by David Wilson
‘Sorry Abigail, I was miles away there. What are you doing here?’
‘Well coffee mainly, but I thought we could have a chat. You looked like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders there.’ The young barista, whom Abigail took to be a student, brought over her latte and placed it in front of her. The smell of vanilla wafted into her nose, forcing her to take a sip and she nodded her head with satisfaction. ‘Shall we get a comfier seat?’ she asked. They both decamped from the stools in the window and took one of the sofas in the main part of the café. ‘So how’s things looking for Sunday? The weather seems to be co-operating for once.’
‘True, the forecast is good. I think everything’s in place, we’ve got the stage and marquees built now and the sound check is tomorrow afternoon and then we should be all ready. It’s just …’ She tailed off and looked down at her cup.
‘What’s wrong Soph? It’s not like you to be down. You should be on top of the world at the moment. Sunday’s going to be the biggest event we’ve had here for years, decades even, and you’ve organised it to the smallest detail. Although, I’m imagining there may be one fly in the ointment at the moment?’ Sophie looked at her. ‘I mean Alasdair. He isn’t trying to cause problems, nor am I for that matter since I seem to be mixed up in it too.’
Sophie turned and faced her. ‘Abigail, we’ve known each other for quite a few years now. Tell me, is there anything to all this business with Milton? I keep thinking that it must be Alasdair off on one of his tangents but when I see you taking it seriously I start to wonder. What’s your gut feeling on it all?’
‘Well,’ Abigail exhaled loudly, ‘to be honest I thought it was a lot of rubbish as well when it first started – just Alasdair trying to occupy himself – and, well, he obviously doesn’t like Milton Scott.’ Sophie nodded. ‘But the more I think about it, I can’t help thinking it might just be possible.’ She put a hand onto Sophie’s. ‘Sorry.’
Sophie waved her arms. ‘Oh, it’s not your fault Abby, in fact if it turns out to be true then it’s not Alasdair’s fault either but …’ she looked exasperated, ‘I should have known it would be too good for it all to go smoothly. I don’t want everything to be attached to some scandal.’
‘Look Sophie, it might well be that he’s not involved and in any case, what if we wait until after the high tea before we do anything about contacting the police? I’m waiting to get some emails back tomorrow to see if I can find out some things about our Mr Scott which may help answer some questions but its Saturday tomorrow, so what could possibly happen between then and Sunday? Even if we do get any information it’ll take some time to sort out and we can easily wait until Monday before we make our next move. How does that sound?’
Sophie looked a little more relaxed but her brow was still furrowed. ‘I suppose. But what if Milton is arrested afterwards, won’t it tar the memory of the day when it turns out he’s a criminal?’
‘I don’t think so, you weren’t to know. If anything it will just make him look worse for taking everyone in and trying to play lord of the manor when he’s been up to no good.’ She smiled, trying to look reassuring. ‘See? It’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
At The Pudding Furnace, the afternoon flew by in a blur of menus, wine lists, tablecloths, food preparation and in general running around like mad getting every last detail in place for six o’clock when the doors would open for the first time. The assistant chef whom Alec had hired was busy in the kitchen and a couple of young waiters from an agency were setting the tables and doing a grand job out front.
Emma had been in better humour as the afternoon wore on and she and Alec had just passed each other by as they went back and forth around the place taking care of their allotted tasks. Now, as the moment of truth arrived, they both found a few minutes to sit down and survey their surroundings before it all changed and the public were invited in to join them. ‘It’s all looking good,’ Alec said, ‘we should be really proud of ourselves, even if I do say so myself.’ Emma looked around and nodded, smiling.
‘Absolutely. Hopefully everyone out there will feel as excited about it as we do and we, or rather you, will have a huge success.’
‘Now, it’s been a team effort. I couldn’t have done it without you. I think we make quite a good team. Hopefully we won’t be too busy tonight but I hope folk like it. You hear all sorts of stories of disasters on opening night. We might not get any customers at all!’
Emma squinted at him. ‘Oh, I think we’ll have some customers,’ Alec looked worryingly at her. ‘I mean there’s John for a start isn’t there. God help us if he turns up with his so-called friends.’
‘Is that going to be awkward?’ he asked, ‘We can’t afford to have any trouble so maybe you need to stay in the back if they do come in? From what you’ve told me it might not make for a pleasant time of it, under the circumstances. He clearly seems to think he’s got nothing to be ashamed of?’
‘That’s true, but I’m here to do a job and do it I will. I’m not going to hide in the back. Anyway, as long as I’m completely professional and just do my job I’m sure it’ll be fine. They’ll have their food and their free wine and then they’ll be off.’ She gave him a reassuring smile and then looked at her watch. ‘Will we get the show on the road? The proof of the, well, pudding, is in the eating after all.’ Alec got up laughing nervously and walked to the door, turning the sign around from Closed to Open, and unlocking the door. Emma and the other staff, who had gathered to watch the moment, gave a small cheer and a round of applause, as all eyes then fell on the street to watch for the first customers to arrive.
