Chapter 11 Jules “Somebody That I Used to Know” #4
“I am not telling you how to live your life, I promise. I only want you to be happy.”
An arch of her eyebrow. “I would be if you got off my case.”
It’s the closest she’s come to a smile.
“Okay. I hear you, I do, and I’m going to try to do better. To be better. To be here for you more.”
She looks directly at me and nods.
“I know you think I don’t, but I do trust you, Nelly. I always have.”
She tips her head to one side.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it’s weird,” she says. “Why are you suddenly so…philosophical?”
“Because life is quicker than you think. And also…because I should have told you at the time how proud I was of you, that day. And I’m really, really sorry I didn’t.”
She looks at me steadily for a few seconds. “Okay,” she says.
I nod and turn away to the cooker, swamped by a flurry of emotions that I can’t even begin to untangle, picking up the wooden spoon to stir the sauce.
“That smells really good by the way,” she says, putting her hand on my shoulder, and I close my eyes for a second, the wooden spoon stopping as my heart contracts.
—
The private dining room where the dinner is being held on Thursday is on the top floor of the Quark building and, just as Darius promised, there’s a decent kitchen too.
I arrive early, just to make sure the ovens work and that I’ve prepped everything in time.
Moving around the space in my chef’s whites, I already know the meal will be a success.
In fact, I’m struggling to remember why I was ever worried about tonight in the first place.
I’ve got lovely langoustines from Jack the fishmonger and some delicious fresh asparagus for my starter, and fresh gilt-head bream, capers, and cream with a reduced bouillabaisse, plus my spectacular orange crème caramel and macaron dessert.
I plate up each course and Eva serves the guests, returning each time with scraped-clean plates. She raises her eyebrows at me.
“Looks like you’re even more on fire than usual, chef.”
She’s already delivered the cheese board stocked by Curds & Whey, Redroaster coffees, and petits fours, and I’m just wiping down in the kitchen, when Darius texts me to come on through to the dining room.
To my absolute delight, the guests at the table give me a round of applause. My God, it’s just like that weird dream I had a fortnight ago. Only, well…deserved.
The guy to Darius’s left leans back in his chair and pats the front of his designer shirt.
In French, he tells me that I balanced the flavors to perfection.
I listen demurely, batting away his profuse praise with a self-deprecating comment in French about my disappointment about not being able to get the right courgette flowers.
Darius asks me to pull up a chair and pours me a glass of wine—one of the delicious bottles of Moscato I selected to pair with the dessert.
I can tell he’s watching me as we all chat about France and then the discussion moves on to the mayoral system.
Sujane is impressed when I offer my opinion, again in fluent French, on the latest local election results in the region where she’s from and laughs when I tell her that I keep up with current affairs through French news podcasts because I find British politics so boring.
Back in the kitchen, Eva has almost finished the clear-up.
“I heard them laughing in there,” she says.
“Honestly, it couldn’t have gone better,” I say, feeling a flush of pride.
She comes down in the service lift with me and walks me to the car and we slide the crates in. She’s just a few weeks away from her big trip to Costa Rica and she’s grateful for the cash I give her, plus a hefty tip.
“I’ll miss you,” I tell her. “You must be so excited?”
“I am. Can’t wait. Although I’m nervous I’m going alone.”
“I wish…I wish Nelly was going with you, but I’m so glad you’ve seen a bit more of each other recently.” Although I wish they’d connected more.
Eva shrugs, like maybe she thinks this too.
“Well, good luck,” I say. “Come and see me before you go.”
I’ve just got into the ?koda when Darius walks out of the office shooting me a big grin. I roll down the driver’s window.
“They’ve signed. They’re on board,” he gushes.
“That’s great.”
“You literally charmed the pants off them.”
I laugh. I know he’s being sweet attributing his success to me, but I’m flattered nonetheless.
“Yeah, well, it was fun to practice the old French,” I add, barely even feeling like a charlatan anymore.
There’s an awkward pause.
“So…I’ll ping over my invoice, shall I?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. Sure, sure,” he says, putting his hands in the pockets of his beautifully tailored suit.
“Well…night. And…thanks for giving me this chance. It was fun.”
I turn the key in the ignition, but the car won’t start.
“Bloody hell. Not now,” I mutter, trying again, then again. Bloody Adam and this stupid bloody car.
“What’s the problem?”
Darius is back at the window.
“Just…uh…I don’t suppose you’ve got any jump leads?
” I ask, but as I nod over at his red Ferrari on the other side of the car park, I sincerely doubt he has.
Or that his car and Adam’s mum’s old jalopy will be compatible.
It would probably be like trying to get a golden eagle and a seagull to have sex.
“Come on, I’ll give you a lift,” Darius says. “Then you can get this towed back to yours in the morning.”
Gratefully, I follow him to his car, bumping my head as I get into the low passenger seat. It’s hardly my coolest move, but Darius only laughs gently and tells me everyone does it the first time.
“Hold on to your hat,” he jokes, as he launches us off down the car park ramp and gives it some gas.
The Troubs pop up right away on his dashboard playlist, singing that song Adam and I always liked the best from their third album, “I’ll Be Yours.” Darius sings along loudly and tunelessly and smiles at me, encouraging me to join in, just like he did when we sang karaoke at his party. And I do.
Is this how it’ll be when we all go to their gig? Me and Darius singing, instead of me and Adam? But why does this make me feel so guilty? Adam doesn’t own the Troubs, after all.
In no time, we’re whipping along the seafront and I grip on to the seat, at once thrilled and horrified. Then, laughing, he slows right down and turns up through the winding streets and swings into our cul-de-sac. He parks the car expertly on our drive and cuts the engine. The music dies.
“Thanks for the lift,” I say, and undo my seat belt. Darius shifts in his seat so he’s facing me.
“You know, tonight was a test,” he says.
I look at him, frowning. What’s he talking about?
“And I’m pleased to say you passed with flying colors. Which is why I’m going to fund you,” he says. “That pop-up you mentioned. If you can find a venue, then I’ll invest whatever you need to make it happen.”
“Really? Oh my God, Darius. Thank you!” I fling my arms around his neck, because, bloody hell, this is amazing, right?
I pull back, our faces only inches apart. He looks into my eyes and then at my lips, and I can’t breathe, because we’ve been this physically close only once before.
Except this time, there’s no excuse. He’s not drunk, and neither am I.
“Jules,” he whispers, but loud enough for me to hear the longing in his voice.
“Don’t say it,” I tell him, seeing in his eyes that he still wants me. That he’s remembering the offer he made for us to run away together all that time ago. Even though I told him no then, maybe he thinks there might be a chance.
I put my hand on his soft cheek. Then kiss his other cheek, and I pause, our faces so close, I can feel his breath on my lips.
For a second, just a second, I’m tempted. There’s something so intoxicating about this moment, about him believing in me.
But…no. No, no. I can’t.
I quickly fumble with the door and stumble out of his ridiculous car, my legs shaking.
“Jules, wait…” he says, reaching across to grab me, but I shake my head. I can’t look at him, because if I do, he’ll see how a part of me might still want this too.