by Jules Wake
He’d probably like her even less when she ’fessed up, which she felt was imminent.
‘You shouldn’t be out of bed. I’ve spoken to Ben’s sister again and she suggests we pop to A&E to get you checked over this morning while it’s quieter. And we also need to call the police.’ The rigidity of his jaw and the sternness of his face suggested she was going to have a battle on her hands on this one.
‘Jason, I can’t go to the police.’ She didn’t want to plead because that would make her look silly and hysterical, she needed him to see that she was serious and rational. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ Damn, equally rational and reasonable back. It would be easier if he tried to take control and insist. She was used to battling against that.
‘You’re a bank robber on the run?’
Her eyes widened. On the run. Yeah that was about right.
‘France’s most wanted? Stolen the Mona Lisa?’
She winkled her nose even though she was trying to be serious and with a reluctant smile shook her head. It would almost have been worth doing one of those things to deserve the notoriety her reputation was no doubt currently enjoying back in France.
‘Hang on. You pulled a face. Not a robber.’ He stopped and it would have been amusing if she hadn’t felt trepidation at having to confess, watching him add things up. ‘On the run. You’re on the run?’ He screwed up his face in disbelief. ‘Seriously? What the hell from?’
She feigned interest in the coving around the ceiling, picked out in pure white, to match the pretty grey and white wallpaper.
‘Siena?’ He had that ‘I’m waiting’ tone in his voice, a bit like a teacher knowing a pupil is in the wrong.
With a sigh, she pulled the robe tighter around her and shuffled back to sit on the edge of the bed. He came to sit next to her, not crowding her but at a comfortable distance for which she was grateful. He handed her the cup of tea.
‘Here, take a sip. It’ll make you brave.’
The hot tea scalded her throat but she welcomed the warmth travelling down, it gave her a focus as she gathered her thoughts. What had happened to that gruff, grumbly man that had picked her up at the airport, channelling hostility and resentment like a medium on a direct line to the devil?
‘I ran away,’ she said in a small voice.
‘You ran away?’ His voice rang with disbelief.
A rueful half-laughed escaped as she said, ‘Ridiculous, non? At my age.’
To her surprise Jason didn’t say anything, he just nodded gravely.
‘I left a note.’
He nodded again.
‘I needed to escape. Sounds crazy, eh? I have everything. A nice home, everything I want. Maman wants me to get married. To Yves.’
She looked at him waiting for him to tell her that there were far bigger problems in the world and she was being ridiculous and foolish.
‘And you don’t want to,’ he said, with gentle simplicity as if that were perfectly acceptable and reasonable.
The calm response, contrasting so sharply with the histrionics and rows she’d endured these last few months, made her heart turn over in her chest.
‘No,’ she whispered blinking back tears.
‘So why can’t you say that?’ His steady gaze held hers waiting, patient but without judgement.
It sounded so easy when he put it like that.
Without thinking she rubbed at her stomach, at the remnants of the bruise there. ‘I did try to talk to Maman and Yves. It made him cross. Maman says I’m being childish and ungrateful. I needed some time to think without them, without all the noise.’
‘I get that. We all need a bit of thinking time.’ He shifted his position on the edge of the bed, crossing one knee over the other. ‘So now what?’
Siena sighed, took a big breath and looked him right in the eye.
‘I told Maman,’ she grimaced, ‘in my note, of course, that I needed time to think and that I would be back for Christmas.’
‘That sounds reasonable.’
‘Only because my stepfather, who is lovely but always busy with business, is having his sixtieth birthday party on the twenty-third. It’s for him really.’ With a frown, she added, ‘That’s when Yves wants to announce the engagement.’
‘Ah.’
‘I lied.’ She waited for Jason’s response, he continued to look at her, his expression impassive. ‘I did plan to go back but only to tell them that I’m staying in England to do a fashion degree. To be a fashion designer. I thought if I had somewhere to live and had enrolled on the course, Maman would see I was serious about it. Show them that I’m not ready to get married yet. Maybe persuade Yves to wait.’
‘Hence the staying ‘a while.’’