The first hour was painfully quiet. A few people stopped and looked at the menu on the window but when they peered inside and saw the tables deserted they walked on, presumably not wishing to be the only ones here. Just after seven o’clock a couple who both looked around forty years old came in and were shown to a table opposite the fire which, even though only lit up with candles due to it being summer, still gave a nice cosy feel to the place. They asked about the free wine offer but instead, as they were the first, they were presented with a bottle of champagne to launch the restaurant on its maiden voyage. If not quite like the opening of the floodgates, this first couple in the restaurant did seem to encourage others to join them. By eight o’clock there were three further tables occupied by a variety of people; an elderly couple who were celebrating an anniversary and wanted to try somewhere new, a family from France that had come here on holiday to immerse themselves in the history, and three men and a woman who seemed to be a group of friends. Alec was in the kitchen busily cooking away and the two young waiting staff were doing a grand job keeping everyone’s drinks topped up and ensuring courses were moving briskly along. Emma was in the kitchen when she heard the bell above the door go off again. She skipped excitedly towards the restaurant. ‘More customers, this is going to be a great night.’ Her excitement came to a crunching halt as she came through and saw John and two of his undesirable friends being shown to a table by the waiter. As she stood watching them with a disgusted look on her face, John saw her and just sneered at her.
‘What are you looking at?’ he shouted across the room. ‘Paying customers here so I want a bit of respect.’ The other diners tried to look around without moving their heads, as is the British way, with only the group of friends having a better look around at the annoying behaviour. Emma went over to the table.
‘Look John, if you want to come in here that’s up to you, but don’t ruin this. There’s been a lot of hard work put in here, which I know is a concept you’re not exactly familiar with, so please just button it!’ She turned and marched off to the kitchen as the waiter was returning to their table with a bottle of wine, selected not for its vintage or label, but purely because it was free.
They ordered their meals and during the main course they were loud, uncouth and swore at each other as if they were sitting in the roughest of pubs, clearly doing i
t to try and provoke Emma. Why is it that these people can’t go more than two words without swearing at each other, Emma thought as she watched them from the back of the restaurant. She didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of her disappearing into the kitchen, but she didn’t have any particular desire to be close to them either. Their pudding was then brought out and more wine was ordered, making them become more drunk. Alec was still working in the kitchen but keeping an eye on things and Emma could sense he was feeling that his dream of opening a nice, cosy restaurant had evaporated already.
Emma had had enough. She walked over to their table and lifted the half full bottle of wine from the table and passed it to a waiter, telling him to take it away. John was on his feet, swaying towards her. ‘What the hell do you think you’re playin’ at? Eh? We paid for that.’ Emma could feel her heart quickening but she held her ground.
‘No you didn’t; at least not yet, but in any case, you’re upsetting the other customers and it’s time you all left. Please don’t come back again.’ John staggered towards her but she didn’t move, letting him barge into her and then send her keeling over onto the floor. He stood over her, his face flushed red and he was raging at her.
‘You think because you moved away from me that you’re better than me? Is that what you think, I’m goin’ tae show you; you’re nothin’ without me. All this fancy restaurant, but I know exactly who you are!’ He lunged towards her while she was still on the floor but, before he could get to her, four hands grabbed him roughly by the arms and dragged him back so fast he was lucky he didn’t get whiplash. ‘Hey, what the …’ The group of friends were on their feet and now one had John with his arm up his back, face down on the floor, while the other three were standing over the table with his friends giving them a look to say, ‘Just try it.’ One of the men turned to Emma and helped her up from the floor.
‘Are you OK?’
She brushed herself down. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’
The man smiled at her. ‘No problem. We’re off-duty police, glad we came in now. We saw what happened and it constitutes an assault. Do you want to press charges?’ Emma looked down at John squirming on the floor.
‘You know I think I do. After the way he’s behaved it’s the least he deserves.’ They all shared a quick glance with each other. The two friends who had come with John were clearly worried judging by the look on their faces. The two policemen nearest to them turned and then bent down, giving them a quiet word to which they nodded vigorously before being sent on their way. The one who had been holding John now dragged him to his feet and out the door. The man who had helped Emma up turned towards her again.
‘We’ll need you to come in and make a statement tomorrow, but we’ll take it from here for the moment. Shame about this; it looks like this will be a nice place, especially as I’ve heard you’re offering a discount to the police. By the way, my name’s Chris Buchan. Anyway, I hope the rest of the night will be a little calmer.’ He smiled warmly at her before joining his colleagues.
Emma turned and saw the faces of the other diners watching her. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m very sorry for the interruption to your meals. Unfortunately the offer of free wine seems to have been too good to resist for the wrong types of people.’ Everyone turned back to their tables and after an initial period of gossip about the incident, they settled back into their meals and life went on again. Alec came around the tables and topped up glasses and introduced himself and was pleased to find that the people who were there were quite prepared to put the evening down to experience and not let it put them off coming back. More people came in afterwards, filling another half dozen tables, and as the doors closed at eleven it could be said that the evening, overall at least, had been a resounding success.
