by Alix Kelso
The Perfect Moment
Alix Kelso
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
THE READER’S CLUB
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A MESSAGE FROM ALIX
About the Author
Copyright © Alix Kelso 2019
The moral right of Alix Kelso to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any actual places referenced are used purely fictitiously.
Published by Lake Falls Publishing, Glasgow, Scotland UK.
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For my husband, David.
Thanks for believing in me, even when I didn’t.
Chapter 1
Laura set the plate of scrambled eggs and toast down for Mr Davidson, offered him her best smile and braced herself. “Enjoy your breakfast. Would you like more tea?”
“No, but don’t go anywhere yet.”
The other waitresses would’ve rolled their eyes at this command, but Laura only smiled again and watched the old man dig into the eggs. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, before tossing his fork on to the plate and shaking his head.
“Has the chef heard of seasoning? Salt? Pepper?”
“There’s salt and pepper on the table, Mr Davidson.”
“What next? You want me to cook the eggs myself too?” He waved a hand in the air. “Take them away. Tell the chef to make them again. She needs to whisk before she cooks. She needs to add cream, salt, pepper. She needs to warm the pan. And please God don’t tell me she microwaves them or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“No problem, Mr Davidson.” Laura removed the offending plate of eggs and headed for the kitchen, where she could already see the chef, Tanya, peering through the door pane, her eyebrows beetling.
“What’s the old fart’s problem today?” Tanya asked.
“Not enough seasoning. Not enough cream. He hopes you aren’t microwaving them.”
“Microwaving them! He drives me up the wall. Why do we let him in here anyway?”
“Because he’s a lonely old man who likes our company, although he’d never admit it. And you know he only sends the food back to wind you up.”
Tanya tasted the eggs and shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with these. But if he wants more seasoning, that’s what he’ll get. I’ll give him enough salt to pop an artery.”
“Don’t you dare!” Laura tore a sheet from her order pad and pinned it to the pick-up station. “Four full Scottish breakfasts for table seven, which means you don’t have time for a stand-off.”
Tanya scowled and began breaking eggs into a bowl. “You’re too nice to that old codger. In case you hadn’t noticed, he never tips you.”
“I don’t do this for the tips. I do this for the sheer fun of it.”
“Then there’s something seriously wrong with you,” Tanya called out as Laura disappeared from the kitchen.
Laura was only half joking, too. She loved her job, loved waitressing, and loved Valentino’s, the gorgeous Italian cafe and restaurant run by the Fachini family for more than eighty years. From its corner spot on Shaw Street, in Glasgow’s Fairhill area, the banks of windows offered views of the busy road outside, and most of the booths were usually occupied from mid-morning with people-watchers looking for a prime spot to observe the comings and goings, of which there were plenty.
Glancing through the windows as she wiped a table, Laura saw the usual Fairhill bustle and activity. The greengrocer was stacking crates of onions and peppers beneath the striped canopy of his pavement display. The hairdresser was dashing from her salon into the minimarket where she bought her gossip magazines and chocolate bars. A couple of volunteers in the charity shop were dressing a window mannequin in a summer dress and sunhat. In the window of a tenement flat above the pharmacy, a young woman rocked a baby on her hip while she talked on the phone cradled at her ear. And on a tree-lined road that spurred off Shaw Street, a man stood on the wide stone steps of a sandstone townhouse, tending to pots of lush red geraniums that crowded the doorway.
In a beat, Laura took it all in. There was always something going on in Fairhill. And everyone knew the best spot from which to watch this busy little world go by was inside the jewel in the Shaw Street crown – Valentino’s.
Laura loved everything about the wonderful old restaurant. She loved the age-speckled mirror that hung behind the beautiful bar, reflecting the spirits and liqueurs that lined the shelves. She loved the framed photographs on the walls depicting various members of the Fachini clan over the years. She loved the smell of bolognaise sauce and red wine, the oohs and ahhs over Valentino’s legendary ice cream sundaes, the easy-listening music that played all day, the rush inside the kitchen, and the buzz of a busy service.
On a day like today, with the summer sunshine warming the flower-decked outdoor seating area, it was easy to find something to smile about while working. But even in the depths of a cold Scottish winter, the restaurant still managed to fill Laura with joy, with its old-fashioned bronze chandeliers glowing warmly while the aroma of hot soup and stew lured diners from the dark, damp streets beyond.
Working at Valentino’s made her happy, and being in the restaurant felt like home.
In her apron pocket her phone vibrated, and she saw a message from her boyfriend, John: Pick you up tonight at seven for the cinema.
