Chapter 41 #2
We arrived at The Meridian in Covent Garden twenty minutes later.
Henry parked his Bentley in a side street, and we walked to the restaurant in Floral Court holding hands.
A passageway led to a small courtyard surrounded by houses that blocked out the hustle and bustle of the city.
There were potted plants everywhere and fairy lights strung from house to house.
But the most surprising feature of the courtyard was a sculpture of an elephant made from delicate wooden struts.
Logan’s restaurant was located right on the corner of the courtyard. It had floor-to-ceiling windows, and tables had been arranged with visible care among the lush plants. Outdoor heaters allowed guests to dine alfresco despite the cold November air.
Henry led me to an entrance flanked by two large-leafed plants.
He pulled the door open and waved me ahead.
For someone who had turned their back on the luxurious lifestyle of The Darlington, Logan’s restaurant was relatively upscale, with dark chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings.
The walls were partially mirrored, partially decorated with opulent paintings.
Creating the illusion of privacy, plants like those outside were strategically placed between the tables, almost all of which were occupied.
Unobtrusive music played softly in the background.
“Hello, Henry,” the hostess greeted him with a broad smile. “I haven’t seen you here in quite some time.”
“Hi, Sara. Yeah, there’s been a lot going on.”
“I’ll let Logan know you’re here. He reserved your usual table for you.”
“Thank you,” Henry replied, and with his hand at the small of my back, he guided me to a table with two dark wood chairs and a brown leather bench at the window.
He let me choose my seat, and I slid onto the bench.
I shrugged off my jacket and shoved it behind me as he hung his coat on a coatrack.
A waiter approached with a carafe of water infused with mint leaves and poured us each a glass.
“What do you think?” Henry asked when the waiter had left.
I looked around. “I imagined it differently, after everything you told me about Logan. A bit more . . . simple.”
Henry took a sip of his water. “The only thing that’s simple here is the food.
Logan has never been a fan of tiny, pricey portions that look pretty but barely taste like anything.
He and Maxton wanted to combine classic dishes with luxury.
You won’t find a cheeseburger or pizza with better ingredients anywhere in London. ”
I was about to answer when I spotted Logan.
I would never have recognised him on the street wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but his chef’s uniform gave him away.
Aside from his height, he bore no resemblance to Henry or Ethan.
Logan clearly took after Mrs. Darlington with his brown eyes and blond hair, which he wore tied back, accentuating the shaved sides.
His forearms were covered in tattoos. They seemed to extend beneath the sleeves of his white chef’s jacket, over which he wore a black apron embroidered with The Meridian’s logo.
“Hey, Buttface,” Logan greeted Henry.
“Rather Buttface than Dickface,” Henry retorted with a laugh, and they performed a well-practised handshake that made me smile—I could imagine them inventing it as teenagers. “Logan, this is Kate.” Henry gestured to me. “Kate, this is Logan—also known as the unattractive Darlington brother.”
Logan swatted Henry, although it had clearly been a joke.
Logan was beyond handsome. Before I’d met Henry, he would have been just my type.
A little rugged and serious, perhaps even slightly intimidating.
He was the kind of man who might make you cross the street at night if you didn’t know him—and a man who would make you feel completely safe if you did.
Logan shook my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Kate.”
“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I’d love to say the same, but Henry hasn’t been here for weeks,” Logan said, giving his brother a reproachful sideways glance as he lowered himself onto the empty chair. He leaned his arms on the table and rolled up his sleeves, revealing more of his tattoos.
I smiled. “Your restaurant is beautiful.”
“Thanks. Maxton did the interior design.”
“Is he here today too?” Henry asked.
“No, he’s out and about, checking out properties.”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “So you’re serious about the second location?”
“Yes. We’re fully booked every evening until the end of the year, even during the day on weekends. We have reservations for March already,” Logan answered. “We’ve been looking for a suitable property for a while now, but the pickings are slim.”
“I can think of a rent-free location for your restaurant . . .” Henry said.
“Forget it.”
“Why not?”
Logan shook his head. “I don’t want to open a restaurant at The Darlington.”
Henry examined his brother thoughtfully as he drummed his fingers on the table. “What if we run it independently of the hotel? Separate accounting, you keep the name and have a separate entrance that doesn’t go through the hotel?”
“No,” Logan replied without a moment’s hesitation.
“Your food must be really good if you’re so booked out,” I said, trying to prevent the discussion from escalating.
It was fascinating—one brother loved The Darlington, and the other hated it.
I wondered what had happened between Logan and his parents.
Henry had told me that they had sent Logan to boarding school in France.
But was that reason enough for him to foster years of resentment and turn down the offer Henry had just made?
“Our food is fantastic,” Logan replied, shoulders squared. “We only serve simple dishes, but we use the best ingredients and prepare everything ourselves—it’s all fresh and homemade. We even bought greenhouses last year, so we could grow our own vegetables to guarantee the best quality.”
“And how long have you been doing this?”
Logan thought for a moment. “A few years. During school, I worked part-time in restaurants, and after that, I trained as a chef at Le Cordon Bleu. Then, when I came back to London, I worked at Sketch, the three-star restaurant on Conduit Street. I probably would have stayed there if Maxton hadn’t . . .”
I didn’t hear Logan’s next words, because out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a figure in the courtyard.
My pulse skyrocketed instantly. Was that Randell?
I twisted around to see if it was him, or if my mind was playing tricks on me.
Scanning the courtyard uneasily, my gaze flitted from passerby to passerby, but I couldn’t see Randell.
I had probably just imagined him. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
My skin tingled as if a thousand ants were crawling over me.
“Kate?”
Someone touched my hand. Startled, I flinched and looked up to see Henry’s concerned face.
He studied me, frowning. “Are you OK?”
I blinked, still dazed from the brief shock. I glanced outside again, but there was still no sign of Randell. Perhaps it had just been someone who looked like him.
“Yes,” I said, my voice shaking. “My blood sugar is probably just low. I haven’t eaten today.”
“That’s my cue.” Logan rose from his chair. I regretted not having heard the rest of his answer. “Do you have any allergies?”
“Peanuts,” Henry said. I was surprised that he had remembered.
Logan nodded. “I’ll get to work, then. I’ll have someone bring you an appetiser. Perhaps we can chat later. It was nice to meet you, Kate.”
“It was nice to meet you too,” I replied.
Logan headed back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Henry, who was still scrutinising me with a combination of scepticism and concern. He reached out for my hand again, and this time, I didn’t pull away. My fingers felt like icicles against his warm skin.
“Are you sure everything is OK?”
“Yes, it’s just my blood pressure,” I lied.
My forced smile felt shaky. Not because I was afraid of Randell, but because however desperately I wanted to leave that bastard and everything he represented behind, he was like a ghost from the past, constantly haunting me.
No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I just couldn’t shake him.
He was a dark shadow trailing me through my life, and today, he felt particularly oppressive.
However safe and settled I felt at The Darlington and with Henry, I hadn’t forgotten what day tomorrow was . . .