‘Yes – but you can knock that up now while we’re quiet,’ Tansy said blithely. ‘Fruit cakes need lots of alcohol and time to mature. Thanks a million,’ Tansy said, throwing her arms around Rosie and hugging her.
By the time Rosie opened the restaurant doors and shutters the sun was shining. Lucky-dog instantly bounded across the beach and made for Seb sitting on the rock that Rosie was beginning to think of as Seb’s place – he sat there so often. He raised a laconic hand in greeting while stroking Lucky with the other.
‘Hi. Sorry you left early Saturday. Are you over your hissy fit now?’
Rosie laughed at his words. ‘Hissy fit? Well, that’s one way to describe it, I suppose,’ Rosie said. ‘It’s just that Charlie… I’m sorry. I don’t think anyone missed me, though.’
‘I did,’ Seb said quietly. ‘I still have the bottle of champagne I saved for you.’
‘I’m sure there were plenty of people who would have willingly shared it with you,’ Rosie said. ‘The place was swinging when I left.’
‘Do you have bookings for tonight?’
‘Two tables so far,’ Rosie said. ‘Why?’
Seb shrugged. ‘I thought we could meet here and open the champagne tonight after we finish work. Toast the season – wish ourselves all the best – before we both get too bogged down with customers.’
‘D’you mean to say you’ve come round to thinking I’ll actually have some customers wanting to buy my food this summer?’ Rosie said. ‘Well, that’s more than Charlie does.’
Rosie shrugged as Seb looked at her. ‘Oh, he quoted me the standard thing about the French not liking English cooking, etc., etc. Thinks I’m going to lose all my money.’
‘True, that is a possibility,’ Seb said. ‘But this first summer you’ll be a novelty. The crunch will come next season when we French will have decided whether you can cook or not and whether we love you or hate you.’
‘Great,’ Rosie said, shaking her head and smiling despite herself.
Seb stood up. ‘But this evening we should both be free by ten. I’ll see you here then – I’ll bring the champagne – you bring the glasses. Okay?’
Rosie smiled. ‘Okay. Come on, Lucky, let’s go.’ And Rosie made her way back into the Café Fleur.
The day turned out to be a busy one with crowds of people enjoying the beach in the sunshine. Lots of nice things were said about the food, with people promising to return regularly, and Rosie took several dinner bookings for the coming weekend. The two bookings she’d told Seb she already had for that evening had been joined by a table of five.
Tansy made no secret of the fact that they would have been hard-pushed to have managed without James. ‘Thank god you saw sense and told James to come in today. You are going to offer him a job for the rest of the season now, aren’t you?’ she asked Rosie as they began to prepare things for the evening menu.
‘I was going to see how he felt when he got back this evening,’ Rosie said. ‘He’s a definite asset for sure. I just wish he wasn’t related to Charlie.’
James, when he returned, was delighted with the offer of a permanent job for the season.
‘But it will be a mixture of everything – not just cooking,’ Rosie warned him.
‘That’s great,’ James said. ‘And it’ll certainly make it easier for me to follow Charlie’s instructions to see you get home safely every night,’ he said, grinning at Rosie cheekily.
‘If you’re working for me, you follow my instructions, not Charlie’s,’ Rosie said. ‘So you can forget that particular instruction – and any other ones concerning me that he gave you. Understood?’
James nodded. ‘Of course, Boss.’
Rosie glared at him. Was he taking the mickey? ‘Anyway, he’s gone to Sardinia. I saw A Sure Thing setting off this morning.’
‘You haven’t heard about the change of plan then? William and Mum have gone to Sardinia but Charlie’s gone to the UK,’ James said.
At least he was out of the country. No chance of him popping in unexpectedly. ‘Talking of William, has he got a PA called Sarah these days?’ Rosie asked. ‘Or is she Charlie’s?’ Even as she asked the question, she wondered why. It was of no interest to her.
James shrugged his shoulders. ‘Neither. And before you ask, I don’t know why Charlie has gone haring back to the UK either. Some sort of personal emergency. Right – I’ll just go and check the bar over, shall I? Make sure there’s enough nuts and things.’
