Page 25 of Too Busy for Love

He laughs. ‘I can tell you right now that there will be no bloody French, either in the name or on the menu. Madame has put me off that for life.’

‘Why don’t you, then?’

‘Why don’t I what?’

‘Go out on your own.’

‘Money, mainly. I’ve got a fair amount saved from my time at Hotel Dufour but nowhere near enough that a bank would come near me. Plus, it’s a lovely dream, but do you know how many restaurants fail?’

‘No. How many?’

‘Sixty per cent fold within the first year alone.’

‘Wow, that’s massive.’

‘It gets worse. Eighty per cent fail within five years. Not great odds, are they?’

‘But you’re good. Even when you were tied to Madame’s menu, the dining room was still full pretty much every night. The stuff you’ve been cooking this week has been next level, so I’m sure they’d come flocking.’

‘Two problems there. The food is just a tiny part of what it takes to make a restaurant successful, and the dining room was full because I suspect most of our guests didn’t want to waste time going out to eat when there were such compelling reasons to be in their rooms.’

‘I’ll accept the second one, but surely a restaurant is all about the food.’

‘Food is important, certainly. But so is the location, the concept, getting the prices right and so on. You could be producing the most amazing dishes, but you’re going to go out of business pretty quickly if nobody can find you, or it’s horribly overpriced, or there are three other restaurants within half a mile doing the same thing.’

‘Your dream sounds kind of depressing,’ I observe.

‘I wouldn’t call it depressing so much as difficult. I’m still going to try to do it one day. I’m an optimist, as you know, so I’m always going to believe I will succeed where others have failed. What about you? What’s your dream?’

‘Easy. My own hotel.’

‘Off you go then.’

‘If only. You need serious capital behind you, not my paltry savings.’

‘What would it look like?’

‘It would be a country house hotel, set in its own grounds. An old manor house or something like that; somewhere with lots of charm and character.’

‘Really? I thought you’d go modern.’

‘No. Modern hotels are too soulless. I’d have modern touches, of course. Power showers with rainfall heads, fluffy bathrobes and duvets on the beds, but there would also be open fireplaces in the lounges and oak panelling scattered about. There would be flower arrangements using flowers from the garden, and wellies in every size by the front door so guests could explore outdoors without getting their shoes muddy.’

‘Wow. That’s very specific.’

‘Yeah, but what’s the point of dreams if you don’t indulge every fantasy? I know it’s not going to happen, but it’s a nice way to drift off to sleep sometimes. Don’t tell me you don’t do it.’

He grins. ‘I might.’

We’re silent again as we eat our main courses. Jock has ordered a burger because, according to him, he hasn’t had one for ages and really craved it, and I’ve gone for lasagne. Jock raises his eyebrows when I ask for some Worcestershire sauce to go with it.

‘What?’ I ask him.

‘Mixing your cultures there a bit, aren’t you?’

‘Are you honestly telling me you’ve never had Worcester sauce with lasagne? It’s one of the greats, like brown sauce and bacon, or chips and egg.’

He looks decidedly sceptical so, when the server brings the bottle, I add a generous amount to my dish and offer him a forkful. He eyes it suspiciously for a moment, as if I might be trying to poison him, before allowing me to put it into his mouth. His face puckers in disgust straightaway, and then relaxes.

---