Blue and Green Should Never be Seen! (Or so Mother says)

by Colette Kebell

  “You know what?” he added. “Why don’t we organise a dinner with some friends this weekend? I will convert you to oxtail. And if I don’t prepare the best dish you’ve ever eaten in your life … well … you pick the reward.”

  “Oh, it’s a bet?”

  “Why not?”

  “Deal. Careful there, though, because I have a lot of imagination on how to get compensated.”

  “I guess you do,” he said, with a gleam in his eye.

  I didn’t mind driving through the countryside with Raffaele. Visiting farms wasn’t my cup of tea, but I loved being with him; and if that was what it was going to take to spend some further time together, so be it. We tried the other way around – doing shopping – a couple of times, but after an hour or two he started walking behind me like a zombie, with glassy eyes, and I soon realised shopping wasn’t for him. We also bought a couple of walkie-talkies and made an agreement: he accompanied me for one hour doing shopping, after which he’d find a nice café in the area where he could have a beer and read a book while I was in shops doing my thing. Once in a while we got in touch.

  “How’s the shopping going? Over.”

  “Almost done (which translated meant at least half an hour more, in my warped shopping time). Over. Where are you? Sorry I said ‘over’ before it was over. Over.”

  “Pub on the main street. Sitting outside. Over.”

  “See you in a bit. Over.”

  Those little toys had a range of a couple of miles, and even if we looked as if we were a couple of spies (or security guards), we didn’t care. It was a way like any other of being together without too much pain. A short shopping trip on my side or a too long one on his: the right compromise.

  Although exhausted by the trip and driving all day visiting farms, we still had the energy to go to my place or his and have a great dinner.

  That – and making love.

  CHAPTER 30

  How do you recognise true love?

  I didn’t have an answer for that. I’d had my share of boyfriends in the past and with some of them I had thought I was in love. Despite that, there was always something missing: a detail, a feeling in the gut that I wasn’t completely happy. It’s in my nature to be a perfectionist and, on more than one occasion, I let slip on matters that otherwise I would not have done.

  As an example – the right level of attention that I needed: and I needed a lot. I don’t mean having someone around me all the time, like a sort of servant; I mean someone to share interests with and who makes that unexpected gesture that surprises you occasionally. I could hardly express what I needed, and so it was even more difficult trying to talk about it, but so far Raffaele was fitting the role. He had his own space but, at the same time, he had that ability to get me involved that had been lacking in all my previous relationships. For once, I could feel we were doing things together: not all the time, but when our lives crossed and more often than I expected. I took an interest in his restaurant without stepping on his toes, as we did when we went farm-hunting, and he did the same with my work.

  At that point we spent almost every evening at his place. Well, I would say I’d all but moved in, if it wasn’t for the little, ickle detail about the humongous wardrobes I had at my place. Blimey, I needed to live in a warehouse to accommodate those.

  I woke up that morning and the bed was empty, although I could still feel the warmth of his body under the sheets, and a hint of his aftershave. I already missed him. How he had the energy to make love the whole night and still be able to carry on with his morning duties was a mystery to me. I was still shattered. A rose and a handwritten note were on the bedside table … where had he found a rose?

  “GiGi, had to go to the restaurant for the final changes. I’m still nervous about the opening, which is approaching fast. I left some breakfast for you; just turn the oven on for fifteen minutes at a hundred and eighty degrees. Love you loads. X x x, Raf.”

  I stretched and just the thought of food started waking me up, but I was in desperate need of a cuppa first. I was slowly getting out of bed when the phone rang.

  “GiGi!” It was Ritchie. “They’re shutting us down!” I could feel the panic in his voice.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” I asked. I looked at my watch and it was already nine in the morning. I hadn’t heard the alarm.

  “The Council is here and they’re claiming they’ve had complaints – hazardous stuff and other things that I don’t have half a clue what they are.”

  “And they want us to close the premises?” I couldn’t connect yet; I wasn’t there and I hardly understood what the complaints could be about. We were working in an office, not in a shop. People rarely visited us.

  “OK, do it this way. I’m going to grab a quick shower and then come straight to the office. You call Tom in the meantime and see what he can do: at least he’ll understand what all this fuss is about.”

  I hung up the phone and my legs were shaking. The new website had gone online just a couple of days previously and the phone had started to ring non-stop. Think, GiGi, think! We could still work remotely and visit the clients in the pipeline, but we were also expecting people to show up at the door. And we’d decided to hire, so potential candidates, due to come that week for an interview, would find us closed. Oh dear: that wasn’t a nice business card –coming for an interview and seeing that your new potential employer had been shut down.

  Forget the shower; I jumped into my clothes and ran to my car as if I was running for my life. which, in some respects, I was.

  I was driving towards London when my mother called.

  “Hello, GiGi: how are you doing, my dear?”

  “Mum, I have an emergency at the office,” I answered. There are moments in life when you hate technology, and in my case at that very moment I hated the hands-free kit I’d had installed in the car.

  “Oh – what’s happened then?” she asked, as if she was enquiring about the weather. No curiosity, no sense of urgency. I was experiencing a drama and she wanted to do the conversation thing.

