Page 71 of Sleep

“I would give advice on that, but I’m afraid my recipe for quieting my mind in the evenings consists of several glasses of fine wine.”

“You can’t go wrong with a glass of wine.”

“Something we can agree on. However, the thing you need to know about my son, Mabel, is that while in business he’s hardheaded, away from it, he’s soft. One might say a pushover. He may have offered to fund your temporary lack of income, but if you think this will be a long-term solution, you are wrong.”

“I don’t intend to accept any money from him. I will find work.”

“Yes, you will, and I’ll be keeping my eye on you. As I said, I like to be in control of every aspect of my life and my son’s, but before you conclude I’m some kind of overbearing monster of a mother, let me assure you, I’ve spent fifty years standing between him and people who wouldn’t think twice about taking him for every penny he’s worth. I keep my ears to the ground. I have people who report back to me. Apart from that dreadful Jenny he has working for him who refuses to take my calls.”

I could suddenly see why Jonny liked his PA. I was feeling quite fond of her myself just now. Knowing Jonny as I did, I could also understand why his mother was so protective of him, but there was only so much I could take, and I swiftly excused myself to try to find a restroom, which presented yet another challenge, and for half a minute or so, I stood outside the two doors, panic-stricken. I always used the men’s room, out of habit, but it wasn’t always a safe place, especially in an establishment I didn’t know, and I was wearing a skirt, for God’s sake.

“Excuse me?”

I startled and turned to find a member of staff, a smartly dressed gentleman, smiling at me.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping out of the way. I wished I’d brought a handbag. No make-up, no cologne, unprepared… And I knew what was coming.

Or, at least, I thought I did, until he said, “You’re Mabel Donovan.”

O…kay? I looked at the man’s chest. No name badge. Now I thought about it, none of the staff here had them.

“James Christos, manager,” he provided and offered his hand, which I shook. Firmly. For fuck’s sake, Mabel. What now?

“Apologies for intercepting you, but I wanted to introduce myself and mention how impressed I am with the wine cellar you curated at the Clouds, in particular that crate of my coveted 2019 Sancerre, since you outbid me for it.”

I felt my shoulders drop as the tension fled me. This was…

As always, I’d been prepared for abuse, and it had to stop. I had to get my mojo back. Be proud. Stand tall.

“I was lucky,” I said with a smile. “And fast.”

“Faster than me—and not for the first time, I might add. I’m wildly jealous. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m a big fan of what you do.”

“Thank you.” I had no idea what that was. But still.

“I heard whispers,” he continued, throwing in a small wink.

No surprise there. We all talked. There was nothing about the London restaurant scene that was kept quiet, especially since most of us regularly crossed paths, one way or the other.

“Of course you did.” I smiled, turning up the charm.

“If you’re interested in discussing…any future projects, I’m all ears,” he added quietly, and there it was, the business card being thrust into my hand.

“I have…no plans,” I said.

“Best way. Keep an open mind. Call me. I have someone I want you to connect with.” He began to walk away, then turned to me again. “Use any of them. We have no rules here, apart from that we want our guests to feel at home. Good to meet you, Mabel Donovan.”

This time, he did leave, so I quickly dashed into the ladies’, freshened up as best I could and returned to the table.

I had barely sat down before another plate was placed in front of me. The main course. More Champagne. I couldn’t remember having even touched my starter, too wound up to function.

“Eat,” Mrs Templar demanded. “And as you do, I’m going to tell you what I think is happening here.”

“Okay,” was all I could say.

“My son is besotted with you. I can see that. Contrary to how he presents himself, the lack of trousers, those dreary grey suits—I do hope you can guide him in that department, his clothing choices do him no favours—he’s a man in his best years. It’s about time he started to live.”

I nodded, letting a spoonful of something delightful fill my mouth. It still made me feel nauseous.

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