Chapter Nineteen
Vivian Steinherr strode through the dining room of Avocet, Anna Maria’s restaurant named after their mother’s favourite bird, and was tugged on the arm by an American diner with ruddy cheeks.
‘Miss,’ he said in an entitled tone. Vivian stopped on her heel and turned.
The man was dining with his wife and another couple, and they looked to be in their sixties.
Vivian couldn’t remember seeing them before, so assumed they weren’t hotel guests.
While Vivian didn’t appreciate people tugging her on the arm, she still stopped with a smile.
‘Yes?’
‘May I speak to someone who knows about wine?’ the man asked, rather patronisingly, assuming Vivian wouldn’t know much about anything. She was just a waitress, there to take orders and look pretty.
Vivian widened her eyes with enthusiasm and took a deep breath.
‘Well, I’m the hotel owner and manager,’ she said, getting her barb in, ‘so I can tell you a little, but I’ll just find Michael our sommelier, he’s on shift this evening, and he’s fantastic.’ All four of the diners looked up and smiled at Vivian. Her game face was charming.
‘Oh, thank you kindly …’ the man said, a little flustered, as Vivian cut a striking path through the restaurant.
Michael was probably advising diners at another table.
Vivian scoured the sleek dining room but couldn’t see him.
She had popped out for an hour and come straight back into a meeting with a tech company who were going to improve the online booking system and make it more user friendly.
This was the first time she’d been on the floor during that evening’s service.
Vivian did usually like to meet guests and diners every few hours, to take a walk, get away from her desk, and chat to the clientele and staff.
She couldn’t see Michael, but Henrik the restaurant manager was talking to head waitress Mia-Mary near the cutlery storage drawers.
Vivian slid into their conversation deftly and authoritatively, despite them looking like they were speaking in hushed tones.
‘Is Michael around? I have a guest asking for some wine advice …’
Henrik and Mia-Mary glanced at each other. Mia-Mary looked nervous.
‘What is it?’
Vivian looked between the two of them before Henrik spoke in quiet fury.
‘He’s gone home.’
‘Is everything OK?’
Mia-Mary shook her head.
‘Anastasia – Mrs Diamandis …’
‘It’s OK, Henrik, you can cut the Mrs Diamandis with me,’ Vivian laughed.
‘Anastasia … she fired him.’
Vivian’s face turned from genial smile to confused fury.
‘She what?!’
‘She fired him. She fired Michael.’
Mia-Mary nodded, her eyes sad.
‘What? When?’
Henrik looked at Mia-Mary, who seemed to have witnessed the exchange and had just been talking him through what had happened, although it still made no sense to either of them.
‘This afternoon,’ she said, meekly, scared that she might be next.
A rage rose through Vivian, but she was acutely aware that the customer was still waiting for advice on which bottle of wine to choose.
‘Why?’ she demanded under her breath. Mia-Mary shrugged, and before she could even attempt an answer, a furious Vivian said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
She strode back to the table and put on her prettiest of smiles, using every fibre of her being to repress her anger and fight the fire in hand.
Vivian was seamless in her ability to put on a good front. It was what made her such a natural in hospitality. She always had been good at smiling her way through a shitstorm. Vivian the firefighter. Vivian the peacemaker. Vivian the people pleaser.
‘I’m sorry sir, our sommelier is otherwise engaged but would you allow me to advise you?’
The man looked happy to be favoured with Vivian’s attention, especially now he knew who she was. He nodded.
‘Are you looking for a white or red?’ She looked to the group, who agreed a white would suit their dishes.
‘We have an excellent 2019 Chardonnay from Piemonte that Michael our sommelier brought in recently, or a sublime Chenin Blanc from the Du Kok Estate in South Africa …’
As Vivian reeled off her suggestions she smiled, a disarming, charming smile that belied the fury within.
The man looked at his party, impressed, and back at Vivian.
‘We’ll go for the South African, thank you, dear.’