Alec locked the door after letting the staff away and he and Emma sat down for a drink at one of the tables. ‘Well, that went well,’ he said cheerfully, ‘all things considered.’
‘Yeah, sorry about all that, just a bit of my past catching up with me.’
Alec shrugged. ‘Well, not your fault. We’ve all got our baggage. I don’t think it’s been too bad, it was all over as quickly as it started really and no damage done thankfully. I must say it was lucky those police were here? What are the chances of that, although I’m a little bit confused over what they were saying about a discount?’
Emma blushed slightly. ‘Well, I thought it might be a nice idea, you know, support our local police, what with us having the headquarters here. Might be good business even with the small discount I proposed.’
Alec finished his whisky and laughed. ‘Quite right! Now, I think we’ve done quite enough for today. Time for home – we’ll have it all to do again tomorrow, although hopefully not quite everything!’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Alasdair woke up on Saturday morning to the faint aroma of bacon and eggs wafting through the house, which for the first time in a few days was detectable over the smell of his balm. Good old Sophie, he thought, I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me for long. He gingerly swung his legs off the bed and sat on the side, his feet slipping into his tatty old slippers. Comfortable but in need of replacement; not unlike how he felt at the moment, the way his back was aching, although it was better than it had been. Still, at least he was mobile now albeit not especially quick about it. He swung his heavy, curtain fabric dressing gown on, a present from Sophie’s mum, which was one of the more agreeable things she had bought for him. It resembled an old-fashioned smoking jacket, although longer, and he enjoyed the swoosh it made as he walked around the house. A man’s dressing gown should be of sufficient weight and length to make a good swoosh when you turn a corner.
After a slightly slower descent of the stairs than usual, he found the kitchen to be smelling delightfully of a cooked breakfast, but no Sophie and none of it for him. The frying pan was in the sink and on the table a hastily scribbled note:
Alasdair.
Had to get an early start, lots to do.
I will leave you to look after yourself.
Back later. Sophie.
He put the note back on the table and looked around the kitchen. This place feels empty when Soph’s not here. I really need to start making more of an effort to help out. With that he shuffled over to the sink and washed up the dishes that were there, carefully wiping down the worktops afterwards, aware that it was a pet hate of Sophie’s that he never did this, and then checked the fridge for what he could have for breakfast. It’d be a shame to start dirtying the place again just for the sake of breakfast for one. I’ll maybe just get dressed and head round to Abby’s and see if she’s got anything on the go. If not I’ll wander into town and get something there.
As Alasdair was fiddling and cursing with two shoe horns, trying to get his socks on, Abigail was already up and out to the library. It would have been nice to have a long lie-in on her day off but she was far too anxious to see if there were any replies to her email that she had sent yesterday. No one else was at the library yet so she had the computer to herself, the quietness giving her its usual comfort. She logged in and opened up the email program and sat back waiting, and waiting, and waiting but nothing came in. She gave a sigh and went off to get a cup of tea from the kitchen. Coming back into the lending library she placed the ‘Librarians do it quietly’ mug, a random one taken from the kitchen, down on the desk and noticed that the screen was now filled with black text. At the bottom of the screen it read ‘84 new messages’. She sat gazing at them not quite believing that there had been such a response. This can’t be all to do with Milton Scott surely? I thought there might be a few but not eighty-four! She picked her way through them and printed them off after checking to see if they were of any interest, which in fact nearly all of them were. They had come from as far south as Bristol and as far north as Fraserburgh, and pretty much all points in between.
There were some which gave details of the trial which had been in many of the papers, so that took up about a third of the emai
ls. Abigail glanced at these but since they were not really what she was after she didn’t go into them too deeply. But the ones that were the most intriguing were those which related to the thefts of the valuable or collectable stuff. As she read through them her mind started jumping around even more, trying to piece together what she was reading. Once they were all printed off she put them into a plastic folder and put it into her bag, before transferring all of the emails into her private folder to keep them secure. As she was heading out of the door, Bridget was coming in, trying her key in the lock and finding it open. ‘Good God Abby, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn’t expect anyone to be in yet.’
‘Sorry, just came to check for replies to my email from yesterday, all done now and off home again.’
‘Any luck?’
Abigail shrugged. ‘Oh, you know, not bad. Anyway, I’ll let you get on.’ She squeezed out of the half-open door and hurried off towards the King’s Park. I wonder if Alasdair’s up yet, or if he can even get up. She took her mobile phone out of her bag and switched the sound back on again, noticing there was a voicemail. Even though the library wasn’t even open to the public, long-held habits were hard to break and she always unconsciously put her phone on silent whenever she got there. She dialled the number for voicemail and pressed the phone to her ear, trying to listen over the traffic on the main road.