She’d forgotten they were going out, and for the tiniest moment felt a stab of disappointment. Her flatmate, Yvonne, would be out tonight, and Laura was looking forward to the solitude of her little flat above the laundrette. She’d planned to pour a glass of wine and heat up whatever scraps might be lurking in the fridge. Maybe she’d stretch out on the sofa and watch television for a while.
Immediately, she felt guilty. Instead of anticipating a night of warmed-up leftovers and getting into her pyjamas by eight o’clock, she ought to be excited about seeing John.
She was excited about seeing John. Of course she was. He was a nice guy, and she liked him, quite a bit. When they were together, she could just switch off her brain, because they spent most of their time at the cinema, which was John’s favourite place in the entire world. Being with h
im was a lot like being alone, which suited her just fine.
She typed a quick reply confirming the plans and slipped her phone back into her pocket. As she headed for the server station, Paul, the restaurant’s assistant manager, signalled to her from behind the bar, where he was working the coffee machine.
“Natalie wants to speak to you,” he said, frothing a jug of milk.
Laura’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know she was here already.”
Paul poured the milk into two coffee cups. “She came in while you were dealing with Mr Davidson’s eggs.”
She frowned. Natalie Fachini, the owner of Valentino’s, didn’t usually arrive until late morning. But something had been off with her for a while. She wasn’t keeping her normal routines and didn’t seem her normal self.
“Did she look okay?”
Paul appeared confused. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what she told me to tell you.” He picked up the tray of coffees and left the bar to serve them.
Laura glanced towards Natalie’s office at the back of the restaurant. Not for the first time, she thought about her boss and all she’d gone through recently and wished there was something she could do to help her and make everything alright again.
And, also not for the first time, she reminded herself that life just wasn’t that simple.
Laura walked down the narrow little corridor towards the office at the other end. When she knocked on the door, she felt a strange flutter in her stomach, as if things that had been in balance for the longest time were about to be upended.
Which, it turned out, they were.
Laura opened the office door and saw Natalie on the other side of the desk, staring at a montage of photographs that hung on the wall. A sweetly sad Italian aria played on the little stereo in the corner. Opera was the only music ever heard inside the office. Out in the restaurant, it was easy-listening music, but in here, it was opera. The arrangement, she knew, dated to when Natalie and Angelo had taken over the restaurant after Angelo’s father retired. Angelo, the showman, had run the front of house and liked his music fun and romantic. Natalie, the businesswoman, had run the back and liked her music serious and contemplative. For decades, their arrangement had worked and made both of them very happy.
Anyone who wanted evidence of that happiness only had to look at the photographs Natalie was gazing at on the wall. The largest of the group, in the centre, told the entire story. It was a black-and-white shot of Natalie and Angelo in a loose ballroom pose in the restaurant, laughing as they gazed into one another’s eyes and twirled around the empty tables. It was a beautiful shot, one their son had taken late one night after the restaurant had closed, and which he’d later had framed for their anniversary. Laura knew that Natalie treasured the photograph. It was the one that best captured the brilliant twinkle in Angelo’s eyes.
There had always been dancing and fun and laughter whenever Angelo was around. Laura missed him still. She could scarcely imagine how much Natalie must miss him.
“Natalie?” she said quietly, so as not to startle her.
Turning, Natalie cleared her throat and smiled. “I was a million miles away. Come in, have a seat.”
Laura took one of the tub chairs on the other side of the desk and studied her boss, who looked elegant today, as usual, in crisp linen trousers and a lemon shirt, with one of her signature silk scarves draped around her neck. Natalie always looked immaculate and graceful, a skill she wished she possessed herself. Laura tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear and smoothed her apron over her lap.
“How are you this morning?” Natalie asked, sliding into the leather desk chair and picking up a pen, with which she began to fidget.
“I’m good, Natalie. How are you?”
“Oh, yes, I’m just fine.” She tilted her head towards the little stereo. “Listen to this part of the music, Laura. Tell me it isn’t beautiful.”
Laura listened to the soaring orchestra and the rising voices. Yes, it was beautiful. Natalie had probably played the piece for her before, and probably said the same thing about the beauty of the music. She waited a beat before speaking. “Is everything okay, Natalie?”
The older woman’s eyes snapped back into focus and exhaustion swept her face. “No, Laura, everything’s not okay. Nothing’s been okay since Angelo died.” She let out a sound that was half laugh, half sigh.
“It’s been hard for you. You need to give yourself time.”