  “I don’t know; the Council wants to close our office. We’ve had complaints … hazards … I don’t know the details yet.”

  “I told you so. Starting your own business isn’t easy. There are all those laws and regulations that need to be checked. I remember Cousin Peter, when he decided to open that restaurant in Devon …”

  “Mum,” I interjected, “I’m not a restauranteur. We have an office.”

  “And nonetheless offices have their own rules. Do you have a fire extinguisher?” OH-MY-GOSH!!! Now she’d started with one of her tirades.

  “Yes, of course we have. One in each room, actually.”

  “Maybe it’s that kitchen of yours. You know, sometimes offices have just a coffee machine or a kettle. If you have a full kitchen you might have to follow different rules,” she continued. That was what pissed me off most; she didn’t have a clue and still she was ready to give advice.

  “I assure you we washed all the dishes yesterday evening.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic, young lady. I’m just trying to help.” No, she wasn’t.

  “Mum, do you know the details of why they’re shutting us down?” I asked, almost on the verge of shouting at her. I was dodging white vans, which were driving as if they were at Brands Hatch, and I was struggling to negotiate traffic lanes; I didn’t have time for this.

  “No, but common sense …”

  “I’ll call you back, OK? I’m driving.”

  “As you prefer – I was just trying to be helpful …”

  “Bye.”

  It took me almost an hour to reach the office and when I entered the door Tom was already there, talking to one of the officers. Ritchie took me aside and filled in the gaps. “It was Jasper,” he whispered in my ear.

  WHAT?

  “Why did that bastard make a complaint? And about what?” I was fuming. We weren’t even in the exact same line of business; why would he take revenge like that?


  “We have too much stuff in the office. Shoes, samples – all sorts of things. We’ve had two complaints: one is for a fire hazard and the second is on the safety side. People could trip on things and get hurt,” he explained to me. Tom is handling it brilliantly.

  “I still don’t understand …” At that point Tom finished with the officer, who went on his way. Finally, we had a chance of learning what this was all about.

  “Nothing to worry about, GiGi.” He explained how a Jasper Barnes had logged a complaint about the premises. Usually they ignored things like that or, at most, the Council would send out an inspector. It was rather unusual that they came out straight away to close an office. The papers had been filed the previous evening and someone was on our doorstep that very morning.

  “You have a powerful enemy, GiGi,” Tom added. “He had to pull some strings to force the Council to act so quickly. I don’t have any evidence, but I suspect someone was paid to speed things up. Be careful there.”

  “Tom, I don’t know how to thank you. I mean, coming here straight away like that and sorting things out.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he added, as if for him it was just a walk in the park “I found it a nice diversion from my routine! And I’m sure Lillian will come up with something.”

  We laughed, although Ritchie’s and mine were mostly signs of relief rather than amusement. Still, we needed to understand why Jasper had gone to all this trouble. Tom left soon afterwards, after we’d shared a cup of coffee, and we promised to make up for his help.

  “So why d’you think he did it?” Ritchie’s question was the million- dollar one.

  “Not a clue.”

  “Maybe jealousy? We’re becoming successful, and you have a new boyfriend. People like him don’t like rejections.”

  I pondered that for a moment, but it didn’t make any sense. The answer came that very afternoon, when I met with Osheena for our shopping rendezvous.

  “Of course he tried to stop you,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world – but I still didn’t get it.

  “Mind explaining?” I asked, while we were trying on a pair of Jaeger footwear.

  “Did you see the statistics on your web page, and the following you’re getting on the blog?”

  To be honest, I hadn’t. I’d seen the website, and it was a piece of art, but when it was a matter of going into details, I was lost. Osheena also volunteered to write a few articles for the blog. I just gave her a few notes, but she’d elaborated on those and made three or four very good articles out of them.

  “Ermm …”

  “Don’t you get it?” she added passionately “People are following your blog. They made the connection between the mysterious fashion woman and you. Well, actually I made more than one hint on the blog, to be honest. GiGi, you can shift people from one place to another.”

  She was talking gibberish; I was afraid to ask.

  “Shifting, GiGi. You can set trends! If you say something is cool, people will go and check it out, and if you say something is uncool, people will wonder.”

  I started to grasp what she was saying. “You mean that there’s a wider audience out there, who care about what I’m saying?”

  “It’s more than that. You’ve already more than forty thousand people following you. You could make the fortune of a shop just by mentioning it.”

  “Or the opposite?” I asked tentatively.

  “Yes, even that.” Everything was so clear for Osheena; she was actually working in that sector and she definitely knew what she was talking about. And I loved her passion.

  “Forty thousand people?” I said aloud. The sound of it was astounding; I could barely believe it. Suddenly I had an idea.

  “Wait here; I have a phone call to make.” I went out of the shop and frantically started searching for the number on the screen. When eventually I came back I had more than one idea in my head.

  “Osheena, I have a proposal. What about dumping that extra work of yours in the restaurant and being paid for managing the website and the blog?”

