Chapter 9
9
I don’t think I could be any more content. I’ve got a cold glass of Chablis and, even though it’s dark and the temperature has dropped, I’m perfectly warm thanks to the patio heaters out here. Beyond the terrace, I can hear faint sounds from the river below. Jock is patiently letting me take it all in, not crowding me with chatter.
‘Where did you learn to be so good at reading women?’ I ask after a while.
‘I’m not sure I am.’
‘I disagree. I would have been a complete basket case this last week if it hadn’t been for you. You appear to know how to calm me and reassure me, without resorting to annoying platitudes. Even last night and this morning, you just seemed to be in tune with what I needed.’
He smiles. ‘You were fairly direct. It wasn’t hard to follow, as instructions go.’
I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I avert my gaze to take a sip of wine while I try to regain my composure. Although I have no regrets about what we did, I do need to let him know that he doesn’t owe me anything. I’d hate him to feel tied to me, just because of a few moments of shared intimacy.
‘I don’t want what happened to change anything between you and me,’ I say eventually.
Something flashes across his eyes, but it’s too fast for me to read. ‘Really?’ he says. ‘You could have told me before I spent the entire afternoon looking at possible wedding venues.’
‘Oh, God. Jock, I’m so sorry…’ I begin, but I’m cut off by his laughter.
‘I had you going properly there, didn’t I?’
‘You know all those nice things I said about you just now? I take them all back. You’re a bastard.’
He smiles. ‘It’s fine. I know we’re time limited. Thinking of which, what are you going to do now?’
‘I spoke to my parents and I’m going to head home tomorrow. You?’
‘I had a chat with my mum which went pretty much as I predicted. Ideally, I’d give her a week or so to cool off, but I need somewhere to stay while I look for work, so I’m going to do the same.’
Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of our starters. We’ve both gone for fish, with whitebait for Jock and calamari for me. I’m not normally a fan of whitebait, but Jock tells me they’re among the best he’s had, so I accept his offer to try one and I have to admit that it’s good. I’m less impressed when he seizes a piece of my calamari in return.
‘What’s your dream?’ I ask him once the starters have been cleared away.
‘Same as every chef, probably. I want my own restaurant. My name above the door.’
‘ Chez Jock?’
He laughs. ‘I can tell you right now that there will be no bloody French, either in the name or on the menu. Madame has put me off that for life.’
‘Why don’t you, then?’
‘Why don’t I what?’
‘Go out on your own.’
‘Money, mainly. I’ve got a fair amount saved from my time at Hotel Dufour but nowhere near enough that a bank would come near me. Plus, it’s a lovely dream, but do you know how many restaurants fail?’
‘No. How many?’
‘Sixty per cent fold within the first year alone.’
‘Wow, that’s massive.’
‘It gets worse. Eighty per cent fail within five years. Not great odds, are they?’
‘But you’re good. Even when you were tied to Madame’s menu, the dining room was still full pretty much every night. The stuff you’ve been cooking this week has been next level, so I’m sure they’d come flocking.’
‘Two problems there. The food is just a tiny part of what it takes to make a restaurant successful, and the dining room was full because I suspect most of our guests didn’t want to waste time going out to eat when there were such compelling reasons to be in their rooms.’
‘I’ll accept the second one, but surely a restaurant is all about the food.’
‘Food is important, certainly. But so is the location, the concept, getting the prices right and so on. You could be producing the most amazing dishes, but you’re going to go out of business pretty quickly if nobody can find you, or it’s horribly overpriced, or there are three other restaurants within half a mile doing the same thing.’
‘Your dream sounds kind of depressing,’ I observe.
‘I wouldn’t call it depressing so much as difficult. I’m still going to try to do it one day. I’m an optimist, as you know, so I’m always going to believe I will succeed where others have failed. What about you? What’s your dream?’
‘Easy. My own hotel.’
‘Off you go then.’
‘If only. You need serious capital behind you, not my paltry savings.’
‘What would it look like?’
