese tart, followed by poussin, Sicilian-style potato gratin with capers, and ratatouille. Maggie hadn’t bothered making a pudding for between the poussin and the cheese trolley as she knew it wasn’t going to be necessary. Not for Mr Donovan, anyway.
Jamie was at the oven, frying off a handful of pine nuts. ‘But why did he think that about you guys?’
‘That we were together? No idea.’
Maggie had thought about the reporter’s claim all afternoon. It was ludicrous, a crazy, outrageous and bizarre assumption. But some deep, secret part of her also liked it, as if she was flattered by the suggestion that she and Gray could be together.
‘And how did he know Gray was here? He’s hardly been outside of these walls, has he?’ went on Jamie.
‘He’s been out a bit. To the market. To the hardware store.’
‘Babe, they don’t care about famous people here. I asked Claude if he liked Adele earlier and he asked if that was a herb. These are done.’ Jamie pulled the frying pan away and slid the pine nuts on to a side plate. The toasted smell mingled with the rosemary in the oven. On the hob, two saucepans of ratatouille were bubbling. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Who cares enough to tip off the papers?’
‘Anyone who wants to make a bit of money. You know how this game works. It could have been any of the guests.’
‘I suppose. Depressing though, that he can’t escape it.’
‘It is,’ Maggie murmured.
‘Do you think …’
She looked up.
‘Do you think you guys are gonna stay in touch?’
‘Er … Not sure. I guess … I don’t know …’ She’d been so busy trying to organize everything before she handed the keys over that she hadn’t thought about what would happen after that. ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated. ‘Maybe it’s like a holiday romance where we go our separate ways and that’s that?’
‘If it’s a holiday romance then you’d have to have sex with him.’
‘Jamie!’
‘Just putting it out there.’
‘Jamie, I am not going to have sex with Gra— Oh, hey,’ she said, as Gray came into the kitchen.
‘Am I interrupting?’ he checked, looking between them both.
Maggie shook her head. ‘Nope, definitely not.’
‘I’m having a drink,’ Jamie announced, standing up.
‘Not from that you’re not,’ she warned, as he held up a decanter of red wine which was resting beside the sink.
‘Why?’
‘Because that is a very special wine for our very special journalist friend.’
‘That’s it?’ Gray said, grinning at the decanter.
‘Mmhmm.’
Jamie frowned between them. ‘What’s going on? What d’you mean, special wine? He shouldn’t be given any wine. If it was me, I’d have booted him out.’
‘That would be no fun,’ Gray said gravely.
‘What’s going on?’ Jamie whined. ‘Why have you guys got a secret?’
Maggie’s eyes flicked to her aunt’s urn on the shelf. ‘Just having the sort of fun that someone I used to know would appreciate.’
‘Why can’t I know wha—’ Jamie began again, as Audrey came through the kitchen door and interrupted.
‘Table is laid.’
‘Thank you. And did you put out the glass I said?’
‘ Oui , like you say. The big one.’
‘Perfect,’ Maggie replied. ‘And you packed up everything from his room?’
‘ Oui . I ’ave left it behind the desk.’
‘And have you done the water?’
Audrey sighed impatiently ‘Yes, Maggie, I ’ave done that too. You ask me every night as if I forget the water but I ’ave done it.’
‘On this one occasion, please can you take the water away?’
‘ Quoi ?’ Audrey frowned suspiciously as if it was a trick.
‘The water. Please can you take it off the guest’s table?’
‘One day you want me to put the water, now you say don’t put the water?’
‘Exactly. No water for Mr Donovan tonight. Remove the jug and you’re free to go home.’
Audrey threw her hands into the air, then trudged back through the swing door.
‘If you really want a role in this evening’s plan,’ Maggie told Jamie, ‘can you go and tell our guest that dinner’s ready?’
‘OK, fine, but will you tell me the secret when I come back?’
‘Maybe. Go!’
Jamie left and she moved to the sink to wash her hands.
‘So you put it in the decanter, and what about the dinner?’ Gray checked.
‘Just about to do that.’ On the counter, Maggie sliced a corner of the goat’s cheese tart and laid it on a side plate, before pulling a small sachet from her apron pocket and sprinkling its contents over the tart.
‘I love this, I feel like a kid,’ Gray said, standing over her.
‘We need it to disappear though,’ she mumbled, frowning at the tart.
‘It’s going, look.’
