Page 44 of A Perfect Devon Pub
In contrast, Fiona had been self-conscious and, watching other customers squirt and sniff knowledgably, was soon suffering from imposter syndrome. She fell into old habits: inhaling deeply, picking apart each fragrance with quiet reverence, whispering to Ru about top notes of jasmine and orange blossom, heart notes of sandalwood and lily. She closed her eyes, letting each scent unfurl in her mind like a delicate wine, identifying the underlying ingredients, the layers of sensuality and spice that lingered just beneath the surface.
But Ru wasn’t listening to her wine-speak. ‘Forget all that!’ he said, laughing, a mischievous lookin his eye. ‘The only score that matters here, Fi, is how sexy it smells on you.’ He picked up a sample bottle of perfume and squirted a cloud on her wrist, then with exaggerated seriousness, he took her hand and sniffed the pulse point, nodding thoughtfully before giving his verdict. They danced from one famous counter to the next, his energy infectious, his commentary blunt – he didn’t care which perfume house he offended in his search for the perfect scent. Fiona’s laugh rang through the hall as they tried one tester after another, each fragrance another opportunity for the simple pleasure of prolonging the memory.
Then they triedGabrielle,Chanel’s ode to freedom, and he fell quiet, inhaling as if struck. ‘That’s it,’ he said, his voice suddenly soft. He said nothing else. He didn’t need to; his silence said everything.Gabriellewas his Christmas present to her that year. She doubted he’d recognize it now, but for her, that scent would always be Ru, that particular Monday, the perfect mixture of wildness and warmth.
The café was less than two minutes’ walk, and didn’t open until 7.30 a.m., but determined not to be late, Fiona popped a small, blue box into her raincoat pocket, crept down the stairs and out of the house ten minutes before they were due to meet. She didn’t want Ivy asking why she was up so early wearing a full face of make-up. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, making a soothing, whispering sound that mingled with the distant rumble of waves against the shore. The air had a sharp, cool bite, and Fiona shivered in her thin raincoat as she hurried along the pavement. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees overhead, their leaves now faded to muted ambers and yellows, with the occasional splash of fiery red. As she walked, Fiona tried to tamp down the excitement of meeting Ru alone for the first time in six weeks.
When she reached the café, the lights were on inside and she could see Trish behind the counter, fiddling with the coffee machine. She huddled into her raincoat, wondering if they should meet on the terrace rather than inside, and glanced across at it. A hatless Ru was sitting at a table, as heartbreakingly beautiful as ever. Conscious of the rest of the team, she had been unable to look at him properly for weeks, and for a few moments she watched him rubbing his hands together and blowing on them, his breath forming little clouds. His dark skin looked warm against the chill of the autumn morning, his jawline sharper than she remembered, eyes thoughtful and distant. A part of her wanted to walk over and touch him, to feel that familiar warmth, but the calm, unreadable look on his face reminded her that his heart was no longer hers. She wrapped her arms around herself, holding back the ache, watching him.
‘Ru!’ she called. He stood and waved. ‘You’re early!’ she said.
‘Didn’t want to be late.’
She laughed. ‘How did you get out there?’
‘I’ve been here since seven. Trish spotted me.’ He pointed to amug on the table. ‘She took pity on a fellow chef.’
Fiona heard the key grating against the metal lock, then the sound of a tinkling bell, and the door opened. ‘I’m not used to having a queue at this time of year,’ said Trish. ‘Come on inside. I presume you’re meeting the other early bird. What can I get you?’
Fiona glanced at Ru, whose face was as expressionless as it had been yesterday. She guessed the barriers were still up. ‘I’m having a smoked salmon bagel.’
Suddenly Fiona felt ravenous. ‘Times two.’
They chose a small corner table. Her knees brushed against his, making her skin tingle and a peculiar sense of awkwardness came over her. She almost felt shy. He sniffed.
‘You’re wearingGabrielle.’ Then the mask began to crack; he sighed, and a wounded look came into his eyes making her heart clench, but she knew what she must do. She reached into her pocket, fingering the box, then, concerned he might storm out before she could warn him about the missing wine, she left the box where it was.
‘Ru, something’s happened at the pub.’
A confused look crossed his face. ‘Right ...’
Trish was walking towards their table. Keeping her eyes on the other woman, Fiona whispered, ‘I’ve uncovered something. Thanks, Trish. This looks great.’
‘What? What have you—?’
Fiona shot Ru a warning look.
‘Anything else I can get for you?’ asked Trish.
‘Another coffee please,’ said Ru, holding up his mug.Fiona waited until Trish was out of earshot. ‘A theft. Wine – very expensive wine,’ she whispered.
His eyes popped wide. ‘Wow, have you told Rose?’
She nodded, dipping her head to take a slurp of coffee. ‘Yes. George knows too.’
‘That explains . . .’
‘Shush!’ She pressed a finger to her lips then said brightly, ‘Here comes your coffee, Ruben.’
He leaned towards her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his lips, wanting to feel them pressing hard against her own, but he had made it clear yesterday he had other lips on his mind now – presumably Kim’s. She dropped her gaze and picked up her bagel, nibbling at the edge. Trish placed a mug in front of Ru, then left. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting until Trish was out of earshot, then his eyes were on Fiona. ‘That explains why George was so tetchy yesterday. How did they get in?’
She swallowed a mouthful of food, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think this was an outside job,’ Ru’s jaw dropped, and she rushed on, ‘there’s no sign of a break-in and it’s been carefully planned. The thief targeted high-value wines. They knew exactly what to take.’
‘Who, apart from you, knows about wine?’
She stopped herself from replying: ‘You do’. She didn’t want to spook him before she revealed the missing South African wines, but his reaction was so far convincing her that he’d had nothing to do with this. ‘All they needed was the stock list – that makes it obvious what to pinch.’
‘But without a knowledge of wine, how would they know what to do with it? It’s not like selling knock-off Hermès handbags.’
