Love on the Menu

by Barry, Jill

  She averted her gaze. But not before noticing the lightly tanned skin exposed between edge of T-shirt and jeans waistband.

  ‘Everything all right?’ She hovered in her doorway.

  ‘Everything’s fine, thanks. Hope I didn’t disturb you?’ He tucked his brushes under one arm and picked up the paint cans.

  Zillah couldn’t avert her eyes any longer. Not without seeming extremely rude. But when her gaze met his, there it was again, that treacherous thump-bump-bump of her heart.

  ‘I was just checking in case someone had fallen downstairs,’ she said without conviction.

  ‘I’m off to do some decorating.’ He swallowed hard, not moving.

  ‘I’m about to deliver food for a retirement party.’ She didn’t move either.

  Abi, pink-cheeked and cheerful, poked her head round the kitchen door. ‘I’ve finished, now, Zillah. Oh, hi there, Hal. Sorry – um, didn’t mean to interrupt.’

  Zillah was standing there, barefoot, having left her work clogs inside the kitchen door. Fighting a powerful urge to go up to Hal and kiss him, she was so unwound with longing that she darted towards Abi just as he moved forward. They collided. The bundle of paintbrushes fell from under Hal’s arm. Again.

  Abi ducked back into the kitchen.

  Zillah followed her inside and closed the door.

  Abi spoke rather too loudly for her employer’s liking.

  ‘Can’t you two clowns realise how attracted you are to each other? I’m sorry if I sound blunt, but someone has to say it.’

  *

  Zillah glided as if on roller blades between golf club kitchen and function room, delivering dishes and platters to the buffet table. She’d decided to work this one alone. Once everything was arranged, she could leave and return later for her equipment.

  ‘It all looks gorgeous, Zillah.’ Amy, the club stewardess appeared in the doorway. ‘What a fabulous cake!’

  ‘Thank you, though the decoration’s not down to me.’

  ‘These people want to be left alone, I gather. All very informal they said.’

  ‘Yes, it’s an easy gig. It’s an easy cake to cut, too. Soft sponge, butter cream and icing.’

  ‘Shame to spoil it, I reckon. It’s a work of art.’

  ‘They’ll probably take loads of photos. Hopefully the cake will turn up on social media, if I know my assistant. I’ll come back at around six to clear the debris, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Perfect. Are you working anywhere else today?’

  ‘Sadly, no.’ Zillah felt in her pocket. ‘That reminds me. I wonder if you’d let me put one of my cards on your notice board.’ She hesitated, holding up Hal’s card too. ‘This entertainments agency and my firm are promoting each other’s services.’

  ‘No problem.’ Amy glanced at the cards. ‘Hal Christmas Agency – now there’s a name you wouldn’t forget in a hurry.’

  Zillah drained the glass of lime and soda water she’d been sipping on and off. She didn’t want to talk about Hal. Didn’t want to remember the words he’d whispered in her ear. Didn’t want to imagine his arms holding her. Keeping things on a strictly business level was not as straightforward as she’d hoped it would be.

  On the way to her van, Zillah was surprised to hear someone call her name. She stopped and turned round to find she was looking at a man who’d purchased several of her late husband’s paintings over the years before Daniel’s death.

  ‘It really is you! How strange our paths should cross like this, Zillah.’ He held out his hand, beaming.

  ‘Lionel! What are you doing in this part of the world?’

  ‘We moved from London not long after we got your letter, telling us about Daniel.’ He hugged her briefly. ‘I’m so sorry, Zillah. It must have been devastating for you. I don’t know what to say, really.’

  ‘You wrote me a beautiful letter.’

  ‘I meant every word. Apart from being a lovely man, he was such a talent. And deserved more recognition that he received, in my humble opinion.’

  ‘Ah, but he was happy that way. Daniel didn’t want the big time – all the glitzy parties. He liked nothing better than a pint in the local and a chat with the fishermen.’

  ‘I gathered that, when my wife and I came to Cornwall that time. I got up at sunrise and walked down to the quayside with him to watch him sketching. It was a privilege. He became almost part of the landscape. Something I’ll never forget. Daniel’s hands bringing the scene to life. The light. It was magical.’