  “Are you kidding me?” she said, almost screaming with joy. A shop assistant looked at us with fierce eyes, as if we were disturbing the quiet and atmosphere in the shop. “I’d even ask you to work full time for me, but I can’t match the stability of a job in a multinational company …” I couldn’t complete the phrase: Osheena jumped to her feet and put her arms around me, almost lifting me off the ground.

  “I’d have done it for nothing. Are you serious – I mean, you really want me to take care of the website and the blog?”

  “Why not? You’ve done a perfect job so far. It’s just …” Again I couldn’t complete the sentence; but in that very moment I realised Ritchie and I had made the right decision in offering her the position. We both loved her and what she’d done for us already. It was only fair to give her a chance to follow her dream. Were we a bunch of dreamers, as Mother would say?

  I didn’t think so.

  CHAPTER 31

  Apologising wasn’t my cup of tea, but that was what I had to do for Raffaele. Not that he asked for it, but after he’d seen that the breakfast he’d prepared with such tender loving care was still in the oven, untouched, he hadn’t been pleased.

  We were both nervous (OK, to be honest, I was the nervous one! He was as cool as a cucumber) about the restaurant opening, and because Ritchie and I were seriously expanding our own business. The interview process was taking for ever and we couldn’t seem to find the right candidates. Some people just wanted a job (by all means, that’s a good motivation, but we needed more than that), others had previously worked in shops or department stores. The latter had good knowledge of brands, but putting everything together was a different matter. In the end, we had all sorts of people who thought they had a style. They were the ones who were the most similar to my partner and me, but with variety and imagination come the risks. The question of how to source additional workforce was wide open. We managed to hire a friend of Ritchie’s, but that was all. We thought of hiring a recruiter, but we couldn’t even agree on the right parameters for judging a candidate. What a mess.

  We would know if someone was right by talking to that individual – but we couldn’t afford to interview half of London.

  We promised each other we’d have to discuss it further, but we didn’t; so the elephant stayed in the room and we just kept ignoring it, overloading ourselves as a result. I knew I was the one who should have done something, but I managed to procrastinate. I can be good at that, when I want.

  “Numaka Investment Bank: how can I help you?” answered the voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Good morning, Griselda Griswald speaking; may I talk to Mr Robertson, please?”

  “I’ll connect you to his assistant; please hold the line.” The more important people were, the more filters you had to pass through.

  “Mr Robertson’s office: good morning. Unfortunately Mr Robertson is in a meeting; may I take your name and a message?”

  “Sure, I’m Griselda Griswald; I’m calling …”

  “Hold on, I’ll pass you through.”

  I just had time to listen to the initial three seconds of Beethoven’s ninth symphony when Timothy answered.

  “GiGi, nice to hear from you; how are things going? Do you need a loan?” He was definitely joyful and happy to hear from me.

  “No, nothing like that. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Me? Nah, I was in one of those bull meetings that suck the life out of you and nothing gets done. We’re floating an IT company and we had to look busy and interested.” I was glad I’d caught him in a busy moment; I was starting to wonder how he would have reacted on a quiet, boring day.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” he continued, as if he was on a roll, “I have to thank your colleague, Ritchie. He did amazingly with that shoe task of mine, and the way he convinced my wife? Astonishing. Think, now not only does she wear those amazing pieces, but she also allows
me to give her a foot massage …”

  “Timothy …” I tried to interject.

  “… And our sex life? Such an improvement. She walks up and down the house, firstly with a pair of fabulous pumps on, and then …”

  “Timothy …”

  “Oh, sorry, what did you say?” Finally I’d managed to get his attention.

  “Timothy, too many details, but thank you.”

  “Oh …yes … sure. What were you calling about, then?”

  “I have this friend of mine – well, actually my boyfriend – who’s opening a restaurant down in Surrey. I was wondering if you and your wife would like to be there for the opening on the twenty-third?”

  “I’d be glad to be. What’s the address?”

  I gave him the details, exchanged pleasantries and we promised each other to get in touch again. He asked if he could add a couple of friends, an important stockbroker and his wife, and I said sure – why not? I’d have to inform Raffaele straight away for good measure.

  Next on the list was Natalie. “How are you, darling? News is that you’re climbing up the ladder,” she said, straight off the bat.

  “Hey, Nat! Things are going great – even better than we’d envisaged. We’re struggling to manage.”

  “That’s what happens when the word gets out there nowadays. You know, all the social media; you can’t control any more how things happen and how quickly. I’ll have to make an appointment now to talk to you!”

  “Are you kidding? After all the skeletons in the cupboard we’ve shared?” I laughed.

  “Good, because I have some friends to send your way. Now that the cat’s out of the bag, and they know I’m a friend of “The GiGi” whom everybody’s talking about on the internet, people are starting to ask favours. “

  “About favours …” I said tentatively, as I always took pride in doing things myself, counting on my own energy and effort, and asking favours wasn’t something that fitted well with my character. However, I was doing this for Raffaele, so it made me feel less bad. I continued, “My boyfriend is opening his own restaurant on the twenty-third. It’s in Surrey, but I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”