‘You don’t need to worry about that anymore.’ Defeat gnawed in the pit of her stomach. Hastily she pulled her finger away from her mouth realising she was worrying at the nail with her teeth. She’d run out of options. Three days of knocking on doors. Getting appointments had been a lot harder than Johnsons’ Home Improvements had led her to believe. She hadn’t managed to earn a sous.
‘I have to go home now. Back to Bresançon.’
‘Bresançon? Where’s that?’
‘Eastern France, not far from the Swiss border.’ She closed her eyes hating the tears prickling there. It didn’t matter anymore. ‘My mother cancelled all my cards and my allowance. I’ve got nothing.’
He stared at her, a startled look on his face and ran his hand through his hair. ‘Seriously. She cancelled them?’
Siena nodded.
‘What about the degree? Don’t you still want to do that?’
‘Yes, but I haven’t been able to speak to anyone at the college. I don’t have all the qualifications they want, but I’m sure if I can get an appointment I can show them how much I know about fashion.’
There was no doubting her enthusiasm.
‘I’m going to regret this.’ He paused and gave her an assessing look. ‘Will needs a waitress at the pub to tide him over for the Christmas period. Let me give him a call and see if he’ll consider you. That way you can earn enough to stay until the twenty-third and see the woman at the college.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. On the condition that you go the police.’
Chapter 8
‘You’ll need a white shirt and a black skirt.’ Will gave a ridiculously exaggerated wink. ‘Short, if you want to make lots in tips.’ He poured them both a glass of wine and pushed one towards her.
Siena laughed and thanked small mercies for painkillers. Her rib still hurt but not as badly. ‘Is that all it takes?’
The Salisbury Arms had to be the prettiest pub Siena had ever seen, not that she’d had a lot of experience of English pubs. Since Jason had pulled up outside, her poor sad, sorry spirits had lifted the minute she saw the thatched roof curving low over diamond lead lined windows.
The pub sat at the centre of the village in a V between two roads, the sprawling timber framed and brick building, festooned even in winter with a profusion of hanging baskets overflowing with tiny purple and white pansies. Tubs with matching flowers flanked both sides of the front door, which was accessed by a huge porch filled on either side with logs and racks with several pairs of upside down wellington boots.
Impatient to get to the brewery, apparently in the building behind the pub, Jason had literally dropped her at the door, telling her she’d find Will inside somewhere. To be fair she’d made him late. Disguising her black eye had taken more time, skill and ingenuity than she’d realised. Not having her usual make-up box had limited her options.
Luckily Will didn’t seem distracted by her dodgy make-up job.
‘So it won’t matter if I spill their soup all over them? Drop an eyelash in the wine?’ Should she be drinking during an interview? Will had said he was having one and she fancied a glass, so why the heck not? He was funny and charming. She could have introduced him to any of her friends back home.
‘I’d r
ather you didn’t do any of those things. The customers tend to object. Although,’ Will’s blue eyes twinkled with devilment, ‘with those legs I think you’ll probably get away with murder.’
The blatant appreciation made her feel much more like herself. Will was all talk. No he wasn’t actually, he probably would act if you gave him the right signals but he was definitely manageable. The sort that would take no for an answer and not be the least bit offended.
‘Right so micro mini, then.’ Siena tossed her hair back over her shoulder, hooked her legs around the bar stool and leaned in towards Will, pretending to tick off a list on her fingers.
‘I do need the chef still breathing.’
‘I’ll be gentle with him.’
‘You’d better be, I need him. More than you I’m afraid, unless you can cook.’ He laughed. ‘Scrub that, of course you can’t. Jason mentioned you had staff back home, so we’ll take that as no.’
He made it sound completely normal and Siena loved him for it, although she might take Jason to task for raising it. Then again he had fixed up this meeting with Will for her.
‘Have you ever worked as a waitress before?’ Leaning his hip against the bar, his arms folded behind his head, stretching his T-shirt over a lean, long torso, it was hard to imagine that this laughing, laid-back handsome man owned and ran this place. Jason had told her it had a stellar reputation for food in the area, winning countless awards. She could see that he had shifted back into interview mode.