‘It would be a country house hotel, set in its own grounds. An old manor house or something like that; somewhere with lots of charm and character.’
‘Really? I thought you’d go modern.’
‘No. Modern hotels are too soulless. I’d have modern touches, of course. Power showers with rainfall heads, fluffy bathrobes and duvets on the beds, but there would also be open fireplaces in the lounges and oak panelling scattered about. There would be flower arrangements using flowers from the garden, and wellies in every size by the front door so guests could explore outdoors without getting their shoes muddy.’
‘Wow. That’s very specific.’
‘Yeah, but what’s the point of dreams if you don’t indulge every fantasy? I know it’s not going to happen, but it’s a nice way to drift off to sleep sometimes. Don’t tell me you don’t do it.’
He grins. ‘I might.’
We’re silent again as we eat our main courses. Jock has ordered a burger because, according to him, he hasn’t had one for ages and really craved it, and I’ve gone for lasagne. Jock raises his eyebrows when I ask for some Worcestershire sauce to go with it.
‘What?’ I ask him.
‘Mixing your cultures there a bit, aren’t you?’
‘Are you honestly telling me you’ve never had Worcester sauce with lasagne? It’s one of the greats, like brown sauce and bacon, or chips and egg.’
He looks decidedly sceptical so, when the server brings the bottle, I add a generous amount to my dish and offer him a forkful. He eyes it suspiciously for a moment, as if I might be trying to poison him, before allowing me to put it into his mouth. His face puckers in disgust straightaway, and then relaxes.
‘Do you know what?’ he says. ‘That’s actually not bad.’
‘Praise indeed.’ I laugh.
‘It’s still wrong, of course, but I can see why you like it.’
‘It can’t be wrong if it tastes good. Give us a chip.’
‘As long as you don’t do anything weird with it, like dip it in orange squash or something.’
‘There isn’t any squash here, so I’ll have to slum it with tradespeople’s ketchup.’ I deliberately take the largest chip off his plate and make a show of dipping it in his pot of ketchup, staring provocatively into his eyes as I bite into it.
‘Don’t think that’s going back in the ketchup after you’ve chewed it,’ he warns me softly.
‘Perish the thought,’ I say coquettishly, before lunging at the pot of ketchup with the chip. He’s too quick for me though, and he scoops it safely out of my reach.
‘Nice try.’ He smiles as I pout sulkily and shove the rest of the chip in my mouth. This proves to be a mistake, as it’s still ferociously hot so I end up sort of panting, trying to cool it down without spitting it out. Jock bursts out laughing.
‘The thing I like about you, Beatrice, is that you’re always so ladylike,’ he says through his guffaws.
‘Piss off,’ I tell him. Unfortunately, my mouth is still full of the chip, so it comes out more like ‘Pith off’, which only makes him laugh harder.
The kitchen buzzer sounds the next morning while we’re preparing breakfast, making us both jump. We’re both still in our dressing gowns, having had sex again before coming down. Jock is cooking a light breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon while I’m carefully making two cappuccinos, making sure I’m well out of the way of any sudden bursts of steam from the machine. Neither of us are talking about our imminent separation, but it’s hanging in the air.
‘What the bloody hell?’ Jock murmurs as he looks at the CCTV feed.
‘Who is it?’ I ask.
‘Maria.’
He doesn’t get time to elaborate, because the buzzing is now accompanied by a furious banging on the door.
‘All right, I’m coming. Keep your hair on,’ Jock mutters as he makes his way over to open the door.
‘You took your time,’ Maria spits as soon as he lets her in. Her expression is hostile as she casts her eyes over the kitchen. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘We’re just making breakfast. Do you want some?’
‘I hope you’re paying for it,’ she retorts. ‘I’d hate to think you’ve been taking advantage of poor Madame’s situation.’
‘How are you, Maria?’ I ask, somewhat disconcerted by her attitude, which is even more unpleasant than usual.
‘Oh, I’m just peachy thanks. You know, having spent a week in police custody and all.’
‘I thought they had to release you within a certain time?’