  The two stood in silence. Zillah could hear the seagulls. See Dan’s hands moving swiftly, like the currents the fishermen treated with such respect. She had to swallow hard. ‘How many of his paintings do you have, Lionel? About five?’

  ‘You have a good memory. But I’d like more. I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about selling some of his work? Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s all right. But I need to sort through the canvases. Somehow I can’t bring myself to do so yet.’

  ‘Understandable,’ said Lionel. He glanced down at her crisp uniform. ‘But, anything by Daniel Robinson would be much sought after. If you needed to raise funds, I mean.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry but I have to meet my caddy. I’m still a new boy here. May I take your phone number? What exactly are you doing these days?’

  Zillah pulled out a Mrs Robinson card. ‘I run my own gourmet catering business. This club’s just on the borders of my catchment area. I live in Bath now.’

  Lionel nodded. ‘I’ll give your card to ‘she who must be obeyed’. If Number One daughter decides to marry from home, we’ll certainly bear your services in mind.’ He squeezed her elbow. ‘Take care. And, should you ever decide to sell any paintings, please do email me, my dear.’

  ‘I shall. It’s great to see you again, Lionel. Please give my best regards to your wife.’

  Zillah was deep in thought as she drove back to Bath. She had to force herself not to drive on autopilot, especially on the more challenging cross-country roads. Meeting Lionel had been a confrontation with her past. Longing for Cornwall, for her former life and especially the love she shared with her late husband engulfed her. She raised a hand and angrily brushed away a tear trickling down one cheek. Why did such a lovely man have to be taken from her when he had so much more to give? There had been a haunting quality to his work. That’s why the Cornish fishermen thought so much of him. He captured not only the sunlight on the water and the storm clouds dominating the sky. Within those splashes of gold and silver, violet and apricot, he could also depict dedication, guts and the vulnerability and vigour of the crews.

  But Daniel was gone. She was on her own and, in spite of her efforts to heed Hal’s advice, Zillah knew her financial situation was as fragile as one of those fishing boats pitted against the elements. Maybe it was time to heed Lionel’s advice and take note of her assets. A cash injection into her business bank account would help matters. She knew that. Hal Christmas knew it too. But selling those precious pictures was going to be like having Daniel wrenched away from her all over again.

  ‘And if I sell that jewellery,’ she murmured to herself, ‘it’ll be yet another link broken.’

  Or maybe she should cut and run. But where to and what would she do? The thought of another move made her feel wretched. And a little voice deep inside her told her not to take the coward’s way out.

  *

  That wretched song was bugging Hal again. It was playing in his head as he slapped country primrose emulsion on his bedroom ceiling. It danced into his head after he brewed tea downstairs in a kitchen resembling a war zone. That wasn’t all down to the builders either. Hal still had stuff bursting from bulging, black plastic bags he constantly shifted from room to room. A bit like his life at the moment, though at least his finances were healthy. There were even a few bookings slowly creeping in via the entertainments agency website.

  Hal much preferred order to chaos. He was still standing on the
stepladder when he drained his mug of tea and turned to plonk it down on the draining board. Too late, he realised the latter equipment was not yet fitted.

  *

  Zillah heard a phone ringing as she let herself into her flat. It sounded like Zak’s zany ring tone, but he was in London. How come? In the kitchen she soon realised he’d gone off without his mobile. How irritating for him. She hesitated, wondering whether to answer the call and decided, if it happened to be Zak calling his own number, at least she could reassure him his phone was safe and not stolen.

  ‘Hello,’ she said cautiously. No way was she going to give either Zak’s name or her own.

  Silence was followed by a voice that sounded as if the owner was straining it through gritted teeth. ‘Is Zak Silver available, please?’

  Zillah didn’t recognise the gruff tones. ‘I’m sorry. He appears to have left his phone behind.’

  ‘Zillah? Is that you?’

  She frowned. ‘Yes. Who is this?’

  ‘It’s me. Hal. I’ve done something very stupid and I was hoping Zak could get me out of a jam. But, don’t worry. I can ring for a taxi.’

  ‘You don’t sound your usual self. Are you sure you can cope?’