‘Damn. Here’s hoping Charlie stays in the UK for a bit,’ Rosie muttered. ‘Right, tonight’s desserts are calling. Where’s the cream for the syllabubs?’
The evening turned into a busy one with a couple of extra tables occupied by people coming in off the beach, and it was gone ten o’clock before Rosie said ‘Goodnight’ to Tansy and James. Picking up two champagne glasses, she locked the door behind her and she and Lucky-dog went to join Seb, who was already sitting on his rock. A bottle of champagne was cooling in the sand at his feet.
‘Sorry I’m late. We had a busy evening in the end.’
Seb shrugged. ‘A busy evening is good news. We just had the hotel guests to feed tonight. I think word is still getting about that we’re open.’
Skilfully he opened the champagne with a gentle plop and carefully poured the golden liquid into the glasses.
‘Santé. Here’s to the Café Fleur,’ he said.
‘Here’s to the Beach Hotel,’ Rosie said, clinking glasses with him. ‘May we both have a good season.’
‘D’you and Charlie go back a long way?’ Seb asked.
‘We were at college together years ago. We met up again when William bought the boat.’ No point in telling him any more. It was all in the past now.
She took a sip of her drink before asking, ‘You?’
‘Few years.’ Seb shrugged.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you two had much in common,’ Rosie said. Damn, that sounded as if she was fishing, but she had to admit to being curious about Seb’s past.
‘Backgammon,’ Seb said briefly. ‘D’you play?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No. Charlie tried to teach me once. We both decided Monopoly was more my kind of game.’ She glanced at him. ‘You still play?’
‘Not in the casinos any more. It got a little bit too addictive – and expensive. So I quit.’
‘Just like that?’
Seb nodded. ‘This place is a big enough gamble for me right now. I need to spend all my money and energy here.’ He took a packet of cigarettes out of a pocket and offered one to Rosie. She shook her head.
‘No, thanks. Ever thought about giving that up?’ Rosie asked. ‘You’d save money that way, too – and be healthier.’
‘All the time – maybe this summer I will. And you, Rosie, do you have any vices? Secret or otherwise?’ As he spoke he put the cigarettes back in his pocket.
Rosie shook her head. ‘Sorry to be boring, but no. I’m rather too fond of very dark chocolate, and I buy too many books, but other than that nothing – unless you count betting on the occasional horse race?’
‘No – you have to be down the local Pmu Café every day gambling for it to count.’
Rosie laughed. ‘I haven’t got the time or the money for that.’ She smothered a yawn. ‘Sorry. I’m tired, it’s been a long day. I think I need to go home.’
‘I’ll walk you back,’ Seb said, downing the last of his champagne.
‘Honestly, there’s no need,’ Rosie protested. ‘It’s not far and I’ve got Lucky-dog.’
‘But it’s late. I can’t allow you to walk the streets by yourself.’
‘I’ll just put the glasses back then,’ Rosie said. She was too tired to make an issue out of it. She just hoped none of her neighbours were around to see her being escorted home by two different men in as many days.
Seb said a simple ‘Bonne nuit’ at the front door of the villa and was gone. Rosie sighed and shook herself. She was sure she
wasn’t imagining it – there’d been a definite spark between the two of them this evening. The last thing she wanted or needed right now. No way was she going to complicate her life with a relationship with anyone for the next few weeks, only for it to fade away at the end of summer.
The red light was flashing on the answer-phone when she let herself into the apartment. Lucky made straight for the end of the sofa she’d adopted as her own and flopped. Rosie pressed the play button on the machine and listened to her mother’s voice.
‘Darling, I’m coming for a visit. I’ve booked a flight for later in the week so I’ll see you on Friday.’
Rosie groaned as the machine clicked off. She loved Olivia to bits but there were times when she drove her to distraction.
‘Flight times, Mum?’ she muttered. ‘How long are you staying? Any info would be good.’ But typically, Olivia hadn’t bothered with any such details.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rosie glanced at her watch. She knew it had been a mistake to book a morning appointment. If Lucky didn’t get called within the next few minutes to see the vet, she’d have to leave. As it was, she was going to be far later getting back to the restaurant than she’d planned.