‘They do, but the initial condition was that I couldn’t live here, and I had nowhere else to go, so it took a shitload of time for my brief to sort it all out.’
‘But they’ve let you go now. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘Only if the lawyer does his job right and makes sure I don’t get a custodial sentence. Bloody pigs. They ought to be out catching murderers, rather than coming after people like us who are simply providing a service.’
‘It was illegal, Maria.’
‘Don’t come all high and mighty with me, Beatrice. You should be thanking me.’
‘Why?’
‘Who do you think told the police you didn’t know anything about it, eh? If it wasn’t for me, you might still be in there, so a little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss, frankly.’
‘Thank you.’
‘That’s better. Right, I’m taking charge as of now. We’ve got a lot to do before we reopen.’
‘Sorry,’ I say gently. ‘I’m not sure I heard you right. You’re reopening?’
‘Of course we are. We’re losing money hand over fist every day we’re closed. We’ll have to change the business model a little, but that’s not the end of the world.’
‘You mean, operate purely as a hotel?’ I ask hopefully. Maybe that wouldn’t be too bad, although I don’t like the idea of working for Maria at all. However, it would give me somewhere in London to live and an income while I look for something else.
‘Don’t be daft. We’ll never make any money that way. We’ll still offer extras but, rather than using our own in-house resource, we’ll have to make arrangements with some local providers I know. It won’t be as profitable, and we’ll need a bit of a rebrand to keep the police out of our faces, but we were always ready for this.’
‘What?’ Jock looks up from the two plates he’s just placed our breakfast on. ‘Are you telling me you planned for this?’
‘Naturally. You don’t go into this business without a plan B.’
‘And what was yours?’ I ask. I’m fascinated and horrified by her in equal measure.
‘Simple. Madame takes the hit. She was always going to get custodial with her history, so it made sense. I throw myself on the mercy of the pigs and sell her down the river in the hope of getting non-custodial. I then look after her business interests until she’s released and everything goes back to normal.’
‘It’s a lot of trust to put in you,’ I observe. ‘You must be really close.’
‘Of course we are,’ she states as if I’m stupid. ‘She’s my mum.’
Of all the things I expected Maria to say, that one never crossed my mind, and I think my mouth might be open in surprise.
‘She’s your mother?’ Jock repeats slowly, as if trying to comprehend it himself. ‘You kept that pretty secret.’
‘It wasn’t a secret. We just didn’t advertise it.’
‘You don’t look alike,’ I observe.
‘I probably look like my dad, whoever the hell he is.’
‘So your mum got pregnant with you?—’
‘When she was working, yes. It happens. Right, are you two going to stand around gawping all day, or are you going to get some clothes on and get to work?’
‘What happens if we decide we don’t want to work here any more?’ Jock asks softly.
‘Then you pack your bags and fuck off.’
‘You owe us a week’s pay.’
‘You’re having a laugh. You seriously expect to be paid when you’ve been swanning around enjoying free board and lodging at Madame’s expense?’ She marches over to one of the fridges. ‘Where’s all the food gone?’
‘We had to give most of it away,’ Jock explains. ‘It would have gone off otherwise.’
She narrows her eyes as she stares at him, evidently trying to work out if he’s pulled a fast one or not. ‘Fine,’ she says eventually. ‘This is how it’s going to go. I’m going to draw a line under last week but anything you eat and drink in here from now on comes out of your wages. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Jock replies. ‘We won’t hold you up any longer, will we, Beatrice?’ He gently takes my hand and starts to lead me out of the kitchen.
‘Oi!’ Maria cries. ‘What about all of this?’ She waves at the two plates and cups of cappuccino.
‘Oh, I made that for you,’ he tells her. ‘Welcome home and bon appetit.’
Neither of us speaks until we’re safely in the sanctuary of Jock’s bedroom on the top floor.
‘The sooner we go, the better,’ I say to him. ‘There’s no way I’m working for her.’
‘Agreed. Let’s shower and pack, then get the hell out of here.’