She gave him a direct look and lifted her eyebrows, an irrepressible smile on her lips. ‘Will, you know that apart from my short-lived disastrous spell as a door-to-door double glazing saleswoman without a single sale to my name, I have never done a day’s work in my life.’ She tipped her head to one side, awaiting his response.
With a nonchalant shrug he moved forward and leant on the bar.
‘I thought as much but I wanted to know what you’d say.’
There it was, the test question. For all his casual air, you didn’t get to be that successful without being an astute business man too. Siena had seen Harry in action enough times to recognise the seamless segue.
‘I say I’ll work as hard as I can, try as hard as I can, be honest and truthful.’ That was all she had to offer.
‘Oh God, don’t be too truthful with the customers, that could end in tears.’ He straightened and held out an imaginary plate and said in a dodgy falsetto. ‘Yes sir, of course sir, you’re absolutely right the beef is undercooked, totally and utterly. And yes I agree, where do we get off calling it rare?’
Siena smiled as he minced down the bar.
He came back. ‘I do expect you to work hard. No favours because you’re Jason’s friend. I’ll give you a trial. I expect you to be punctual, turn up for every shift and do your best.’
She took a sip of wine, a cool refreshing Chardonnay.
‘Now, what do you think of that?’
‘What the wine?’
‘No, the pattern on the plates. Of course, I meant the wine.’
She swirled it thoughtfully lifting the glass up to the light, looking at the light straw colour and watching the legs slide down the inside of the glass.
‘French, I think, but more of a new world style,’ she took a large slurp and savoured the cold liquid rolling it around her mouth, ‘oaked but not overpowering, buttery, medium body with good mouth-feel and long cool finish.’ As she put her glass cleanly down on the bar as if to punctuate her tasting assessment with an authoritative full stop, Siena took the chance to take a better look around. Under her fingers, the smooth and highly polished wood of the bar was pocked with scattered knots and whorls. She liked the rustic feel of it. Ceramic brass pulls punctuated the bar in groups of threes, with little plates naming what she assumed were English beers. You certainly didn’t see anything like this in France. Chiltern Glory. William’s Finest. Red Kite.
Will inclined his head. ‘I’m impressed. You know your wine.’
‘I know a little.’
‘You sound like you know plenty, which is great with the customers. Actually, hang on a minute.’ He darted off to the back of the bar through a door and then reappeared her side of the bar and then scurried through to the next room.
Swivelling around on the stool, she examined the room, which opened to a roof supported by ‘A’ frame wooden beams in pale wood. It gave the room an open, airy barn-like feel. She liked the mix of contemporary and period; despite this obviously being an old building, its whitewashed walls and pale sage green painted doors and trims had a modern feel about it. Little details like the trendy wood burner and the colourful paintings on the wall, watercolours of flowers in vibrant purples, limes and blues, not your usual Victorian botanical watercolours, gave the pub a distinctive style. Even the knick-knacks on the window were stylishly designed ceramic vases and jugs in muted shades of grey earthenware.
Someone had worked very hard to achieve this understated chic atmosphere and she wondered if it carried on through the double doors at the end through which Will now appeared.
‘New menus.’ He waved them at her as he crossed the room and plonked himself down on the stool next to her. ‘Main meals on pages two and three. Wines, cocktails and gins on the pages five and six. Booze is the biggest mark up for us, i.e. we make the most money on it.’ Siena narrowed her eyes. Did he think she was completely stupid? ‘So any extra drinks, bottles of wine you can offer the customer is a win win for everyone. We make a profit. The pub stays in business. You get to keep your job.’
‘Really?’ Siena opened her eyes in exaggerated wonderment. ‘And here’s me thinking you did it out of the goodness of your little heart.’ She paused and gave him a direct look. ‘Will, I might be a bit, actually a lot green when it comes to some things but we did a lot of entertaining at home. My step-dad is a multimillionaire. He’s not a cuddly puppy, he’s a shark. I’ve seen him in action plenty of times. Don’t get me wrong, he can also be very charming and he’s always treated me like his own daughter.’ She smiled, actually sometimes he was a real softy, but she was probably the only person that had ever seen that side of him.
