‘Samuel took me for dinner to a little Greek place in Soho where the proprietor greeted him with affection. Everywhere we went people were drawn to Samuel, he had a laugh that warmed a room like sunshine. I remember being so nervous – Papa had told me to keep my mouth shut – but I could never have done that with Samuel, we laughed from the moment we sat down,’ she says, patting her cheeks tenderly at the memory. ‘I felt instantly comfortable. He told wonderful stories about growing up the youngest of five siblings. His father Leon was also one of five, so there were dozens of cousins. Samuel and his youngest sister Sophie had written a song with all of the family’s names in, which they added to frequently: Leon, Shindel, Lilli, Oskar, Izzy – every meal in the Finn household had at least fifteen hungry diners.’
‘His mother must have been a good cook.’
‘Shindel? Meh, average,’ says Cecily, pulling a face. ‘As a young man working at his father’s sawmill, Samuel had dreamt of seeing the world. He also felt deeply concerned that Europe was becoming increasingly anti-Semitic, and so he left Poland for England. While he loved London he desperately missed his family back in Warsaw. Even though he had a far more exotic background than mine, he seemed genuinely interested in me, and when he discovered I loved to dance, he asked me dancing the very next day. I remember he looked so uncomfortable on that dance floor, shuffling those long, skinny legs of his. I thought he didn’t like me, or didn’t know how to dance. In fact, he’d had to borrow a pair of fashionable shoes from his neighbour and they were two sizes too small. He was embarrassed to admit it, but I thought it marvellous he’d gone to that effort. With a little prompting we were engaged within six weeks and the wedding was fixed for six weeks later.’
‘Er, can I have the recipe for that?’ says Kate. ‘So really, it was love at first sight!’
‘There’s no such thing. In fact, that’s one thing books have misled us on. People confuse physical infatuation with love, but lust never lasts. Yes, Samuel had a pleasing face, but that was immaterial. Samuel was an exceptionally kind man, and what ultimately counts is having a true friend, someone to hold your hand when you need it most.’
Kate has a flashback to Nick reaching for her hand the day after he’d told her he didn’t want her moving in. How strange and confusing it had felt – how, in fact, it is the opposite of what Cecily is talking about. Kate promptly dismisses the thought. ‘Tell me about your wedding.’
‘It started disastrously. I arrived an hour late, in a beat-up old Ford truck. Papa, economical to the last, had asked his friend with a car to put a white ribbon on it and drive us to the West End. The car broke down on the Mile End Road and the only vehicle I could find to give us a lift was the truck. By the time I arrived, the Patou dress I’d borrowed from my best friend was crumpled, and the tea roses I clutched had wilted terribly. When I saw Samuel standing there, he looked so nervous – the poor man must have worried I wasn’t going to show. But then he saw me and his eyes filled with joy. I felt a rush of elation like I’d never experienced before. The reception was magnificent. Samuel’s family were there, his parents and siblings had come from Warsaw – Leon, Shindel, Lilli, Oskar, Izzy, and Sophie. Sophie was a great beauty, terribly glamorous and now a jazz singer who had moved to Nice with her ten-year-old daughter Gisele. Sophie wore the most magnificent emeralds that set off her beautiful green eyes. Gisele looked so much like her mother, and she’d made herself a copy of Sophie’s dress – even back then she was an excellent little seamstress. Papa thought Sophie’s jewels were fake, but those stones saved Gisele’s life during the Occupation.’
Kate shakes her head in wonder.
‘We had the most delicious salmon with dill, wonderful sauté potatoes, and Mama had made us our wedding cake, a fabulous six-tier toffee sponge,’ says Cecily, her hand rising to demonstrate its height. ‘Then there was the music, ah, so much music. Sophie had the most beautiful husky voice, and she sang our first dance, “The Very Thought of You”. It was magical, I felt like I was in a movie, dancing in Samuel’s arms. And he’d bought some dancing shoes that actually fitted this time,’ she laughs. ‘We left for our honeymoon in Italy, Mr and Mrs Samuel Finn, setting off for a lifetime of adventures together. We had such a blissful time. We went back thirty years later and stayed for a decade. I knew as we headed off that first time that Samuel would always be on my side, and he was by my side for everything that mattered in my relentlessly long life.’ Kate notices Cecily is clasping her own hand tightly, the knuckles white, the veins and liver spots having taken over the surface. Kate wonders when was the last time anyone held Cecily’s hand.
