The Little Cafe in Copenhagen

by Julie Caplin

  She teased Sophie by saying. ‘Hang on, a few more.’

  ‘Hurry up Fi, I think my taste-buds are about to spontaneously combust in anticipation. It’s a forager version of Chinese duck pancakes.’ She waved her fork like a formula one driver on the grid revving in readiness for the green flag. Fiona rolled her eyes and put down her camera and Sophie dived in, scooping up a little of everything. I thought she might just orgasm right there on the spot, she was making so many When Harry met Sally moans of delight.

  ‘Guys you’ve got to try this. Those little elderberries add gorgeous spicy sweetness. Oh my word.’

  Silence followed as everyone tucked in. I’m no foodie but there was something a little bit alchemical and magical about the combination of delicate flavours. It was to die for. The next two courses didn’t disappoint and Sophie was struck dumb for at least five minutes when she tried the hake. Her face displayed a combination of tortured pain and pleasure as she savoured the fierce piquancy of the mustard and horseradish sauce.

  By the time we reached the main course, all eyes were on Sophie when she took the first mouthful, waiting to see her reaction. She closed her eyes in blissed out happiness waving her fork, speechless and when I tasted the beef, which fell apart in my mouth, I had to agree, it was the best beef I’d ever tasted.

  The arrival of the third course with the unlikely birch ice cream, no longer fazed me, although the light dusting of what looked like ash across the top was mildly off-putting, but everything had been so damn delicious the final course wouldn’t dare be anything but incredible too. There wasn’t an awful lot of flavour to birch but the accompanying lemon verbena sauce and tiny yellow meringues more than made up for it.

  When the waitress came to take our orders for tea and coffee, I realised Conrad, who had gone to the gents when the desserts arrived, still hadn’t returned.

  ‘Do you think Conrad’s OK?’ I asked David who’d been sitting next to him.

  ‘I think so. He seemed to be on good form, tucking into the wine.’

  ‘But he’s been gone for quite a long time.’

  ‘Would you like me to pop down to the gents and check on him?’

  ‘Yes please. Although knowing Conrad, he’s bumped into someone he knows downstairs and is holding court and sharing their wine.’ It seemed far more likely than him being slumped insensible in the loos. He could put a prodigious amount of red wine away without any obvious effect.

  David laughed and headed towards the glass and wood staircase which descended to the lower level where there were more tables.

  ‘My, my, my that was a fabulous meal,’ said Sophie. ‘I’d love to know how they make that ice cream.’

  The waitress overhearing her, offered to take her to chat to the chef and Fiona, keen to get some photographs of the kitchen, followed her.

  There was still no sign of Conrad or David, so I got up and headed for the staircase. I met David coming up the stairs shaking his head in puzzlement.

  ‘I can’t find him. I checked the loos. I had a good look around all the tables.’

  ‘He must have come back up and we missed him. Maybe he’s in the kitchen or something.’

  We walked back to the table and I peered into the kitchen where I could see Fiona and Sophie but there was no sign of Conrad.

  I turned back to the table standing beside Mads, Avril and Ben who were all still seated. ‘I don’t suppose any of you spotted Conrad? He didn’t come through the restaurant, did he?’

  ‘No,’ said Avril, her head drooping a little. I could see she was starting to flag. ‘His coat’s still hanging up.’

  ‘There was a fire exit downstairs,’ offered David. ‘That was the only other way out.’

  ‘I’ll go down and have another look,’ I said biting back a heavy sigh.

  ‘I need the loo, I’ll come down with you,’ said Ben. ‘Check the men’s again, in case he’s doubled back.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘And thanks, David.’

  ‘No problem. The daft old sod must be somewhere.’

  I tramped down the stairs with Ben behind me, unease building in the pit of my stomach.

  The fire exit was tucked around the corner from the toilets but was closed. ‘Maybe he popped out and the door closed behind and he couldn’t get back in,’ suggested Ben.

  ‘It’s the only thing I can think of.’ With the exception of a couple of locked doors bearing large notices kun personale which I guessed meant staff only, there was nowhere else he could possibly have gone.

