Page 45 of A Perfect Devon Pub
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. The thing is, I have a horrible feeling the thief is trying to frame someone for this crime.’
‘You!’
‘No,’ she said, then added gently, ‘you.’
‘Me?’ his head lurched forwards. ‘How?’
‘There are bottles of 1986 Vin de Constance missing.’
With a finger and thumb, he stroked his jaw, making her fingers itch to do the same. ‘Their maiden year.’
‘Yes.’ She said, ‘You have to know a lot about wine, or beseriously into South African wines to know how much those are worth.’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘It’s just so predictable, isn’t it – blame the black guy.’
She sighed. Race had never been an issue for either of them; Ru had been born into a post-apartheid South Africa, and Fiona’s parents had instilled in her that the colour of one’s skin didn’t alter a person, a view reinforced by her Christian aunt – God was colour blind. ‘That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. I just wanted to warn you ...’
His eyes flashed anger at her and she flinched. ‘That’s what this meeting is about ... to warn the man of colour he’s about to be arrested for a crime he didn’t even know existed?’ he scoffed.
There was never going to be the perfect moment to do this, but she was determined she would do it today, so she pulled the little box out of her pocket, pushing it across the table. He winced, then spoke in a wavering voice: ‘Keep— you keep it. I bought it for you.’
She spoke softly, ‘No. That’s not right.’ She hadn’t even accepted the ring. Pocketing it that day on the beach had been a mistake.
‘I don’t want it,’ he said bitterly.
She felt a heaviness in her chest, but she would never move on without severing this last connection with him. ‘Please, take it.’
He heaved a sigh, then pushed the box into his pocket. Shaking his head, he spoke softly. ‘You told me you loved me. I don’t understand why it went so wrong.’
At some point, they were always going to have this conversation, and she told herself she was strong enough, but her heart was in her mouth as she spoke. ‘I’m not right for you, Ru. I drag you down. You’re the most amazing chef, a social media star. Look what’s happened to bookings at the pub since you arrived. Me –’ she twisted her face, flicking her eyes at the ceiling ‘– I can’t even pass my Advanced Sommelier exam.’
Saying those words, she pictured the email in her mind – the confirmation of her acceptance for the three day exam inless than two weeks. This time, she wasn’t telling anyone; this time, she would pass. She had prepared relentlessly, and now success was within her grasp. This exam was the crucial step, the doorway to the financial independence she dreamed of. She was determined she would soon claim her place among the best sommeliers in the world. She might even get in touch with her parents – they would admire that sort of achievement. ‘You’ve outgrown me, and I have to accept that.’
He leaned away from her. ‘A healthy marriage isn’t a competition, Fi. I respect your right to reject me. I just don’t believe that’s the real reason. I think you’re terrified of failure, and you’d rather reject something that makes you happy than fear losing it one day.’
She felt herself well up and fought to stem the tears. ‘So, you don’t deny I’m right – that you’re better than me?’ She reached for his hand, and he held it briefly and then pulled away.
‘I’m saying I don’t care. I should be the judge of who I want to spend my life with. But I can’t force you to be with me. You’ve made your decision. Now you’ve moved on, and so will I.’
She let out a strangled sob, then swallowed, raised her head and tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow. ‘Right,’ she sniffed, reminding herself that this was what she wanted, what she’d asked for. ‘We’re both moving on. And that’s for the best.’
He sipped his coffee and avoided meeting her eye. ‘Let’s get back to the wine. Iamgrateful you told me. What’s Rose going to do about it?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, but it’s too much money to ignore. I guess she’ll call in the police ask them to investigate.’
‘Will you help me prove my innocence?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He passed her a napkin, and she dabbed at her eyes. ‘Let’smeet again tomorrow,’ he suggested.
‘Okay,’ she said, swiping at her eyes. ‘But this is business, okay? Professional, not personal.’
‘Got it,’ said Ru, and the look in his eyes had gone cold and distant again. ‘Morning Prayers, then?’
She smiled at his choice of words, Morning Prayers used to be their term for staff meetings in London, always convened over breakfast.
‘Morning prayers,’ she agreed.
He angled his head at Trish. ‘Not here.’
