Page 5 of A Perfect Devon Pub
The combination struck Fiona mute. She had no idea how to respond. If she raised her concerns, she didn’t think he would listen, dismissing them as mere frustration over her failed exam. But that wasn’t it at all. His casual mention of how he’d approached the investors without consulting her, his undermining of her career, followed by his unilateral decision about their marriage plans had confirmed her deepest fear: he didn’t see her as an equal partner, either in business or in life.
‘Why?’ he demanded. There was a hint of despair in his voice now, which sent a chill through her. ‘Why won’t you marry me?’
Silence hung between them, a chasm too wide to breach.
Ru was the one to break it. ‘If you can’t even explain yourself to me, don’t bother coming back to my restaurant.’ His lip curled – distorting his lovely features – as he channelled his pain into anger. ‘And yes, you heard right. It’smyrestaurant. As you keep reminding me, you’re just the wine waiter.’
Fiona gasped. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. She felt hot tears slithering down her cheeks. How could he be so cruel? Yes, she’d said she couldn’t marry him, but she’d expected him to row back from the proposal, revert to their easy, relaxed relationship, perhaps make a joke of it all, allowing her time to digest everything she’d learned and find a way to talk it through. The taste of her tears was a salty reminder of her failure and her sorrow. Ru reached out for her, but she pushed him away, evading his encircling arms, like a wild animal desperate to break free of its captor. Fiona tore up the beach,still sobbing,her chest heaving with each step. She heard him calling out to stop, to come back, to talk to him, but she raced on, her eyes swollen with tears. The damage was done. He’d finally spokenthe truth, and he couldn’t take that back.
Above her, seagulls cried out as if in sympathy with the lonely figure below them. Her chest ached with the weight of her decision, her heart torn between love for him and the unbearable truth she couldn’t escape. But she had saidno. Their relationship was over.
Listening to the waves crash against the shore, she felt as though the sea itself was mourning her loss, the pull of the tide mirroring the emptiness inside her. She had given him up – giventhemup. Every footfall in the sand took her further away from a life she didn’t want to lose.
Somewhere in the distance, a ship’s horn sounded, deep and almost mournful, and she collapsed to her knees on the sand, sobbing into her hands. She would never again feel his arms around her, his lips on hers.
What had she done?
Three
With intermittent breaks to catch her breath, Fiona hurtled across the beach and up through the village, ignoring the startled looks from those she passed. She let herself into Ivy’s cottage, closing the door stealthily behind her, and crept up the stairs to the bedroom, where she dropped her sandals with a clatter.
Ru’s proposal had been a naive attempt to rally her spirits, but it felt like salt in the wound of his betrayal, a painful reminder that he saw her as someone to be managed and protected rather than consulted. ‘Myrestaurant’. Those words would haunt her. They proved that her instinct to reject him was correct.The way he’d approached the investors privately, stung – not even a heads-up about the alternative business plan. It confirmed what she’d suspected for some time: in his mind, she was an accessory to his success, not an architect of their shared future. When she’d failed that exam, she’d shattered all of her dreams – she wasn’t a Master Sommelier, she wasn’t the business partner of a celebrity chef. Fiona wasn’t good enough to become the wife of one, and she was no longer the girlfriend of one either.
She hurled herself onto the bed, sniffing her tears to a stop, then rolled on to her side, thumping her head against the pillow. But the musky scent of Ru clung to the bed linen, and she moaned. Her eyes danced around the room. Traces of him lay everywhere – his jeans slung over a chair back, his bag unzipped but unpacked, the clothes rumpled from his post-breakfast hurried delve to extract his swimming trunks.
Fiona pushed herself upright, yanking Ru’s belongings off hooks, plucking them from chair backs, and sweeping them off the chest of drawers. She tossed them all into his bag and tugged at the zip. It was unyielding, as if mocking her attempts to shut away her memories. Fiona kicked the bag under the bed, then picked up a wine book, opening it randomly and staring unseeing at the page. However, she couldn’t concentrate, and her ears strained for footsteps. Was Ru going to come after her?
For an hour, Fiona idly flipped pages. She heard footsteps clomp up the stairs, then a firm knock. She drew in a calming breath. The door opened and Aunt Ivy’s round face peeped in, her eyes radiating love like the warm glow of a sunrise spreading across a tranquil sea. ‘Ruben called me. We need to talk.’
Fiona examined her aunt’s face for clues. Ivy didn’t do drama. She wouldn’t approve of this mess.
Ivy knelt in front of Fiona. Despite being in her late fifties, her aunt was flexible for her age and after decades of worship, was used to being on her knees. ‘I’m not going to ask why you did this. You will tell me when you are ready.’
Fiona spoke earnestly. ‘I’ll tell you now. I’m not good enough for him.’
Ivy clicked her tongue. ‘Let’s deal with the practical side of things first. I’ve offered to take him the car keys so he can drive back up to London.’
Good, thought Fiona. It would be easier if she didn’t see him. ‘I’ve packed his bag. It’s not heavy, so you can take it with you.’ She wanted nothing left behind to remind her of him.
Ivy sighed. ‘If that’s what you think is best. When the dust has settled you can catch a train home and chat everything through together.’
‘No need,’ Fiona responded bitterly, ‘He can sort everything out.’
Her aunt frowned. ‘Ruben isn’t going to tidy this mess up Fiona. It’s your mess too. You need to talk to him. You are in business together.’
‘Wrong tense. Wewerein business together. He’ll find another sommelier. Guests come for the food.’ That’s what the lead investor had told her in that meeting, with a sardonic curl to his lips, ‘Ru can replace me. I couldn’t replace him.’ She would never replace him. Fiona bit down on her lip, relishing the pain.
‘What about the flat?’
She thought about their home in Ladbroke Grove. Fiona had done all the legwork, but it was Ru who’d found it in her discarded pile. It was Ru who’d seen the potential, Ru who’d hired and briefed the architect, transforming the flat into a light and airy space with oblique views over Holland Park. All the good ideas had been Ru’s. His creative mind was why he was such a successful chef. Although possibly a miserable one today.
Fiona shook her head. ‘It’s his. He can buy me out.’ As an up-and-coming celebrity chef with wealthy backers, he could afford the mortgage by himself. Fiona longed to contribute more than just her mountain of debts. She pictured the day she finally passed that wretched exam and started earning a proper salary – enough to pay back what she owed and be financially independent.
Ivy tutted, put her hands on her thighs and levered herself upright, her knees cracking as she rose. ‘You’ve got this all figured out, have you?’
Fiona sniffed.
‘No, sorry that was flippant, unhelpful.’ Ivy paused and took a breath. ‘What do you want to do? Stay in Brambleton for the rest of the week while you think things through?’
