Page 30 of A Perfect Devon Pub
The heat in the room suddenly felt stifling. Fiona closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat. She smelled the soft scent of lavender and opened her eyes. Ivy leaned over and gently kissed her forehead. The faint creak of the door followed as she left, then her footsteps faded down the stairs, leaving a calm silence behind.
By Wednesday afternoon, Fiona’s cold had receded to a sniffle. She felt better, so she joined Ivy and Kim for evening service. Kim seemed to have a new sparkle. Fiona wondered if something had blossomed between the youngster and Josh while she had been off ill.
The restaurant was full, and the bar area was heaving with lively customers. Fiona, holding a notepad with increasinglyillegible scribbles, pushed through the crowd. Her cheeks were flushed, half from the warmth and half from having spotted Ru ten minutes earlier. Every time she was in the kitchen, he seemed to watch her. The sight of him still made her stomach flip.
She entered the kitchen stealthily, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ru unobserved. The bright lights and the warmth hit her. The smells were almost overpowering – sizzling meat, onions, a heady mix of spices. George was plating food with the precision of a surgeon, Ru was searing fish, while Josh was scrubbing pots at the sink. Kim was at the serving counter, somehow managing to look busy despite doing nothing.
‘Ready with those fish?’ boomed George.
‘Yes, Chef,’ said Ruben.
‘Table 7,’ called George. Four plates clattered onto the counter. Fiona picked them up, balancing two skilfully on each arm. But as she squeezed past Kim, she felt a sharp tug on her apron strings. The knot came undone. With her arms full, Fiona was powerless to prevent her apron slipping down, catching on her hip, and a cascade of pens, notepads and even her lipstick tumbled across the floor.
‘Oh dear, you dropped something,’ Kim murmured in a sugary tone, giving her a sly smile. Fiona replaced the plates, and knelt, feeling heat creep up her neck as she gathered her things in full view of Ru, who was chuckling, arms crossed, and one eyebrow arched. Josh skidded to a stop beside her, crouching down.
‘Need some help?’ he asked, handing her a stray pen. She shot him a grateful smile.
‘Thanks, Josh,’ she muttered, shoving her apron on with all the dignity she could muster and making a mental note to double tie the knot in the future.
Half an hour later, Ivy pressed lightly on Fiona’s arm. ‘Customer’s asking for the 2005 of this wine,’ she said, holdingup a bottle with a pink foil cap. ‘I couldn’t find it. I brought this instead. Will it do?’
From the distinctive pink cap, she was sure it would be Vieux Château Certan, but Fiona quickly checked the label. It was, but the vintage was 2017. ‘It’ll be lower down the rack. The older wines should be stored at the top, but I haven’t had time to shuffle them around yet.’
Ivy frowned. ‘Hmm, I did look. I’ll try again, shall I?’
‘Let me.’ It would be faster. If the wine was misplaced, Ivy could be down there for hours. Her aunt handed over the key and Fiona trotted off.
Down in the cellar, Fiona flicked the light switch, illuminating rows of dusty pine cases and racks of bottles, allowing the cool, moist air to sooth her. She jogged down the steps and over to the correct bin. Crouching, she replaced the 2017 and took out the bottom bottle. It too was a 2017. Her mind raced, searching for explanations. She tried the next one up, and the one above that, but every bottle was from 2017. She was sure she’d counted half a dozen of the 2005 last week. Had there been a flurry of wine enthusiasts while she was ill, all wanting the same wine, from the same vintage?
Wondering what to propose as an alternative, she pushed herself onto her haunches. Her eyes fell on a nearby pine box of 2005Château L’Évangile, one of the top wines of Pomerol. The top was askew. She nudged it aside and pulled out a bottle, wondering why the box was open but still full. At the top of the stairs, thinking she was about to sneeze, her hands rose instinctively, her nose twitched, and she caught sight of the label and froze.
The bottle shook. It wasn’t a 2005 L’Évangile. It wasn’t even a more recent vintage. This was the house red.Fiona felt dizzy. She retraced her steps, and collapsing beside the pine box labelledL’Évangile, setting the bottle down carefully on thefloor. She pushed aside the lid and stared at the remaining five bottles. All were house red. With her heart racing she removed each one, peering through the slats at the six bottles stored below. Each should have been worth more than £250. None had the distinctive minimalist sketchof the famous château on their label. The entire box was full of bottles of house red wine.
She did a mental calculation: over £2000’s worth of wine was missing. Fiona swept a shaky hand over her forehead. It was worse than that. This wine wasn’tmissing. Someone had removed expensive bottles and replaced them with cheaper ones. There was only one explanation – someone had stolen the wine and hidden the evidence. But who? Why? And was the sommelier going to be the prime suspect?
Fourteen
Fiona woke at dawn, after a night plagued by dreams in which bottles of wine were chasing her around a dark cellar. She decided to investigate before alerting her employers. It was possible that while she was away, someone had opened that case of fine wine and stored the precious bottles in a rack. She couldn’t come up with an explanation for why the case was now full of bottles of house red wine, but she didn’t care, provided she could locate the missing L’Évangile. She downed a cup of coffee and arrived at the pub’s back entrance before 8.30 a.m.
Rose was on her way out, Timmy in one hand, Becky skipping down the steps after her brother, her shoes slapping on the stone, her pigtails dancing as she jumped.
‘Fiona, when are you coming to play with us again?’ squealed Becky, running over and throwing her arms round Fiona’s thighs.
‘Ooph, not now my love, you’ve got school.’
‘School is silly. I’d rather play.’
‘No,’ Fiona said gently, kneeling to look Becky in the eyes. ‘School is very important! It will teach you to work hard and pass your exams, and then you’ll be free to lead whatever life you want.’
‘Well, I want to lead a happy life, and I’m happy already,’ replied Becky, wrinkling her nose, ‘so I won’t bother with exams.’ She gave a triumphant smile.
‘Out of the mouth of babes,’ quipped Rose. ‘You’re in jollyearly, Fiona.’
‘Something I need to check in the cellar.’
‘Problem?’ asked Rose in a wary voice.
‘Later.’