Natalie shook her head. “You are a sweet girl, but too polite. It’s been two years since Angelo died. Instead of telling me I need to give myself time, you ought to be telling me to pull myself together.”
Laura was appalled. “I’d never say something like that.”
“Well, in that case, you’re not as good a friend as I thought you were.”
Stung, Laura dropped her gaze. In the ten years she’d worked at Valentino’s, she’d come to adore Natalie, and although the woman was her boss first and foremost, she treasured the friendship that had bloomed between them. In the terrible weeks and months following Angelo’s sudden death from a heart attack, she’d done everything possible to lessen Natalie’s load where Valentino’s was concerned. But she’d also been a shoulder for Natalie to cry on once her children had returned to their own lives. After the shock had passed, she had tried to offer Natalie kindness and understanding as she began to navigate the world with her husband no longer in it. Natalie’s accusation therefore hurt, a great deal.
“I’m sorry, Laura,” Natalie said. “That was a terrible thing to say. It was wrong, and it was untrue. Of course you’ve been a good friend to me.” She fidgeted with the pen for a moment. “But I’ve been drifting since Angelo died, and I can’t keep on drifting. I’m only sixty-two, for God’s sake. I thought we’d have our old age together, retire together and travel a little. We were planning a trip to Naples just before he died.”
“Maybe you should still take that trip. Maybe your daughter might want to go with you, or one of your friends from your exercise class.”
“Perhaps.” Natalie looked thoughtful. “But I need something more than a few weeks’ holiday somewhere.”
She tossed the pen on to the desk and her thoughtful expression turned apprehensive. Laura watched, waited, and a sinking feeling began in her stomach.
“The thing is,” Natalie continued, “whenever I walk in through Valentino’s door, I think of Angelo, smiling and laughing with the customers, and it breaks my heart all over again. For a while, I hoped our memories here would be a comfort. But they aren’t, and I’ve come to accept that. And I’ve made a decision. I’m going to sell Valentino’s.”
Laura sat frozen. Her brain would not process what she’d just heard.
“I wanted you to be the first of the staff to know. You’ve been here the longest and I consider you a friend, of course, not only an employee. Valentino’s is a solid, profitable business, and I don’t expect it will be hard to sell. I intend to select a buyer carefully, but ultimately whoever comes in here will want to change things. And so I want you to know what’s happening so that you can think about your own future too.”
But Laura wasn’t listening. Natalie’s words simply floated over her head.
“Laura Evans, you are gaping like a goldfish and it is most unbecoming.” Natalie laughed, but after a moment a concerned expression crossed her face. “Oh Laura, I do wish you’d say something.”
It took another few seconds, but Laura finally got her mouth working. “You can’t sell this place. It’s your life.”
“It was my life. But every day I come here, I’m living in the past. I want to move on. I need to move on. You understand that, don’t you?”
Laura shook her head. “But it’s so drastic! You’d be giving up everything you and Angelo worked for. You can’t walk away from Valentino’s. What if you sell it and regret it?”
“I won’t regret it, and—”
“You need to do something else, make some other changes in life, before y
ou do something so huge. Natalie, please. Don’t rush into this.”
“It only seems like I’m rushing because you just heard about it. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”
Laura hunched forward, practically leaning over Natalie’s desk. “Take that holiday to Naples. Take a whole tour of Italy! Enjoy yourself and catch up with all those relatives of Angelo’s you’re always talking about. Or maybe you could swap your aerobics class for something new. Or start a new hobby. Anything! But selling Valentino’s? Please don’t do it.”
“Laura, I—”
“Maybe you need to make some new friends. Maybe it’s even time for you to start thinking about seeing men again.”
Natalie opened her mouth, then plopped it closed again. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought it might be nice to go out with some man or other sometime. I loved Angelo, but I can’t say I like being a widow. Women have needs, even heartbroken ones. Maybe especially heartbroken ones.”
“See! There you go! You don’t need to sell Valentino’s. You just need to find a man.”
But Natalie waved a hand. “I probably do need to find a man, and maybe I will. But that’s entirely separate from the restaurant. I’m sorry, Laura, but my mind’s made up.” She glanced at her watch and rose from her chair. “Look, you joined us at the restaurant after a horrible, difficult time in your own life, and I know how much this place has come to mean to you. I know it was hard for you when Angelo died, and it will be hard for you when I leave here too. Don’t think I don’t know that, because I do. But things change. Life goes on, whether we want it to or not. I’m ready to move on with my life. Maybe it’s time for you to move on with yours too.”