‘Sorry.’ Will held up his hands in surrender. ‘I didn’t mean to patronise.’
She laughed. ‘You weren’t. I know you and Jason think I’m hatched from some exotic other-worldly egg. I have led a privileged life but I’m not an alien. I do have some understanding of life on earth.’
‘You don’t look like any alien I’ve ever seen,’ drawled Will. ‘Tell you what, I’ll assume you know what I’m on about at all times, unless you tell me otherwise. Anything you don’t understand, you ask. Agreed?’
She held out her hand and said, ‘Agreed,’ as he shook it.
‘I don’t want another cheese and biscuits fiasco.’
At her questioning glance, he rolled his eyes. ‘I had a very young waitress start a few years ago. Someone ordered cheese and biscuits and we were very busy. The kitchen gave her the plate of cheese and told her to add some biscuits.’ Will drew in a long breath. ‘Dumb ninny only opened a box of biscuits we keep for the kids’ pudding menu,’ he shook his head as though even now he still couldn’t believe it, ‘and next to our beautifully sourced fine selection of English cheeses, she put two bourbon biscuits, a jammy dodger and three custard creams.’ Will roared with laughed. ‘The customer was so gobsmacked he didn’t say a word to her. Classic. Absolute classic.’ He stopped. ‘You’ve probably no idea what I’m on about.’
‘No, I do. I remember them.’ And she did. Custard creams on a plate in the kitchen. With Laurie. And her Dad. The foggy image of the man from the picture on the mantelpiece suddenly materialised as a proper person in her head.
‘You OK?’ Will interrupted her thoughts.
‘Yes, fine.’
‘So the menu. Have a look at the wines, and the other drinks. I’m going to give you my food order, so what would you recommend to drink?’
‘Oh God.’ Siena groaned. ‘Not role-play again.
I did that on the double glazing training. Marvellous in theory, bloody crap in practice.’
‘You like food?’
She nodded.
‘You like drink?’
Again she nodded.
‘You’re selling something real that people have come to buy. No sweat. Right, so I’m going to have the salt beef with gherkins and miniature pickled onions, followed by pulled pork with barbecue seasoning and beans. What would you recommend?’
She burst out laughing. ‘That’s mean. Pickled onions?’
He gave her a reproving stare. ‘I’m the customer here.’
She scanned the drinks menu. ‘Definitely not wine.’ She pulled a face at the thought of the clash of the two acidic flavours. ‘Ugh.’ She scrunched her face in thought, a slow smile blossoming. ‘Do you know what sir, can I suggest a Gibson? A gin cocktail, six parts gin with one part vermouth poured over crushed ice with a cocktail onion. We have an excellent selection of gins on the menu. Personally I would go for the Burleigh, although the Tanqueray or Beefeater would be perfectly acceptable. The Burleigh has the right balance of flavours,’ she held up her hand to her face and said a stage whisper, ‘and it’s the most expensive gin on the menu. OK boss?’ She raised her voice again, ‘I think that would complement the flavours of the beef and the pickles.’
Will raised his hand and she high-fived him. ‘Whoa, I am impressed. What about the pulled pork?’
‘I might wait until I saw what the rest of the table were having but for that,’ she looked back at the menu. ‘Strong flavour again. Mr Imaginary Customer has quite a palate, doesn’t he?’
‘Very discerning,’ said Will, nodding trying to look serious but the tell-tale naughty dimple in his cheek told her that he was enjoying himself enormously. He and Jason seemed so different; she wondered how they knew each other.
‘With pork, I would have thought a white wine but pulled pork, especially barbecued, needs something a bit more robust. A mid-weight fruity red, a Shiraz or a Zinfandel. That one,’ she pointed to the list.
‘Excellent choice. I like your thinking. We might make a waitress of you yet. Even if it’s only for a couple of weeks.’ He nudged her arm playfully.