  Ben grasped the bar and pushed open the door. Immediately an alarm started wailing. Ben slammed it closed again.

  There was a horrible silence throughout the restaurant as the chink of china and glasses came to an abrupt halt and conversation petered out.

  ‘That is no exit unless it is an emergency.’

  Facing the manager, I apologised, mortified. ‘Sorry, we’ve lost a member of our party. He came down to the toilet and he’s disappeared. We were checking he hadn’t popped out for some fresh air.’

  ‘Maybe your friend has returned to the table now,’ suggested the manager looking less than impressed with my explanation.

  Ben and I trooped past him towards the stairs like a pair of naughty children.

  ‘Well he didn’t go out that door, we’d have heard the alarm,’ said Ben confirming what I already knew.

  ‘Perhaps we’ve just missed him,’ I said crossing my fingers in a vain hope that he’d suddenly reappear.

  But my wishful thinking failed to materialise and when we got back to the table everyone was now wondering where he was.

  ‘Well he must be somewhere,’ said Avril, her head on her forearms on the table. ‘Has anyone phoned him?’

  ‘Good call,’ I said and whipped out my phone, grateful to have something to do while everyone stood there looking to me as if I had all the answers. I gripped my mobile hard so that none of them could see the slight tremor of my hand. Conrad was going to turn up any moment with one of his stories. He’d have started talking to someone. A grown man was not going to vanish, even if this was the home of Scandi noir series The Killing.

  I heard ringing from Conrad’s overcoat hanging up on a peg on the wall behind where he’d been sitting.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone back to the hotel,’ suggested Fiona with an encouraging smile.

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, wishing I felt a bit more convinced. Everyone looked at me as if I knew what to do. Sweat patches blossomed under my arms and my breath was tight in my chest but I lifted my chin.

  ‘Well as everyone’s finished their coffee, there’s no point you all waiting here.’ Especially not Avril who looked done in. It was agreed they’d go back to the hotel.

  ‘You can’t stay here by yourself,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Don’t worry I’ll be fine,’ I said blithely. ‘It’s not far back to the hotel and I’d rather wait here for a while in case Conrad comes back.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t?’ said Avril, widening her eyes in anticipated horror, voicing my worst fear. I had absolutely no idea what to do. Call the police?

  How could a grown man disappear? Inside I could feel the hollow panic building in my stomach.

  ‘I’ll wait with you,’ offered Ben quietly.

  ‘T-that’s kind of you.’ I looked at him. ‘Thank you.’

  That was the sort of thing Ben did. The right thing.

  With a rustle of coats, chairs scraping the floor and a flurry of goodbyes, within a minute everyone had gone leaving Ben and I alone.

  ‘Shall we sit down?’ said Ben.

  ‘Yes. Yes. That’s probably … yes.’ We sat down. I fiddled with the little bowl of salt, poking at the crystals with the tiny wooden spoon, biting my lip and looking at the door, hoping Conrad would walk through at any second.

  ‘Do you want another drink?’ Ben asked.

  I closed my eyes, I ought to be sensible and professional and have a cup of coffee. What if Conrad had had an accident? Wandered off, falle
n in the canal?

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m …’ My voice trembled. ‘I’m …’

  Ben’s face softened and he reached over and took my hand.

  ‘I’m sure there’s nothing wrong. You know Conrad, he’s old school street wise. Cut his teeth in Soho in the sixties. Knowing him he could have hooked up with some rich widow and run away with her for the night.’

  I forced out a laugh. ‘I bloody hope so. I feel so … useless.’

  ‘Well don’t. There’s nothing you can do. He’s a grown man.’

  He called over the waitress. ‘Two glasses of red wine, please.’

  He looked at me. ‘You need one.’

  Every time the door to the restaurant opened I looked up.

  The waitress brought over the wine and Ben picked his up and we toasted each other silently.

  ‘I never thanked you for the jeans,’ I suddenly blurted out, my words running away with me. I should have thanked him before. ‘I must give you the money. It was very thoughtful.’ I paused, ‘And you get major brownie points for choice of size and a style. I must take the others back. That was pretty impressive.’