  He grunted. ‘I lost my balance on the stepladder and somehow I’ve damaged my ankle in the fall. It’s not broken, I fancy, but it’s probably a bad sprain.’

  ‘What rotten luck.’ She thought for a moment. He obviously had no one else to call upon if he was ringing Zak. She made up her mind. ‘I’ll come and collect you. I guess the ED is the right place for you.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘I mean the Emergency Department at the Royal United Hospital. How do I find you?’

  She listened carefully. It sounded as if Hal’s ankle hurt like hell. Her car keys were still in her hand.

  Zillah drove down the London Road. She wasn’t bad at following directions and preferred not to use a satellite system for navigating the area. Hal sounded in bad shape. She hoped she didn’t take any wrong turns.

  Zak’s phone, which she’d brought along, just in case he rang it, began to play the opening chords of The Ride of the Valkyries again, the moment she turned off the main road. Zillah ignored it. Whoever it was this time would have to wait. She wondered whether Hal would be able to walk to her van from wherever he was waiting.

  But as she steered between banks of lacy cow parsley and hedgerows veiled by pink dog roses, she saw a figure slumped at the roadside. He was waving at her. Thump, thump went her heart. Tears filled her eyes. She was being ridiculous. If Hal Christmas could walk as far as his gate, he was obviously not at death’s door. Maybe she should have left him to ring for a cab after all. Put him right out of her mind. He was waving frantically now. Why would he do that? Did he think she couldn’t see him? He lurched backwards and toppled against the hedge as she bumped through the gateway and on to the sloping driveway.

  Zillah jumped from her van and strode back to where Hal sat dejectedly on a tree stump.

  ‘What was all that about?’ She stood over him, hands on hips.

  ‘I was trying to stop you from driving in. Trying to be helpful. Vision’s dreadful, coming out of my gateway. There’s a farm track leading back to the main road if you continue the way you were coming.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ she said coldly. Did he think she wasn’t capable of turning her van on a fifty pence piece? ‘Let’s get you to the hospital.’ She saw no sign of an overnight bag. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

  He was still sitting on the ground. ‘I don’t know. Credit Card. Money. Phone. Do I need anything else?’ He struggled to get up.

  She held out both her hands. ‘I mean basic stuff in case they keep you overnight.’

  ‘Keep me in? He sounded alarmed. ‘Why would they do that? It’s only a ricked ankle. I suffered much worse in my rugby playing days.’

  She almost retorted he’d been a lot younger then. ‘Well, all right, if you’re sure. You can obviously bear your own weight.’

  He grimaced as he struggled to his feet. ‘It feels like I’ve got a ball and chain on my right foot. Thanks, Zillah.’

  She waited while he manoeuvred himself into the passenger seat, managing to bang his head on the half-open door, a manoeuvre which he followed by sitting on Zak’s phone.

  ‘Some days are just not meant to go right,’ he said.

  Zillah was seized with an uncontrollable urge to giggle.

  ‘I’m glad you find it so funny,’ he snapped.

  They stayed silent on the way to the hospital. She had to drop him off at the Emergency entrance and find someone to help her dump him in a wheel chair. When she’d squeezed into a parking space miraculously available and returned to find Hal, a triage nurse confirmed the patient would live. His ankle was swollen but not broken. It would probably be about two hours before he could see a doctor. Hearing this, Hal growled from his wheelchair. Zillah elbowed him in the ribs and immediately felt guilty for adding to his pain.

  ‘I think you’ll need that ankle strapped for support,’ said the nurse. ‘I’m ordering an X-ray just to confirm my opinion. If you wait in the blue seating area, you’ll be called soon.’ She turned to Zillah. ‘There’s a café near the main entrance, Mrs Christmas. You can bring something back for your husband. He won’t be undergoing an anaesthetic.’ She smiled reassuringly.

  ‘He’s not –’ Zillah thought better of it. The nurse must have noticed her wedding ring. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  She noticed how Hal was looking up at the nurse then turning back to her. Two women talking over his head must be an alien experience for a man of his height and personality. Zillah wondered if he expected her to wait with him. Probably not but she couldn’t bear to think of abandoning him.

