by Sue Nicholls
The complications of her divorce and setting up the business have kept her mind occupied, but that conversation, and the suggestion of dating, has made her skittish. She plops a potato into the pan and gives a mental shrug. Dating is out. She will not inflict a strange man on the children at the moment.
A key turns in the front door and Liz flies in trailing the smell of sun cream and holidays. Millie glances at the clock, it is 4.03pm.
‘Sorry I’m late, it’s mad out there. I think the whole town has decided to go to the summer sales!’ She dumps her bags on the floor and her coat beside them on a stool, and squeezes past Millie to wash her hands. ‘How many in tonight?’ She calls over her shoulder.
‘Fifteen tables, mostly twos. There’s a table for one, and a table of six - they’re bringing in a birthday cake.’
The restaurant is open six nights a week, plus Friday and Saturday lunch times. She and Liz are wondering whether to open on the other lunchtimes, including Sundays. They have had a few enquiries, but it will be a major commitment: Extra staff, a new menu, and increased working hours for Millie, taking her away from Lucas and Olivia even more.
The two women work companionably, preparing food for the coming night’s service. At 5pm front of house staff begin to arrive, then customers, and before long the restaurant is alive with clatter and chatter. The kitchen becomes a racket of activity.
By 9.30, most people are eating their main courses or desserts, and the kitchen is calmer. Leaving Liz in charge, Millie removes her hat and runs her fingers through her curls. She slips out of her chef’s whites and goes from the kitchen into the restaurant.
An attractive and stylish man sits at a corner table. A good table, she is pleased to note, she would not want to find a restaurant critic seated beside the loos. She glances at him, and intelligent eyes look back from behind gold rimmed glasses. Her gut responds to the look by giving her a kick, and she looks away.
She spends a while chatting to the birthday family, sharing a little wine in a toast, then she moves on, gradually closer to the man. Only when she reaches his table does she allow herself to meet his gaze. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your meal,’ She eyes his plate, empty apart from the watercress garnish. ‘How was the sea bass?’
‘Excellent, thank you. You’re busy tonight.’ His voice is smooth, his accent refined.
‘Yes, it’s good for a Thursday. Have you been here before?’
‘Quite a few times but I don’t usually see you.’
Not a restaurant critic then.
‘I only come out on busy nights. People aren’t keen to have attention drawn to them when it’s quiet, so I stay in the kitchen - a woman’s place.’ Her eyes twinkle. He ignores her opening for banter, so she rushes on, ‘I’m glad you enjoyed your meal, I’ll get someone to clear your table,’ and tops up his wine.
As she turns to leave, he murmurs his thanks.
‘It‘s my pleasure.’ She smiles coquettishly over her shoulder then feels silly when he seems to be weighing her up.
The lights go out and Liz materialises from the kitchen carrying a large cake in the shape of a 60. Happy Birthday to You romps from the speakers, and sparklers on top of the cake send tiny shards of light into the gloom. Other diners turn to watch the spluttering concoction. Teeth, noses and chins turn a fleeting, flickering silver as it passes them.
The birthday family begins to sing, and the others join them, Happy birthday dear hmm hmm, happy birthday to you-oooo. There are cheers and claps as the lights go up and the beaming middle-aged lady blows out her candles. Millie glances at the table for one and the handsome stranger smiles at her.
Later, after the diners have left and she is clearing tables, Paul stomps down the stairs looking tired and thoughtful.
‘Anything wrong Paul. Would you like a drink?’
Paul’s face brightens. ‘A beer’d be great.’
‘Just help yourself, would you? I’m afraid there’s no draft but there are bottles or cans in the fridge or on the shelf.’
Paul potters behind the bar, exploring, and eventually flips the top from a bottle and tips back his head, letting the chilled liquid glug straight down his throat.
He lowers the bottle, half empty. And looks at Millie. ‘Can I get you something?’
Millie shakes her head. ‘No thanks. It’s too easy to help yourself. I try not to now. I drank too much wine at first and put on about half a stone.’
‘You look OK to me. Paul sweeps his eye up and down Millie’s petite body.’
‘Thanks.’ She looks away and concentrates on wiping the tables. ‘Help yourself to another drink. I bet you’re parched.’
‘Thanks. Just one more. I’m driving.’ He drains his bottle and helps himself to another. ‘You were busy tonight. Couldn’t help having a look.’
Millie pauses on her way to the kitchen with an armful of tablecloths. ‘Yes, it was a good night.’
‘Weird to see a bloke eating on his own.’
Millie halts, and her eyes fly to Paul’s. Is he teasing her? But his face is straight as he raises the second bottle to his lips.
‘Actually, I thought he might be a critic,’ she said. ‘Turns out he’s been in a few times though, so he must just like his own company I suppose.’
‘And your food.’ Paul tilts the bottle and closes his eyes. His Adam’s apple jiggles like a rat in a sack, as he swallows the last of his beer. He bangs the bottle onto the bar. ‘Well, thanks for the beer. See yer.’
