Page 33 of The Granddaughter's Irish Secret
‘You’re not driving?’ Rose asked, surprised.
‘No. I’m staying at the hostel tonight. The surf will be great tomorrow, they said. So I decided to stay as I don’t have to drive you home.’ He grinned. ‘Independent women are very handy sometimes.’
‘Especially if the surf’s up,’ she quipped. ‘You must be happy to have such a great choice of beaches around here. Fermoyle and the Maharees on this side of Dingle are great right now, after the spring storms.’
‘Yes, they are,’ he agreed. ‘I sometimes go up the coast to Sligo as well. Fabulous surfing up there.’ He looked around. ‘Where is that waiter?’
‘Right here,’ a voice said beside them, as a tall young man arrived at their table. ‘Sorry you had to wait, but it’s early and we’re getting things ready in the kitchen. What can I get you, lads?’
‘“Lads”?’ Henri asked haughtily, glaring at the young man. ‘Is that a nice way to address customers?’
‘Sorry, your lordship,’ the waiter said, winking at Rose. ‘I forgot my manners there. Didn’t know you were royalty.’
Rose giggled. ‘Hey, Henri, you have to get used to the way we speak around here.’ She looked at the waiter smiling at him. ‘It’s not his fault. He’s French and a little bad tempered at times.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ the waiter quipped. ‘Maybe it’s the hunger getting to him. But we’ll soon fix that. So,’ he continued, ‘what would you like to eat?’
‘I’ll have the crab claws and the grilled tuna to follow, please,’ Rose replied. ‘And just water for me as I’m driving.’
‘And for monsieur?’ the waiter asked, his lips quivering.
Henri didn’t reply as he was still staring at the menu.
‘Henri?’ Rose met his angry gaze. ‘What do you want? Come on, you have to order something.’
‘Okay, I’ll have the chowder and the fish and chips,’ Henri muttered. ‘Could I see the wine list?’
‘We don’t have one,’ the waiter said. ‘But we do have a very nice Pinot Grigio that most people seem to like. Or a nice Pinot Noir, of course, if you prefer red. That’s our choice of wines.’
‘Red? With fish?’ Henri rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, okay,’ he continued when Rose glared at him. ‘I’ll have the white. Pinot Grigio.’
‘Brilliant. Coming right up.’ The waiter smiled and walked away.
‘Did you have to be so rude?’ Rose asked, still glaring at Henri.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose not. It’s just that I’m not used to the casual way people in restaurants treat you here. There’s a politeness in France among service staff. It makes you feel taken care of in a way.’
‘Taken care of?’ Rose stared at him. ‘You mean like an honoured guest or something? I find waiters in posh places quite snooty, to be honest. I prefer the friendly, casual way we have here. And it makes you feel you’re on an equal footing. We’re not better than that nice waiter in any way. I thought he was funny and he took your rudeness on the chin. Very professional, I have to say.’
‘I’ll apologise,’ Henri said, looking only slightly contrite.
Rose nodded. ‘Good.’
‘So can we forget about it now?’ Henri asked, smiling sweetly. ‘You look very nice today.Très chic.’
Rose smiled, mollified by the compliment. ‘Thank you. It’s just an old shirt and a fleece.’
‘Which you carry so well.’
Rose’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Why do you think I’m up to anything?’
‘You’re being nice and that makes me suspicious,’ Rose replied. ‘And asking me out on a date. What’s that about?’
‘I just wanted to get to know you better,’ Henri said with an innocent air. ‘And perhaps try to bury the hatchet.’
Rose opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the waiter bringing them their first course. ‘Crab claws for the lady,’he said, putting a platter in front of her. ‘And chowder for his lordship,’ he continued, putting a steaming bowl in front of Henri. ‘Drinks coming up.’