  She pushed the patient towards the blue seating area, parking the chair neatly at the end of the front row and even remembering to apply the brake. ‘Hal, I need to go outside and check out a call to Zak’s mobile. I couldn’t pick up while I was driving and it might be him, trying to establish who has his phone.’

  ‘Okay. But I can’t expect you to hang around here all day. You’ve got things to do. I can ring for a taxi when they let me go.’

  ‘And where do you propose telling the taxi to take you?’ She knew he’d gotten down the stairs on his behind and somehow made his way by hopping and shuffling down to the gate. Mickey and his wife were brilliant but it was hardly fair to expect them to care for Hal in his current state. She’d checked out the guestrooms in their pub and knew none were on the ground floor.

  Hal looked so crestfallen, Zillah, for all her crisp manner, wanted to put her arms around him and smooth away that little boy lock of hair falling over one eye. She looked at her watch. ‘I’m not in any rush. I’ll go and check that phone then fetch us something to drink and eat. It’ll help pass the time and keep your blood sugar level from plummeting.’

  She reached for a magazine and plonked it in his lap. ‘It’s not the Financial Times but you might enjoy reading about celebrity life for a change.’ Seeing the horrified expression on his face, she suppressed a chuckle. ‘I promise not to be long.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Was his voice a tad too exuberant? For some reason, returning the call to Zak’s mobile phone, Zillah thought the singer sounded as if he’d been up to something he shouldn’t. If she was being honest, he sounded almost ingratiating. Anyway, it was a strange kind of hunch to have, especially considering the brief time she’d known the man.

  ‘I really am sorry to be such a pest, Zillah. Serves me right for leaving in so much of a hurry,’ he said. ‘Maybe I need a minder? Would you fancy the job?’

  ‘Excuse me? I’ve got enough on my hands, sorting out your friend.’

  ‘Sorry. Say again.’

  ‘Your friend Mr Christmas dived off a stepladder at lunchtime. I’m phoning from the hospital.’

  ‘Wow. Poor guy. Will he live?’

  ‘I think so but he’s wrenched his ankle quite ba
dly. Hurt his pride. He’ll certainly be out of action for a while. When is it you come back to Bath?’

  ‘The good news is my agent’s got me a couple of auditions this coming week. Why do you ask? Missing me already?’ This was more the Zak she knew.

  ‘I’ll survive,’ she said. ‘But I’m wondering where Hal’s going to go after they’ve done all the things they have to do. Does he have any friends in the area, do you know?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ said Zak. ‘Probably hasn’t had time to make any yet. How come you got involved?’

  ‘He rang your mobile just as I walked into my kitchen.’

  ‘Knowing Hal’s opinion of me, I guess that means he was pretty desperate. So you picked up the call?’

  ‘Yep. I collected him from his cottage. Does he have a phobia about women drivers, by the way?’

  Zak laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘More importantly, do you have any suggestions as to what happens next?’

  ‘Can’t the guy go back to the Golden Fleece?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Those stairs are picturesque but not user-friendly. He’d be stuck in his room and Mickey and his staff would have to trail up and down with meals and drinks. No, I think there’s only one thing for it.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’ve decided to put him in my bed.’ Zak’s merriment bubbled through the phone.

  ‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have, unless you strongly object. But I can’t see anything remotely humorous about it.’

  ‘I can hardly object, seeing he let me stay at his cottage till you rescued me. If you two haven’t murdered each other by the time I return, I guess I can always take over Hal’s room at the pub.’

  *

  When the call ended, Zak, sitting on his mate’s balcony in Clapham, stared sightlessly into space. He thought his acting skills had helped him act naturally with Zillah but oh, what a muppet he’d been to leave his mobile phone in her flat. He told himself to remain calm.

  If she discovered the bundle of gold was missing, there had to be several suspects. Like removal men and the tradesmen she mentioned who’d sorted out the boiler. He just needed to keep his cool. After all, he was doing her a favour. Without his intervention, those canvases would probably sit there for the next few years. He could sort it. Given time. He felt hot and cold with relief as he realised the buyer of gold he planned to visit didn’t have his mobile phone number.