Just as she was getting up to leave, Lucky’s name was called and they went into the consulting room. To Rosie’s relief the vet was happy with Lucky.
‘She’s a bit on the thin side but that is better than being fat, anyway; a few months living with you at the restaurant and I’m sure she’ll put weight on. I’d say she’s about three – needs a tattoo and a microchip – I’ll do that now – and what about spaying? Shall I book her in for next month?’
Rosie shook head. ‘Can we make it early September? The next couple of months are going to be busy – I won’t be able to give her the time she’ll need after an operation.’
Half running, half walking back to the café, with Lucky bounding alongside on her lead, Rosie tried to marshall her thoughts into organising the next few hours. A sunny day meant they would be busy with takeaway food as well as restaurant meals.
Hopefully, Tansy would have prepared the plat du jour ingredients, James should have organised the baguettes and sandwiches, and between them they should have at least started to prepare the potatoes and veg for both the lunch and evening dinner reservations.
She must remember to phone next week’s meat order through to the butcher this afternoon. And this evening, after they’d closed, she’d stock up on some desserts.
Turning into the restaurant car park, Rosie stopped short. Two gendarme cars and a van plastered with the words Hotel de Ville and the town shield on its side were parked beside the back wall of the kitchen. ‘What’s happening?’ Rosie asked, opening the kitchen door.
‘Thank goodness you’re back,’ Tansy said. ‘Monsieur Douce from the Health Department is in the restaurant with James and these two gendarmes are anxious to talk to you.’
Rosie glanced through to where the health inspector was busy studying the inside of the bar fridge and decided to talk to the gendarmes first. She needed to get the restaurant open and policemen with guns prominently displayed in their holsters standing around the place wasn’t a good image for a friendly family restaurant.
To her relief it seemed to be a routine visit, ‘Establishing contact,’ was how one of the gendarmes put it. They didn’t mention drugs and neither did Rosie. She offered them both coffee, agreed with them about not wanting to encourage troublemakers, and confirmed that, yes, she was English, but she could cook, and no she didn’t serve frites with everything.
Finally they left and she went through to the restaurant where James was now showing Monsieur Douce the two cloakrooms. There appeared to be several items written on official paper attached to the clipboard he was holding.
‘Ah, Mademoiselle Hewitt – we need to talk.’
Rosie’s heart sank. Something was clearly wrong. From experience she knew these inspectors had the power to make life very difficult. Taking a deep breath she smiled and said, ‘James, two coffees, please. And then please open the restaurant doors.’
Turning to the health inspector, she said, ‘We’ll take our coffee out on the terrace, shall we, while you tell me the problems?’
The problems turned out to be a) the bar fridge wasn’t cold enough, b) there were too many loose wires everywhere, and c) the shallow step from the restaurant onto the terrace needed white paint so people would see it and anticipate it. All easy enough to fix and Rosie began to relax.
The fourth problem though, literally took her breath away.
‘What? You’re not serious?’
The inspector nodded his head. ‘Very serious, mademoiselle. Food poisoning is a big problem – for me and for you.’
‘I’ve only been open ten days. I haven’t had time to poison anyone.’
‘It is a very quick complaint,’ Monsieur Douce agreed. ‘Usually we ‘ave more problems when it is ‘ot.’
Rosie sighed. If word got out that the food at the Café Fleur was suspect, her reputation would be gone before she’d started.
‘When am I supposed to have poisoned somebody?’
‘Saturday. Two people. They were too ill to fly home the next day. I understand their lawyer will be in touch asking for compensation. Now, I finish inspecting your kitchen.’
Rosie followed him thoughtfully into the kitchen. Saturday night had been the night of Seb’s party. They’d been busy for sure. But everything had run smoothly – no long delays, no panic in the kitchen and all the food had gone out looking good and appetising.