‘Bye Paul. Thanks for giving up your afternoon off.’
‘De nada.’
She watches him leave. He seems to have something on his mind. She shrugs and carries on to the kitchen.
Chapter 36
Lunchtime service is coming to an end. Millie polishes a glass and places it carefully on a shelf. On the other side of the bar, the restaurant is a half set stage - some tables pristine with white cloths and shining cutlery, others littered with crumbs, and cluttered with used coffee cups and glasses containing lemon slices or wine dregs.
A final group of diners, three middle aged ladies who have giggled guiltily while choosing the most extravagant and fattening meals, make moves to leave. They hug each other then turn, apologetic about the lateness of their departure, to thank Daisy, who is clearing their table.
Millie looks up to call goodbye to them but is startled to see her elegant, gold rimmed stranger holding the door. The women twitter out, looking at him through the corners of their eyes, and he nods and flirts then steps inside and lets the door close behind them. Wearing a confident smile, he approaches the bar and slips off his coat, draping it over a stool and perching on another, at the same time ordering a gin and tonic.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Millie pulls an apologetic face. ‘We’re closed for lunch. You’re welcome to a drink, but I don’t want to mislead you into thinking of it as an aperitif.’
‘I know you’re closed,’ he replies with another grin ‘I hope you don’t mind if I sit and talk to you for a while?’
‘Of course not.’
It would be a lie to say she has not thought about this man a few times since his visit. What girl would not? ‘Ice and lemon?’
‘Lovely. Will you join me?’
‘Well, just one, thank you. I have the car here.’ Her fingers shake as she pulls two hi-ball glasses from a shelf.
Liz is cleaning up in the kitchen and Daisy, after scanning Mr Gold Rim, passes through the connecting door to join her. She and Liz will no doubt enjoy a bit of speculation while they complete the last jobs of the afternoon.
Millie clinks ice into glasses and adds slices of lemon. She measures in gin and opens a couple of tonic water bottles, placing one glass in front of each of them.
He introduces himself as James. Millie proffers a damp hand, and they are soon discussing business in the restaurant, and James’s own line, which is property development. He buys run down premises and modernises or rebuilds them as sleek apartments, travelling all over the co
untry in search of the right opportunities. He has recently completed one in Lymchester, some 50 miles away. She must let him show her round. The way her business is growing she will soon be looking for an expensive ‘pad’.
Millie finds herself leaning on the counter, gazing at him, talking too much and laughing at nothing. She explains her home arrangements, and he in turn reveals his own story. He is a divorcee, but happily so, with no wish to settle down. He is too busy enjoying his business and his independence.
After half an hour James looks at his watch, and knocking back the last dribble of liquid, says he must be somewhere. Millie too must get on and she bustles to the till to cash up, trying to look relaxed, while wondering if he will ask her for a date. He shrugs on his coat and then, instead of leaving, he comes behind the bar and stands close to her. She fumbles with a handful of coins as the rough material of his sleeve brushes against her bare arm. For a wild moment she wonders if he is going to kiss her, or even rob her, but before she has time to deal with these possibilities, he leans forward and murmurs into her ear, ‘You and I could be very good together. Two professionals, independent, no strings.’ He softens his voice. ‘I could make you very happy.’
A shot of desire fires right to Millie’s groin, and her cheeks sizzle like two embers.
James turns from her and slips a business card from the top of the bar, into his pocket. He crosses to the door, and as he steps out into the night, he throws back a flirtatious look. ‘I’ll call you,’ he says, and closes the door over a wink.
Millie drops her trembling body into a nearby seat. That is one sexy man. She thinks back over their meeting, knowing that she wants him to call.
No strings, he said.
Chapter 37
Three weeks pass before he calls. Now, she is inside Feast waiting for their first night out. Her mind is not on any task. Guilt and anticipation vie for supremacy.
Upstairs, work is progressing on the new restaurant space. Paul has been in and out, and when she let slip that she had a date he was all ears. She regretted speaking of it and did not expand when he teased and probed. She has the feeling that Paul fancies her, but she is not interested. Too complicated. Still, it is nice to feel you are attractive.
The restaurant is empty, final tasks completed and staff despatched to their own dramas. She glances at the door then goes to check the kitchen, a quick glance, not her usual tightening of water and gas taps and checking of doors. Back in the bar she resorts to polishing sparkling glasses and wiping immaculate shelves. A lorry rumbles past, blinking out the light from a streetlamp opposite. Without aim she meanders among the tables, straightening a chair here and a napkin there.
When the knock finally comes, she starts. James grins through the glass, his fist poised to knock again, then he is inside.
‘I hope you don’t mind a short walk; I’ve left the car round the corner in Watco’s car park. I had to get a few bits and pieces, and it seemed silly to move it.'
Millie does not mind anything. She leaves him by the bar while she goes to the loo - again and checks her make-up - again. With her coat over an arm she returns, to find him studying the menu.