It was; the white powder sank into the tomato sauce and, within seconds, became invisible.
‘And just for good measure,’ Maggie added, as she sprinkled a handful of pine nuts on top.
‘He’s sitting down,’ Jamie announced, returning from the dining room. ‘Asked me if I was a waiter to which I replied absolutely not, I’m the hotel’s personal trainer, so I’m hoping that goes in his stupid article.’
‘With any luck there won’t be an article.’ Maggie picked up the plate and the decanter and headed towards the kitchen door.
Jamie’s eyes bulged. ‘You’re not going to poison him?’
‘Nobody is poisoning anyone,’ Gray reassured him. ‘We’re just getting our own back.’
‘How?’
Maggie smiled conspiratorially at Gray before looking back to Jamie. ‘OK, you know how you took those sleeping pills from Phil’s bedroom?’
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘I took the box of extra-strength laxatives.’
Jamie pressed his palms to his cheeks.
‘Gray gave me the idea. He said the guy was full of shit, so I thought, why not clear him out?’
They’d discussed tactics all afternoon while giggling like schoolchildren. It was juvenile, but they both agreed it was the least he deserved. An almost-harmless practical joke, designed to teach Mr Donovan a lesson, and which would have had Phil’s total approval.
Jamie’s eyes remained on the decanter. ‘You’ve put extra-strength laxative in there? And on that?’ He nodded at the plate.
‘Yes, and now I’m going to carry it through and serve Mr Donovan, then we can sit. Your job is to open the celebratory bottle I’ve put in the fridge.’
In the dining room, David was sitting at his table, typing, but he slammed his laptop shut as he saw Maggie approach.
‘Good evening,’ he said, with a wide smile and the hammed-up accent she now knew was fake.
She matched his smile. ‘Hello, Mr Donovan, and how are we tonight?’
‘Supremely well, thank you.’
Maggie set his plate down with a flourish. ‘Glad to hear it. Now, your starter tonight is goat’s cheese and French onion tart, sprinkled with roasted pine nuts. And I thought as a special, I’d open up a very good bottle from my aunt’s cellar …’ She reached for the wine glass on the table and filled it almost to the top.
David cleared his throat. ‘Blime— I mean, that’s awfully generous of you.’
‘It’s a 1985 Batard Menteur. Have you come across it?’
‘A …?’
‘Batard Menteur.’
‘No, no I don’t believe I have.’
‘It’s a very special vintage, so it should be delicious. Now please, do, eat and drink up.’
She hovered to watch David taste the wine.
‘Mmm, it’s … it’s good.’
‘Terrific. I’ll be back with your main course shortly.’
Back in the kitchen, Gray and Jamie looked up from the table with anxious faces.
‘Everything OK?’ Gray checked.
‘Everything’s fine,’ she said calmly. ‘Our plan is in motion.’
‘You’re incredible. This is so much better than punching him.’
Jamie goggled at Gray. ‘You punched him?’
‘No,’ he replied, laughing. ‘I wanted to, but your wise friend stopped me.’
Gray grinned at Maggie and, forgetting that Jamie was there for a moment, she smiled back, pleased that she’d done something to impress him.
‘So what now?’ Jamie asked.
Maggie looked away from Gray. ‘Hmm?’
‘What happens now? Is he going to soil himself at the table?’
‘Hopefully not, no. In a minute, I’ll go through and ask him to leave, then with any luck, halfway down the road to Classons, he’ll feel the first rumblings. But I think we’ve earned a drink first.’ She nodded at the Champagne on the side.
At the table, Gray shook his head. ‘This whole thing … I’m genuinely in awe.’
‘Nah,’ Maggie replied, suddenly bashful. ‘All I did was think about what my aunt might have done, and then it was easy.’
‘She must have been a badass.’
‘She was.’
Jamie poured; Maggie picked her glass up and held it in the air. ‘To Phil.’
‘To Phil,’ echoed Jamie.
‘To your aunt,’ added Gray, ‘the OG badass.’
Maggie swallowed a mouthful for courage then glanced at the clock. ‘How long d’you reckon we should give him?’
‘Ten minutes?’
‘OK, ten minutes,’ she agreed, as Gray raised his palm in the air.
‘Nice work, partner.’
Maggie high-fived him back and tried to arrange her face so it didn’t give anything away, because she really was very tickled indeed at his use of the word ‘partner’.