‘So: forget this foolish ghost,’ says Cecily, decisively. ‘Use that book to pursue something better.’
‘I’m holding fire on the man front. You said yourself that you were too hung up on finding a husband.’
‘Who said anything about a husband? My book has many chapters – work, friendship, travel. Find one and sink your teeth into it.’
Chapter Thirty-four
Dinner for Husband’s Managing Director (Solid Type)
Aim: to make it clear that while basically you are just the ‘little woman’ standing dutifully in the kitchen preparing a delectable meal, you are able (and, God knows, willing) to exchange the sink for the mink immediately, if the boss would deign to promote your hard-working husband.
KATE TRIES TO IMAGINE inviting Devron round for a slap-up meal at Rita’s in a last-minute attempt to salvage her job, then shakes her head. She might need to find inspiration on a different page . . .
‘Kate, Annalex – can I have an urgent catch-up?’ Ah, it’s the man himself, who has suddenly appeared and is now hovering awkwardly by their desks.
Kate subtly shifts a pile of paperwork over Cecily’s book. ‘Is this about redundancy or is it a Christmas catch-up?’ says Kate, reaching for her files as she looks up at Devron with a smile. Devron refuses to catch her eye and this sudden evasion makes Kate’s stomach drop.
What on earth had she been thinking, writing that whole heart-on-her-sleeve piece about food being essential to happiness? It was Mrs Finn and her art class, filling Kate’s head with ideas of bravery, of integrity. No wonder Devron won’t look at her. And of course Annalex’s submission will be crammed with data rather than actual words, and nothing gives Devron the horn more than a Mintel report he can quote to sound knowledgeable.
She traipses behind Devron and Annalex, head bent low as if bound for the gallows. By the time they’re seated either side of Devron in the boardroom, he still won’t meet Kate’s gaze. She’s starting to wonder if they’ll march her out of the office immediately like they always do with redundancies, and if so is there anything she should have taken off her computer? Or have the last two decades of work been entirely disposable?
‘Ladies,’ says Devron, sniffing loudly then wiping his nose with his hand. ‘I’ve had a read of your submissions, and in the interests of best practice I thought now would be a great time for you to read each other’s pieces – give each other some three sixty feedback.’
‘Why would you suggest that?’ says Annalex, as if she’s just found out Christmas has been cancelled.
‘Does that mean you haven’t made a decision yet?’ says Kate, equally disturbed.
Devron looks taken aback that the women are for once aligned, against him. ‘If I can finish? You’ve each approached the challenge quite differently, and I think it’s always positive to have transparent dialogue. You’ll have your decision soon enough.’
This must be the final hurdle, thinks Kate. He’s testing whether we’ll be supportive or back-stabbing. That, or he literally expects us to make this decision for him.
Annalex grabs the two documents, passes her own essay to Kate, then frowns as she reads Kate’s title aloud: ‘From astronaut bars to custard doughnuts – how our passion for food can help us inspire and nourish our customers. Is this your submission?’
‘Yes,’ says Kate, glancing at Annalex’s title: Building
POWER BRANDS through KISM (KEY INSIGHT STRATEGIC MESSAGING) and VIBFOM (VISUALISED BENEFIT FOCUS MESSAGING).
A heavy silence fills the room. Kate reads Annalex’s essay: A BRAND BIBLE is a functional, process-led tool to springboard CREATIVITY which flourishes best within CONTROLLED PARAMETERS.
No wonder Annalex is off once a month with a migraine. Kate glances at Annalex, who has pushed Kate’s form away and is busy chewing the inside of her cheek.
‘You want to go first?’ says Devron, flashing Kate a look of apology.
‘Someone has to,’ she says, pondering whether to be honest or diplomatic. ‘I think it’s . . . quite . . . Procter and Gamble-ish? Lots of acronyms?’
Devron and Annalex both look pleased.
‘OK, Annalex, your turn.’
Annalex shrugs. ‘Hers is just . . . it’s emotional. I’m used to a much more rigorous FMCG approach to marketing: brand the product, show a demo of how it works, repeat the branding.’
