Page 21 of A Perfect Devon Pub
For a moment, Ru’s smile seemed to fade, as if her words had stung him.
Rose turned, a look of astonishment on her face. ‘Fiona!’ she cried.
George frowned, ‘Come on, no need to be so critical. The man’s just doing his job.’
‘Sure, George,’ muttered Fiona. ‘My mistake, I thought he was the sous chef. Here to helpyou.’ She hesitated, not wanting to push past Ru’s fans. Ru posed for one more photo, then shot Fiona a hurt look before jogging up the steps and slipping back inside.
She heard the door click shut. Marriage to Ru would have been a disaster. Once she was qualified, she would repay those debts and forge a new life without him ... But she wished her heart didn’t ache each time she set eyes on him. As the door clicked shut behind him, another voice called her name – warm, steady, the Australian accent somehow both familiar and new – making her heart flutter for reasons she wasn’t ready to examine.
Ten
On Saturday evening, a new woman joined the serving team. Kim. She was the daughter of Rose’s accountant. Kim’s parents had invested in several local restaurants, and she was keen to learn all about fine dining. Kim was in her mid-twenties and physically reminded Fiona a little of herself, being short, with a round, pretty, smiley face. But unlike Fiona’s curves, the new waitress was petite and evidently not short of money. Kim wore the sort of designer clothes Fiona was used to seeing customers wear, not the waiting staff. When Rose introduced the new team member to Josh, Ru and George, Fiona felt the pulse of testosterone shoot round the kitchen.
‘Right,’ said George, fastening a clean apron round his midriff, ‘curtains up. Let’s have a great service, everyone.’
That evening, the packed dining room buzzed with anticipation, as if everyone expected a rock star to entertain them. Against a backdrop of clinking glassware and the gentle scrape of cutlery on plates, Fiona soon forgot about who was cooking the food. Murmurs and gasps of appreciation rewarded each meal she delivered. She pasted on her professional smile, serving meticulously arranged plates, with the aromas of truffle oil and the familiar unctuous sauces Ruben was famous for, casting her back to life atthe London restaurant.
Fiona was discussing the merits of the 2008 and 2009 claret vintages with a customer when she caught the eye of another diner. It was difficult not to. He was waving both arms abovehis head in windmill fashion. She excused herself and switched tables.
‘At last. Caught your attention,’ said the windmilling man, a trace of irritation in his voice. ‘My wife has changed her mind. She would like her steak blue, not rare.’
‘Not a problem, sir.’ Fiona said, smiling, ‘I’ll tell Chef now.’
‘And could you find out what’s happened to our wine?’
Fiona’s smiled slipped. This was Kim’s table. She told herself not to be critical. A busy restaurant was a tough place for a new waitress on her first night, and if the couple was waiting for a cellared wine, Kim wouldn’t be able to fetch it. ‘Let me investigate that for you now, sir.’ Hoping to ease his tension, she verified the order, fetched the wine, then scanned the room. After a few moments, she concluded Kim must be in the kitchen.
Fiona pushed at the swing door, heard the hum of ovens, and inhaled the delicious smell of baking bread. At the service counter, Kim was fiddling with her hair, a moonstruck expression on her face. Fiona took a closer look; Kim was staring at the sous chef.
‘Service!’ Ru called out, sending a shiver of regret through Fiona. She dipped her head to avoid meeting his eyes, and said, ‘Table 3 now wants their steak blue.’
Someone grunted. She looked up. Ru was pointing at the service bar: ‘that’s Table 3.’
‘Is it blue?’
‘No, it’s rare, like the order slip says.’
Fiona swallowed, fixing her gaze on the plate. ‘The wife wants blue.’
‘The order slip saysrare.’
Fiona lifted her eyes, meeting Ru’s dark ones, which seemed to radiate misery. ‘She changed her mind.’
‘I’m good,’ said Ru. ‘I’m intuitive, but I am not telepathic.’
Fiona glared at Kim, who was smirking as she chirped. ‘I didn’ttake the changed order, so don’t expect me to take this to their table. They’re friends of my parents. He will not react well to this mishap.’
Wiping his hands on his apron, George joined the crowd at the service bar. ‘What’s going on over here?’
Wanting to point out that if Kim knew the customers, it would be better for her to handle the incident, Fiona gritted her teeth. ‘Let me try,’ she said. Collecting the plates, she turned and, hearing a giggle, peeked out from the corner of her eye. Kim was leaning on the service counter, batting her eyes at Ru. Fiona stalked out.
Before she reached Table 3, the man called out, ‘am I too late to change the wine order?’
What was it about this couple flip-flopping around with their order? Then she had a sudden thought – this was just the sort of sneaky tactics some restaurant critics used. ‘No, sir,’ she said, forcing herself to look at his florid face.
‘Can you recommend something a little cheaper?’
She put the steak down in front of Mr Florid’s wife, apologizing that she’d been too late to change it to blue.