After the inspector had condemned the ancient fridge – ‘Unacceptable condition. Replace it before my next visit’ – and left, there was no time to do anything but try and catch up with the day’s chores. James, busy dealing with the takeaway orders, was soon shouting for ‘More salad baguettes. Running out of flapjack. And can we do six fish and chips to go?’
‘Honestly,’ Rosie muttered. ‘Food-starved chimps doesn’t begin to describe people today.’ The tables on the terrace were already overflowing with people as the restaurant itself started to fill up.
‘Need more help,’ Tansy muttered as she struggled to keep up with the cooking. ‘What time is Olivia arriving?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rosie said. ‘But if you’re expecting her to help, forget it. The words “kitchen” and “cooking” don’t exist in her vocabulary these days. She replaced them with “restaurant” and “eating out” as soon as I left home.’
Somehow they survived and managed to stop customers becoming too disgruntled with the long wait for food by bribing them with glasses of ice-cold rosé. It was gone three o’clock when James turned the sign and locked the door.
‘What a day. A taste of things to come?’ he asked.
‘If it is, we need more staff and we need them quickly,’ Tansy said, passing him his lunch. ‘I’m knackered and there’s still this evening to look forward to.’ She took a plate of salad and joined James and Rosie at the kitchen table.
‘But what if it’s a one-off?’ Rosie said. ‘I can’t afford to employ anyone else if it’s not busy all the time. And if this food poisoning episode gets out we mightn’t have any customers.’
Quickly she told them both what the health inspector had said. ‘Have to wait and see what happens there but I need to buy a new fridge, though, pdq.’
Tansy shrugged. ‘Reckon whatever happens you’re going to have to take a chance on employing someone else, especially during the day. There’s no way we can keep up this morning’s pace, six days a week.’
‘Seven from June,’ Rosie said. ‘You don’t think it was worse because of me not being here first thing to organise things and all the other interruptions?’
‘It didn’t help, but there were a lot more people about today,’ Tansy said.
The three of them took their time over lunch and Rosie was grateful when both Tansy and James opted to give up their afternoon break and
stayed to help prep for the evening menu.
Thankfully the evening, although busy with a satisfactory number of customers, didn’t have the frantic immediacy of the day. People were happy to sit and enjoy a leisurely meal.
James turned the sign around at nine o’clock. By nine-thirty Tansy and James had left and Rosie was alone in the kitchen wondering what to do about Olivia’s non-appearance. When her mobile beeped she grabbed it, praying it was Olivia.
But it was a text from Charlie: ‘Back in France Mon. Pick u up 4 dinner @ 8 p.m.’
Rosie sighed and began tapping out her reply. ‘Sorry no can do. Please st…’
A loud knocking at the kitchen door made her jump. Closing her phone she cautiously opened the door. A white luxury sports car was reversing out of the car park and Olivia was standing in front of her, a leather holdall at her feet.
‘Hello, darling. I’ve got the right place then,’ Olivia said.
‘You didn’t come in that?’ Rosie said, pointing after the car as it filtered out into the traffic. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Oh, but I did,’ Olivia said. ‘Any food going? I’m starving. A glass of wine would be welcome, too.’
‘Taking a bottle of rosé out of the fridge, Rosie said, ‘Ham sandwich or omelette?’
‘Sandwich, please.’ Olivia glanced at Rosie. ‘I need to talk to you. It’s important.’
‘You’re not ill, are you?’ Rosie asked anxiously, handing her mother a glass of wine.
Olivia shook her head. ‘No, darling, but I do have to tell you something you need to know about before you hear it from someone else,’ Olivia said. ‘Can we sit out on the terrace?
‘Sure, go ahead. I’ll be a couple of minutes. Take the wine with you,’ Rosie said, watching her mother make her way through the restaurant. If she didn’t know better she’d say her mother, usually the high priestess of calmness, was definitely on edge tonight.
***
Thoughtfully, Rosie spread butter on a couple of slices of bread. Olivia never had been a great one for making idle talk so, if she wasn’t ill, what on earth was all this about? Was this something going to be about her long-absent father? Had he been in touch after years of silence?
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