‘A demo of how a banana works?’ says Kate. ‘Surely you just stick it in your mouth and chew?’
Annalex lets out a long sigh. ‘My approach is functional and benefit focused: that’s how you sell product.’
‘But that’s my point,’ says Kate. ‘Chocolate cake isn’t the same as anti-bacterial mouthwash. People don’t buy it for its functional benefits. They eat it because they like cake, or they’re celebrating a birthday, or they feel sad because the person they love doesn’t love them back. They don’t think of cake as product – they think of it as something which makes them happy.’
‘Really? How can you prove that?’ says Annalex.
‘Because I’ve been eating chocolate cake for a long time.’
‘Yeah, we can see,’ says Annalex.
‘I beg your pardon?’ says Kate.
‘What? It was a joke! Look, I worked on the UK’s number one mouthwash. We were market leader for the entire five years I was on it, I do know what I’m talking about.’
‘Yep, well, I know that mouthwash is something you spit out, so it’s actually the opposite of food, is it not?’
‘Girls, girls, let’s not lose sight of our goal here,’ says Devron, looking alarmed. ‘You sure neither of you is interested in voluntary redundancy?’
‘No way,’ says Annalex, folding her arms.
Kate folds her arms even more tightly.
There will be no voluntary about this. If Annalex wants a fight, then she’s got one. Kate will not be told by one single other person in her life that she is not good enough.
Chapter Thirty-five
Supper for a Friend Who is Slimming
Aim: to take the opportunity of giving your friend a serious talking-to on the evils of diets, pointing out that all the famous enchantresses of history inclined to embonpoint.
KATE IS DUE TO MAKE supper at Bailey’s that night, and Bailey’s on a diet, but Bailey doesn’t need to be on a diet, and besides, sole Veronique and grilled tomatoes are simply too virtuous. Instead, Kate has chosen to make ‘Dinner Cooked at a Friend’s House after an Arduous Day’ – lamb stew, tiramisu and a lot of red wine – a far more appetising line-up.
She arrives at Bailey’s as Bailey is putting her daughters to bed. Kate reads Franny The Gruffalo for the eleventh time, then hovers at Tabby’s bedroom door as Bailey spends a moment with her younger daughter, stroking her blonde curls and telling her something that makes her giggle so much they all end up laughing.
It’s been two years since Bailey’s ex abandoned them for the woman who sat next to him at work, buying the mistress a tonne of flammable overpriced underwear on their joint credit card in the process. Kate still cannot fathom how such a distinctly average man could fail to cherish the grace, beauty and all-round excellence of her friend.
They head down to the kitchen and Bailey pours two large gin and tonics and shakes her head with exhaustion. ‘Cheers – to single motherhood!’
Kate sighs and clinks glasses. ‘I brought you a present.’
‘You brought dinner; you didn’t need to bring a gift.’
‘It’s just a copy of that book I told you about, the one this menu is from.’
Kate hands Bailey a copy, then starts to unpack the Tupperware. ‘Page eighty-eight – Let thy foot be seldom in thy neighbour’s house, lest he be weary of thee – from Proverbs. She writes a relevant quote at the start of every menu.’
‘My friend, thou art welcome in this house anytime – you’re better than Deliveroo,’ says Bailey, as she admires the cover of the book then turns to the page in question. ‘Setting – another woman’s kitchen. There is nothing more demoralising than cooking in a friend’s kitchen. You cannot avoid thinking: a) how much better organised you are, and, dearly as you love your friend, there’s no denying she is slapdash; or b) how much better organised she is – and how soon can you rush home to tidy your kitchen.’ Bailey laughs. ‘I’m sorry, it’s a complete tip.’
Kate surveys the spotless white counter, the shiny copper pans hanging over the hob, the wine glasses lined up, sparkling.
‘Trust me, it’s messy,’ says Bailey, following Kate’s gaze. ‘Particularly compared to your mum’s.’
‘That’s only because Mum never cooks. I made the picnic last Saturday and she hasn’t stopped moaning about it since.’
Bailey empties a packet of crisps into a bowl then takes a seat at the table. ‘What are you doing about living arrangements?’