  Bemusement turned to amusement. ‘I have a sister remember. Jeans are complicated. I was passing H&M on the way back.’

  ‘I need to return to the others … but do you need to be there, how did you pay?’

  ‘I paid cash, but just give the others back to me and I’ll return them.’

  ‘I’ll give them back to you tomorrow. Are you sure you don’t me to …’

  ‘No, it’s fine, there’s a bit of down-time on your extensive itinerary.’

  ‘It’s not my itinerary. The client, Lars came up with it.’

  ‘So, what made you go into PR?’ The sudden question made me look up at him sharply.

  ‘What? The devil’s work?’

  He laughed. ‘Innocent question, I promise.’

  I shrugged and gave him an assessing gaze.

  ‘I’m worried this will come back and bite me. Or give you new ammunition for next time you speak to “a PR”.’

  ‘Well obviously, I’ll be giving them two seconds from now on.’ He shot me an arch teasing smile.

  I rolled my eyes.

  ‘I’d just like to say, that was the only time I’ve ever done that.’ He toyed with the base of his glass ducking the question before asking, ‘So why PR?’

  ‘You’re going to be disappointed.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘No, probably not, my reasons are as shallow as you’d expect.’

  The quirk of his eyebrow suggested my honesty had intrigued him.

  I gave him a withering look which was as much aimed at him as me. ‘My reasons were pretty basic. I left uni. Went home. There was a vacancy in the agency in my home town. I went for it and got it. The most important thing was it was the sort of job you looked smart at.’

  I could see him querying the word.

  ‘Smart as in well-dressed, not intelligent. It sounded successful. Sort of professional. An office job with prospects. It sounded good. To be honest,’ I said sweeping at the crumbs on the table, ‘I knew nothing about public relations.’ I focused on one particular piece of bread, stabbing at it with my thumb. ‘I was the first in my family to get A levels let alone go to university. Mum was desperate for me to do well. Anyone who worked in an office was doing well.’

  I lifted my shoulders and looked up from my impromptu table tidy. ‘I went for that first job because it would have made my mum so chuffed.’

  His eyes softened with sympathy.

  ‘Don’t worry I loved it. I really enjoyed that first job.’ Every day had been different, I was young and enthusiastic and keen to please.

  ‘And now?’ How had Ben picked up on that?

  I stiffened. ‘I work for one of the top five London agencies. It’s hard work but I’m doing OK and hopefully after this trip, I’ll get promoted.’

  The sympathy in his face vanished.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I’d forgotten, we journalists are a means to an end. Your golden ticket to the next level.’

  ‘I’d hardly call you a golden ticket. You’ve been …’ I stopped short of telling him he’d been a pain in the arse from day one. ‘So why do you dislike PR people so much?’

  ‘It’s difficult to know where to start,’ he said pompously looking into his wine glass as if the answer would swirl up and jump out like a performing dolphin.

  ‘I had a bad experience,’ his mouth wrinkled as if he could taste it. Then he looked at me. ‘Sorry. You’re not a bad person. You just happened to be the first to ring me up afterwards.’ He took a sip of his red wine. ‘This feels like a confessional.’

  ‘It’s not going to go any further.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, it’s not exactly a secret,’ his top lip lifted with a touch of bitterness. ‘I was senior business writer. Working on a story about the chief executive of a retail group. About how he’d turned the fortunes of the company around. About his management practices.’

  As soon as he said the company name I winced. He caught me. ‘Yeah, that company.’

  ‘The head of corporate communications was a girl I’d had a couple of dates with. We mutually, or so I thought, decided not to pursue things. She thought differently. I was working on the story. The day before the news broke, I rang her to check a fact, she never said a word, even though she knew he was about to go down.’

  ‘Maybe she wasn’t allowed to say anything. Or maybe she didn’t know.’

