A Winter Bride (18 page)

‘But—’

‘See you half-past six prompt a fortnight on Monday.’ She gathered her handbag, put the money for the tea neither of them had touched on the table and left.

At six-thirty that evening Nell walked in through her front door. There was a new addition to the mess: a huge yellow plastic tortoise. She stepped over it and went into the living room. Carol was lying on the sofa. She put her finger to her lips, and then pointed to Katy fast asleep on top of her.

‘Bring me a cup of tea,’ said Carol. ‘I’m stuck here. Don’t want to wake the baby. She’s been howling all day.’

Nell sighed, turned, headed for the kitchen, tripped over the giant tortoise, hit her head on a pile of building blocks, cracked her knee on the floor and yelled in agony. The child woke and howled. Carol shouted, ‘Can you not watch where you’re going?’

Nell heaved herself from the floor and, clutching her wounded knee, hobbled to the kitchen. She sat at the table, one hand on the knee, the other on the rising bump on her head. Carol appeared at the door, carrying the child. ‘Don’t bother making tea. I’ll do it myself now.’

‘I think you should make an effort to clear the toys away. It’s dangerous leaving them lying around,’ said Nell.

‘Well, that tortoise is big enough. You should have seen it.’

‘Well, I did when I came in. I didn’t when I went out again. Where did you get it? It’s hideous.’

‘I saw it in a shop and I just knew Katy would love it. And she does. That’s all that matters.’

‘Where did you get the money? I thought you didn’t have any?’

‘Took it from that jug.’ Carol pointed to a blue jug on the dresser. ‘There’s usually a few pounds in there.’

Nell said that the money in that jug was for the milkman and the paperboy. ‘We pay them on Saturday mornings.’

‘Well,’ said Carol. ‘You’ll just have to pay them with money from your purse. The jug’s empty now.’ She looked at Nell. ‘That’s quite a lump coming up on your forehead.’

‘I think it’s time you found a place of your own.’

‘Are you throwing me out?’

‘No. Not exactly. But sometimes me and Alistair like to be alone together.’

‘So you are asking me to leave? You’re putting me and my child on the streets? We have no place to go. We’ve no money. We’ll be wandering about in the cold and the rain, sleeping on park benches.’

‘Johnny should give you money. He should provide for you. Have you asked him?’

‘You know I have,’ said Carol, ‘but he’ll only give me enough to feed Katy. He says he owes me nothing since I left him. I told you that.’

Actually, Johnny had told Carol she was welcome to stay at the house she used to live in with him. He’d said he planned to sell the place, but when he did that, he’d offered her half the profit so she’d be able to find somewhere comfortable for Katy. ‘Somewhere with a garden,’ he’d suggested. But Carol wasn’t going to tell Nell about this. She liked it here. She loved this flat. She enjoyed seeing Alistair play with her daughter.

A stab of loathing for her friend sliced through Nell. She thought, it’s her or me. And since Carol had showed no interest in finding somewhere else to live, Nell decided: it’ll have to be me. She’d take the job May was offering – anything to get away from Carol.

Later Nell realised working for May in the evenings would leave her at home all day with Carol. She decided to keep her day job. She’d be out of the house from half-past eight in the morning till after eleven at night. Tiring, but perfect.

A fortnight later, Nell started her evening job. May supplied her with her work outfit – a long black skirt, white shirt and black waistcoat – discussed the menu and showed her the big book: a leather-bound tome that was kept on the desk at the door for bookings. Nell leafed through it. ‘It’s empty. The pages are blank.’

‘For the moment,’ said May. ‘Once we take off, when word spreads, that book will be full. It’s only temporarily empty. When people arrive, you ask their name and check the book even though the pages are blank. It makes us look efficient.’

It seemed to be remarkably easy. All she had to do was show diners to their tables, hand them a menu, chat about the dishes and ask if they’d like something to drink as their meal was being prepared. When the diners had finished eating, she’d prepare the bill in the beautiful handwriting she’d perfected during slow times at the pen shop and take it to them on a silver platter.

The wine was tricky. The only thing she knew was that red was usually drunk with meat, white with fish. Usually when asked to recommend something, she’d excuse herself and go into the kitchen to ask for May’s advice. May would always tell her to pick something with a flashy label and display it with reverence to the customer. It usually worked.

