Page 35 of A Perfect Devon Pub
The wife sighed. ‘Let’s just take a deep breath. It’s just a mix-up over a bottle of wine.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ grumbled Richard.
‘I’ll take care of everything, sir. Thank you for your patience.’ Fiona flashed a smile of thanks at the wife and escaped to the cellar.
For the rest of the evening Fiona kept her distance from Table 5. Anyway, she was superfluous. Kim was hanging round the table as if the couple were royalty, bending to pick up a dropped napkin, fetching a fresh jug of iced water when the one on the table was still half full.
By the end of service Fiona was still smarting – Kim had set her up. In the staffroom she pulled on her raincoat. Someone had left the windows open, and she could hear therhythmic creaking of boat moorings in the harbour, the soft sound soothing her nerves. She leaned against the windowsill. Outside, a full moon shone, its reflection shimmering on the ocean’s surface. She heard laughter, recognized Josh’s gentle chuckle, and closed the window. She would rearrange their missed wine lesson.
Outside, she spotted three people standing close to the harbour wall. With the gentle shushing of the waves and theearthy smell from nearby pines, a romantic atmosphere seemed to envelope the small group. As she got closer, she identified Ru, Josh and finally Kim.
Kim’s hair was loose, dancing lightly in the wind, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. ‘When are you going to cook something special for me, Ruben?’ she asked.
‘What would you like to eat?’ he asked in a teasing voice.
‘Surprise me. I want a Ruben special.’
With his arms crossed, Josh watched the playful exchange. A flicker of annoyance crossed Fiona’s face.
‘Ah, Fiona!’ Ru said, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Join us! We’re inventing specials and could do with some wine input.’
‘From a sommelier,’ said Kim, her tone mocking.
Fiona’s brow furrowed and she struggled to suppress her irritation. ‘Think I’ll just head off, leave you three to cook up the specials. You don’t need my skills,’ she muttered, her voice edged with defensiveness.
‘What skills might they be,’ taunted Kim, ‘when you can’t tell the difference between a French wine and a South African?’
‘What’s this?’ asked Ru, grinning.
Fiona’s face burned and she shot Kim a sharp glare. Kim gave her version of the Table 5 wine debacle. Josh, to his credit, didn’t seem to see the funny side of the story, but Ru and Kim found it amusing.
‘That wasn’t my fault, and you know it,’ Fiona shot back, but her words felt weak against the laughter of the other two.
Ru chuckled, the sound mingling with that of waves hitting the rocks. ‘Come on, Fiona! We all make mistakes! At least now we know who to send to the wine cellar,’ he teased, nudging Kim playfully.
Kim burst into laughter, her joy echoing in the cool night air.
Fiona clenched her jaw, hurt surging through her as she tried to keep her composure. ‘I’m not the only one who’s ever messedup,’ she managed, her voice steady but barely concealing her frustration.
‘Come on, Fiona, don’t be so sensitive!’ Ru replied, his tone still light, yet it felt like a weight pressing down on her.
‘Sorry I missed our lesson earlier,’ said Josh. Fiona could have hugged him.
‘No drama. I gather you were sent out on an errand. Same time tomorrow?’
‘I reckon,’ said Josh, ‘so long as it’s all good with the boss.’ He raised his eyebrow slightly mockingly at Ruben. But Fiona didn’t think he’d pull the same stunt twice in a row.
Sixteen
After spending her day off studying, Fiona slept in late on Tuesday morning. Just after nine, she woke to an email that made her heart race.
It was an alert from the CMS, announcing that new dates for the Advanced Sommelier exam were on their website. She clicked on the link, noting the date of the three day exam. It was in late November, only four weeks away, at a private members’ club in London. The exam was always held in a restaurant; to test a candidate’s ability to perform under pressure required a dining room setting. She would apply immediately, then request leave.
By the time she got downstairs for breakfast, the CMS had confirmed her place. Ivy insisted on making breakfast. She sat Fiona at the kitchen table with a cafetière of coffee. ‘You sit while I cook,’ said Ivy, beaming at her niece. ‘It won’t take me long.’
Fiona was still sipping her first cup of coffee, dreaming of being told she was being admitted to the CMS, when a steaming bowl of porridge appeared in front of her, together with a jar of golden honey. ‘That’s local,’ Ivy said. ‘I know the beekeeper.’
As Fiona watched honey drip languidly from her spoon, an unbidden memory surfaced: breakfast with Ru, the Sunday before her failed exam. As always, they had taken their time, like other couples would over a long, lovely dinner together. He had made salmon rillette that morning, poaching the fish delicately in stock, white wine and herbs. The rich, velvety mixture hadbeen paired with warm, golden brioche fresh from the oven. Now, she stirred her porridge absently, the cloying texture on her tongue at odds with the memory of that decadent meal. She could almost taste the subtle tang of green peppercorns in the rillette, the buttery crispness of the brioche. They had sipped Krug with their breakfast, a perfect pairing to their life. Consumed by the art they both loved, they let work and play blur seamlessly – neither had wanted to draw a boundary. She knew that whoever she dated next would have a lot to live up to. Would her next boyfriend be like drinking a cheap boxed wine when she was used to a vintage claret?