Kate decants the stew into a saucepan and puts it on the hob. ‘I told you I went round to Nick’s after that dickhead stood me up?’
‘You still haven’t heard from him?’
‘Nothing, but if he thinks I’m going to avoid that coffee shop, he’s wrong – their almond croissants are the best in North London. Anyway, Nick was being very amorous when I went over. He says he still doesn’t understand what happened in France. I think it really was a commitment panic.’
‘Kate, relationships are always unknowns – look at me and Tom, twenty years together, two kids, a mortgage, all that and he still did the most clichéd, midlife crisis thing in the world, humping the most up-for-it woman in his office.’
‘I never think of Nick as a midlifer,’ says Kate. ‘Can you be labelled middle-aged if you still play with Lego?’
‘I think it’s acceptable if you have kids, but anyway, let’s not dwell on Nick’s youthful hobbies. Look, Kate, anything can happen at any time, so you might as well be with the person who makes you happy. Nick made a mistake but he’s not a bad guy, he isn’t a cheater like Tom, he’s just inept. You guys are such a great couple, every time I see you together you’re laughing. Just get on with it and move in. But in the meantime, you’re more than welcome to take my spare room and be live-in babysitter? I could really do with someone I trust.’
‘Careful what you wish for,’ says Kate, putting the water on for the potatoes.
‘I love the smell of old books,’ says Bailey, bringing the hardback to her nose and breathing in the scent. ‘Ah, look,’ she says, running her finger down the contents page. ‘This is fabulous, I need this menu, “Dinner for Important Client (Female and Tough)” – Aim: to break down your guest’s habitual sales resistance by the administration of good wine and food and to induce in her such well-being and possibly slight alcoholic daze that she will sign your contract without a murmur. Table decoration – a glass of cigarettes, chocolate peppermints. Those were the days . . .’
‘How is work going?’
‘Manic but good. I’ve started working with a new ceramicist in Leeds, she makes the most beautiful vases. I only put them on the site at the weekend, but there’s already a waiting list.’
‘Ooh, I’ll have a look, maybe I’ll treat myself to one if – well – wherever I end up living.’
‘How’s your work going?’
‘Oh, usual bollocks. I told you we’re in the middle of another restructure? Devron’s pitting me against Annalex like it’s the Judgement of Solomon, without the wisdom part.’
‘Take the redundancy, you’d get loads of cash.’
‘It wouldn’t be loads, but anyway, I’m not a quitter.’
‘Seriously, freelance is the way forward. Listen, I meant to ask – what are the plans for your birthday? Did you get my email?’
‘Sorry,’ says Kate, taking a large gulp of her drink. ‘I wasn’t ignoring you. Well, I was ignoring my birthday more than you.’
‘It’s not long now.’
Kate shudders. ‘Nick’s booked a restaurant on the Saturday night, but I think I’d rather do something with all my friends together.’
‘Where’s he booked?’
‘Le Montrachet.’
‘He managed to get a table? Kate, go! It’s supposed to be amazing. I was going to say I have a trade show in Paris that weekend – I can take the first Eurostar out on the Saturday but I’m definitely not around on Saturday night. I feel terrible asking, but could the Friday work instead? It’ll be your birthday at midnight.’
‘Oh, I’ll figure something out,’ says Kate, giving the lamb a stir. ‘She puts pearl barley in this recipe, and loads of fresh thyme, it smells delicious . . . Oh, how is your sexy gardener, by the way?’
‘Adam? Still very sexy,’ says Bailey, topping up their glasses. ‘He asked if I wanted tickets for a gardening show he’s exhibiting at.’
‘I hope you said yes? Then this time next year you can parade him in front of your jowly, cheating ex-husband at parents’ evening.’
‘He’s twenty-eight and drives a Triumph, and I’m forty with two kids and a clapped-out Volvo. He’s probably only asking to be polite.’
‘Stop that right now. You’re an exceptional human being, Bailey – kind, beautiful, any man would be lucky to be with you.’
‘I suppose some men do like an older woman. Wayne Rooney . . .’
Kate laughs. ‘I hope you said yes to his invitation? You did say yes, didn’t you?’
‘Actually,’ says Bailey, biting her lower lip, ‘I did.’
The Woman Who Wanted More Page 17