‘Remember to sniff the cork when you’ve opened the bottle,’ May said.

When Nell asked why, May said, ‘It lets the customer know you’re checking to see if the wine is corked.’

‘Corked?’ said Nell. ‘What’s corked?’

May said she wasn’t sure, but that it had something to do with the cork not sealing the bottle properly and the wine being off.

‘How will I know?’ said Nell. ‘It all smells like wine to me.’

‘The cork smells of old underpants,’ said May. ‘Pour the wine anyway. If the customer notices bring them another bottle. If not, carry on. And—’ May waved a spatula as she spoke ‘—look superior and knowing so that when you give them a little smile to let them know they’ve made an excellent choice, they’ll feel smug. Even if they’ve made a terrible choice.’

It was all a matter of looking serene, Nell told Alistair, who hadn’t been entirely happy when he’d heard that Nell had started working for his mother. ‘I walk about with my head up and smile and get paid for it.’

At the end of her first week, May had given Nell a brown envelope containing her first week’s wages. It was several pounds short of the amount she’d been promised. When asked about it, May had explained that the shortfall was simply the money used to buy her work uniform. ‘I’ll see you all right next week.’

Nell put her earnings into the running-away fund account. She told Alistair she was keeping this money separate from their joint account savings. ‘I’ll be able to dip into it now and then without touching our savings.’ She didn’t mention anything about not paying tax. She knew he wouldn’t approve.

Nell was happy. She was back in the bosom of the Rutherford family. Harry would put his arm round her, and kiss her cheek every night when he arrived. Johnny grinned to her. May clapped her hands and told her she was doing a great job. And, every night, when she climbed into bed, Alistair was waiting for her. He’d put his arms round her, hold her and say, ‘At last, you’re home. Couldn’t sleep without you here beside me.’ Nell thought life couldn’t get better than this.

Chapter Eighteen

The Singing Chef

Life did get better. By January, Rutherford’s had become fashionable; it was
the
place to be seen. The pages in the big book were no longer blank. Every table was filled. Late in the evening, when May emerged from the kitchen, people would nudge one another and nod towards the piano, anticipating a little light entertainment.

Nell realised that this was why people came. Word about the singing chef had spread and everyone wanted to say they’d been to Rutherford’s and had heard her.

Perhaps she wasn’t so terrible after all. Or maybe it was her warmth and enthusiasm that enraptured people. After all, Nell thought, Marlene Dietrich can’t really sing, but her audiences love the way she performs a song. Nell decided May had charisma. That was what it was all about. May nodded to the piano player, cast her eyes round the room, taking everyone in, making them all feel she was their friend and she sang. It was simple. People loved her because she made them feel loved.

Sometimes, Nell would stare at André, the piano player, trying to remember where she’d seen him before. He was very familiar, but she couldn’t place him. In the end she supposed his face was just one of the faces she’d seen about. It’s like that in cities, she thought. People hang out in bars and cafés and eating places, and you recognise them even though you don’t know who they are.

It was exhausting. Nell’s working hours whizzed past – she ran from table to table and from bar to table and kitchen to table.

‘Stop running,’ May said. ‘You make people nervous. They’re here to enjoy themselves. They mustn’t know it’s bedlam behind the scenes.’ She was, at the time, scooping a peppered steak from the floor. It had fallen as Nell, plate in hand, had whirled round as she headed out of the kitchen towards the dining room. May had picked up the steak, examined it and put it back on the plate. ‘They’ll never know.’ She scowled at Nell. ‘Don’t run, glide.’

‘I’m too busy to glide,’ said Nell.

‘Glide quickly, then.’ Then as Nell slid away, she added, ‘I need a word with you later.’

It spoiled Nell’s night. Shouldn’t have whirled, she told herself. Whirling’s not good, not with a plate in your hand. She worried that May was going to fire her. At half-past ten, May burst out of the kitchen and took a bow. A small cheer rippled round the room – this is what they’d been waiting for. May nodded to André. ‘Maestro,’ she said. André started to play. Tonight’s offerings were ‘Mountain Greenery’ and ‘Life is Just a Bowl of Cherries’. She resisted the calls for an encore, telling the crowd she was absolutely bushed, tired out, exhausted. ‘Time for a wee sit down and a little something to drink.’

