Page 9 of The Dolce Vita Divas
‘You mean Bertha. Let’s have another,’ she said. ‘That didn’t touch the sides.’
‘Tequila sunrise,’ I said, finishing my drink. ‘I used to love those, and I haven’t had one for years.’
We called Lisa over and she replaced our empty glasses with two full ones. Then she leaned down conspiratorially.
‘Just a head’s up. Apologies from Chef. There was supposed to be bread and butter pudding on the menu this evening, but the dance society from Walsall have pre-ordered it all. So there will just be ice cream or Eton mess. I hope that won’t spoil your enjoyment of your evening, but it’s as well to be prepared.’
‘I made that for Greg once. When we were first married,’ I said. ‘He told me it was okay but not as good as his mother’s. So I never made it again.’
‘Don’t blame you,’ Susie snorted. She screwed her hair up into a bun and secured it with an elastic band which had been looped around her wrist and then shook her bundle of papers at me.
‘So tomorrow we are booked in for breakfast at eight – all the later spaces were taken – and then for a facial at two o’clock and mixology at four thirty with Tim. Then perhaps we could have a walk around the grounds. They really are splendid.’
‘If the rain stops,’ I said.
We looked out at the darkening evening, where we could see two hardy types, a couple with big waxed coats and umbrellas, walking along beside the house, heads slightly bowed against the wind.
‘I expect he says they have to do their ten thousand steps before they are allowed any dinner,’ Susie said.
‘Well, I don’t even have a proper raincoat, never mind any wellingtons,’ I said.
This too reminded me of Juliette and her problems with Maurice, and for some reason it made me feel happy. Susie was fun, but Juliette could easily be an inspiration.
‘I hope you have some sparkly tops,’ she said. ‘A lot of the ladies here are looking very swish.’
‘I didn’t realise we had to dress up for dinner,’ I said, ‘but it beats something on a tray in front ofPointless. I’m usually shovelling in cheese on toast and shouting at the contestants most evenings.’
Susie held up her tequila sunrise for a toast.
‘Well, not this time, there is a three-course dinner for us, followed by a show. Cheers!’
‘But no bread and butter pudding,’ I added.
‘Bonus round, I’d call it.’
I took a sip of my cocktail, and for a moment the taste catapulted me back to the days when I had been younger and carefree, and yet it hadn’t all been wonderful. There had always been the problem of Paulo, which I’d never solved.
3
The dining room was absolutely magnificent, as one would expect in what was basically a revamped stately home. High ceilings, beautiful, moulded plasterwork swags around the doors, and yet more very grand portraits of fierce-looking people hanging on the walls. The tables were mostly set for two, with dark-red tablecloths and sparkling cutlery.
Feeling very jolly, probably because of our two cocktails, we were escorted by one of the very young waiters to our table in the middle of the room. Around the edges stood several other waiting staff, all dressed in their rather unimaginative uniform of grey polo shirts and black trousers. None of them looked more than eighteen, so perhaps these were after-school jobs. Anyway, they were very keen and willing to help the people who didn’t know what to do with their walking frames and sticks, and very patient when they came to explain the menu to people who had mislaid the right spectacles or forgotten to turn on their hearing aids.
‘The chap on the table next to us just said he is exceedingly disappointed about the dessert menu. He’s come all the way from Croydon,’ Susie hissed.
‘Perhaps he is a member of the bread and butter pudding appreciation society?’ I whispered back.
When it came, the food was good but under seasoned, and I caused a bit of a stir with the waiters when I asked for a pepper mill.
‘Perhaps my taste buds are old and battered,’ I said, ‘but that lasagne didn’t taste of anything in particular.’
‘Was everything okay with your meals?’
It was our waiter, Kyle, who hovered uncertainly beside us, his polo shirt coming untucked from his trousers. I felt rather sorry for him. He looked like he needed a good meal and a decent night’s sleep, and I wanted to be kind.
‘Lovely, thanks, Kyle,’ I said with a meaningful look at Susie.
‘Compliments to the chef,’ she said cheerfully.