  ‘She knew.’ He pushed himself away from the table to cross his legs and fold his arms, hunching slightly. I don’t think he was even aware of the defensive barriers he’d erected. ‘The day my article came out, the company broke the news with a press conference held at 9.00 am. She was official spokesperson and our news desk had been invited the day before. She knew alright. All she needed to say was, perhaps you should hold fire on the story.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Yeah. My senior editor was livid.’ His shoulders hunched again. ‘Hence my sideways move to the lifestyles desk. I should consider myself lucky I still had a job.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault though.’

  ‘When the paper’s left looking that stupid, I don’t think anyone gives a toss about fault.’

  ‘I can see why you’re … suspicious. But on the bright side,’ I lifted my glass and toasted him. ‘I did get you away from babysitting duty.’

  He let out a reluctant half-laugh, unfolding his arms and resting his forearms on the table. ‘True but-’

  My phone beeped and I checked the incoming text.

  ‘Damn. No sign of Conrad at the hotel. Shit.’

  I slumped back in my chair.

  ‘Now what?’ I asked aloud. ‘Do I call the police?’

  ‘What about the British consulate?’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’

  ‘Although …’ he shrugged.

  ‘Yeah, a couple of hours is hardly missing persons.’

  ‘He’s probably going to turn up in the morning absolutely fine. Just wandered off to get some fresh air. Got lost. He’ll find his way back to the hotel eventually.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Ben nodded. Despite his words, which made lots of sense, they didn’t help the coil of tension tightening in my stomach.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I looked up to see the manager looming over our table. ‘We have found your colleague.’

  ‘You have,’ I said, jumping up, my legs feeling a bit strange as if they didn’t quite belong to me. ‘Oh thank God for that.’ I beamed at him only to be met with an expression of icy disgust.

  ‘Where?’ I asked only now registering the veiled anger in his original clipped delivery. ‘Downstairs.’

  Instinct was shouting, this wasn’t good. Had he collapsed somewhere and disgraced himself?

  ‘Is he alright?’ I asked standing up.

  ‘He is fine,’ said the manager, his thin lips curling. �
��I wish I could say the same for my wine stock. Would you like to come this way?’

  The truthful answer would have been no, clearly whatever awaited us wasn’t going to be pretty.

  I gave Ben a nervous, resigned look feeling as if I was being led off to the headmaster’s office and turned to follow the manager. Without a word Ben stood up, put a hand on my shoulder with a brief squeeze and fell into step beside me as I trailed after the manager down the stairs.

  One of the locked doors was now open. A gloomy overhead plain light bulb lighting the room revealed it was a wine store filled with rack after rack of bottles.

  Propped against one of the racks, legs spread wide, sat Conrad.

  ‘Kate, my dear girl.’

  I winced as he grinned owlishly up at me.

  ‘You’ve got to try some of this wine. It’s awfully good.’ He nodded at the open bottles lined up in front of him. ‘This one is very good indeed.’ With a shaky hand, he picked up one of the bottles and held it towards me for inspection.

  ‘Oh, Conrad!’ I let out a heavy sigh and closed my eyes for a brief second. I turned to the manager, red hot shame burning across my face. ‘I am so sorry.’ I cast a glance at Conrad and shook my head ever so slightly. ‘I will pay for all the wine he’s opened. I am sorry.’

  The manager’s lips were pursed as tightly as a turtle’s bum, pinched so firmly he looked in pain. Rigid disapproval came from him in sharp waves. Not that I blamed him, my fingers were clenched into tight fists, itching to strangle bloody Conrad, who didn’t even have the decency to look the tiniest bit contrite.

  ‘Come on old man,’ said Ben, crossing to crouch beside Conrad. He helped him to his feet, which was quite an undertaking as Conrad was plastered.

  The manager leaned over and plucked two unopened bottles from Conrad’s jacket pockets.

  ‘Oops,’ said Conrad with a snicker, leaning against Ben, his eyes blinking and widening as he tried to focus.

  I could barely meet the manager’s furious gaze as he examined the labels of the bottles. His mouth twisted in displeasure as he hastily shoved them back in the correct racks as if anxious to get them as far away from Conrad as possible.

  ‘You go sort out the bill and I’ll get him upstairs and outside,’ said Ben, nudging Conrad.