She went to the special table where her bacon and eggs were waiting for her, along with a large glass of Burgundy. ‘Excellent.’ She took an enormous swig. ‘Been needing that.’ She signalled Nell over to join her. ‘Take a seat.’

Nell sat opposite.

‘What I need you to do is give up your stupid day job,’ May said. ‘I can see that working in two places is getting too much for you. You’re doing too much running and whirling and not enough gliding.’

Nell nodded.

‘You’re to come in at lunch times. We need the extra hand now we’re getting busy.’

Nell said she’d think about it.

‘No need to think,’ said May. ‘The deed’s done. I phoned your shop this afternoon and told them you wouldn’t be back.’

‘You what?’

‘I told you. I handed in your notice for you. I haven’t time to wait for you to think about things. You’d take too long. You’re indecisive.’ She reached for the bottle of wine on the table, refilled her glass, and continued, ‘You’ve been at that shop for years now and you’re no further forward. You’ll be teetering in when you’re ninety and you’ll still be behind that counter. I’m offering you opportunities. I’m offering you a life. In two years you could be running my next restaurant. After that, the sky’s the limit.’

‘Gosh.’ It was all she could think of to say.

May winked. ‘Stick with me, kid.’ The matter of Nell’s employment done with, she turned to Harry and started to talk about finances at the garage.

Nell wasn’t interested and stopped listening. Instead, she drifted into a small fantasy of her future. She’d manage a restaurant. It would be in the West End. She’d wear a smart business suit and carry a leather briefcase with her initials engraved in gold letters on the side. She’d have an office with a large black desk that would be polished to a glisten and would have a fresh bunch of white roses placed on top every day. They’d sit next to the white phone. She’d work hard. She’d push her staff to perform well but she wouldn’t bully. I’ll be firm but fair, she thought.

It was a comfort to have someone like May who’d take her hand and lead her through life. She no longer had to worry. She had someone to lean on. May was wonderful. Nell stared at her, noticing for the first time how beautiful she was. Oh, she wasn’t gorgeous like Sophia Loren or Marilyn Monroe; May had a painful beauty. Every single thing she’d gone through in her life was written on her face. Nell could see it all: May’s early poverty; her struggles; her love of Harry and her children; her determination; her generosity; her ambition. It was what made May truly beautiful.

Sensing the stare, May turned. ‘What are you looking at?’

‘Nothing,’ said Nell. ‘I was day dreaming.’

‘Well, don’t. It won’t get you anywhere. So you’ll turn up here to help with the lunches on Monday and on Sunday you’ll also be here to learn about cocktails. I’m going to be serving them. They’re sophisticated.’

‘Who’s going to teach me?’ asked Nell. ‘A cocktail tutor? Some sort of master of mixing drinks?’

‘Don’t be daft,’ said May. ‘I’ve bought a book. We’ll get all we need from that.’

Chapter Nineteen

The Love Speech

‘We’re not going to offer a range of cocktails,’ said May. ‘Just one rum and one whisky.’

‘But,’ Nell protested, ‘some people prefer gin.’

May agreed. ‘OK. One rum, one whisky and one gin.’

Johnny said that a lot of women drank vodka these days.

‘Fine. One rum, one whisky, one gin and one vodka,’ said May. ‘That’s four.’

Nell said she thought champagne cocktails were posh.

‘Oh yes. We’ve got to have them. So it’s one whisky, one rum, one gin, one vodka and a champagne one. Five. No more.’

She put the book on the bar counter and thumbed through it. ‘We want drinks that people have heard of. A Manhattan, that’ll be good. It’s the sort of thing film stars drink in the movies.’

‘Martinis,’ said Nell. ‘They have them in films.’

As each cocktail was chosen, May placed the required bottles on the bar. They would start with martinis as she considered them to be the classic cocktail. ‘Shaken, not stirred,’ she said.

They each took a cocktail shaker and measured the gin and vermouth into it along with a splash of bitters and a dash of lemon. They shook the mixture, and Nell quickly got a ticking off for being too flamboyant.

‘You’re not playing the maracas. You’ve got to look professional.’

They poured their drinks into cocktail glasses, added ice and an olive, and drank. They exchanged glasses, drank again. Exchanged glasses once more, drank again and all agreed Nell’s was best. Nell admitted she’d skimped on the gin and added more vermouth than the recipe recommended.