‘I thought we might eat in tonight.’ he says, eyes on the open folder.
Could he mean here in her restaurant? Millie experiences a pang of disappointment, but he goes on, ‘You know the development I mentioned, in Lymchester? I thought you might enjoy seeing it. There’s a show flat I’m pretty proud of. Only if you’re interested though.’ His deep eyes lock onto hers and she is sucked in.
His black BMW is at the end of the car park, nearest the road and furthest from the entrance to the supermarket. A few people have parked nearer the building, hardly surprising at this late hour.
He drives fast, a bit too fast but Millie is excited. Her nerves stretch, and each bump and twist of the road sends a hot flare through her body. She looks at his profile, jaw firm and eyes fixed on the road ahead, taking bends with deft confidence. He does not speak much, leaving her with little to do but wonder what is in the Watco bag between her knees.
After 40 minutes or so the car turns through tall, wrought iron gates, and James steers the car to the back of an impressive edifice.
With the Watco bag clutched in her fist, Millie stares through the darkness at an Edwardian block of three stories, restored to its original beauty but with a modern twist. The pipe work and window frames, although traditional in design, are of ultra-modern steel that gleams in the low light of an outside lamp. James takes the bag from her and guides her round the building to a front door of light wood embedded with steel bands that form the rectangular shapes found in a traditional Georgian door. As smooth and cool as the surface of a table.
Inside an impressive curving stairway leads to a galleried landing, but they do not go up. James unlocks a door to the right of the entrance and holds it open. Her shoulder brushes against his chest as she passes through the doorway. High ceilings and thick carpet meet her eyes, but she is in no state to take them in.
James swings the shopping bag into the spartan but beautiful kitchen to the left of the hall and calls back to her to take off her coat and dump it in the bedroom, ‘It’s at the end of the hall. Go on in.’
She slides her feet from her shoes, and thick tufts of carpet sprout between her toes as she walks between apricot coloured walls to the master bedroom. Wow! An enormous bed, and are those silk sheets? There is a jacuzzi and a double shower.
‘Turn on the hot tub,’ James calls, ‘We can drink our Champagne in there.’
She fumbles with clumsy fingers and manages to get water to spring from little holes that puncture the surface of the deep tub.
Back in the kitchen James has laid cutlery, napkins and wine flutes on the table. A bottle of Champagne pokes from a glass wine-cooler beside the sink. ‘I hope you don’t mind eating in here. I’d like to keep the flat tidy. I’m expecting a viewer tomorrow and I don’t want us to spend half the night cleaning before we leave. I can think of better things to do with our time, can’t you?’ He gives her the look again and she is a schoolgirl on a date with a film star.
‘Did I hear you say Champagne?’ Her voice sounds artificial.
‘Mais oui.’ He flourishes the bottle in front of her eyes. ‘Will this be to Madame’s taste?’
‘Perfetto,’ she replies in her mother’s native tongue.
The cork makes a muffled pop inside a tea towel and James pours two glasses.
The oven light blinks off and he slides in foil containers, the contents of which, he tells her, have been created by an ex-girlfriend with an outside catering business.
While he works, Millie returns to the bathroom to check on the Jacuzzi, and soon she senses movement close behind her. James leans across and stands their glasses on the edge of the tub then pulls her towards him and methodically removes her clothing one item at a time until she stands, naked and quaking before him. He undoes his own shirt and throws it across the room, then pulls off his shoes, and lines them up, side by side, never taking his eyes from her face. When he is undressed, he stands, almost touching her. Millie waits for his lead, but he does nothing, just looks at her body. She looks at his: smooth, muscular, flat stomach, huge erection.
He lifts his hand and places the tip of his index finger on her right nipple and an explosion of desire surges through her body, then he takes her hand, leads her to the Jacuzzi and switches on the bubbles.
She climbs in and takes the glass he holds out.
He sits in the water beside her, his hip millimetres from hers.
Tiny jets pummel her naked skin and she is overwhelmed with lust but still he doesn’t touch her. His arm drapes along the edge of bath behind her and he tilts his glass towards hers until the rims touch with a small tink. ‘To a long and satisfying friendship.’ He takes a gulp, and she raises her glass in response, then he removes the glass from her hand, puts both drinks on a ledge and lowers his cold lips to her left nipple.
She arches her
body towards him, but he presses her back. He works his mouth down her body, plunging his head into the water until she is nearly mad with lust then his head bursts to the surface and he shakes his hair like a dog and turns from her to take another sip of champagne. The pummelling in the tub has stopped and he stands, lifts her from the Jacuzzi and carries her, dripping, to the bed. Now she is allowed to touch him, now she can make him pant with the same lust she is feeling. She will show him every trick she has, and he’ll be back for more.
Later they sit naked, eating braised pigeon and sipping more Champagne. Soon they are panting and throbbing again, first on the kitchen table, and then on the hall floor.
On the way home, every inch of Millie’s skin feels alive. James drives in silence, occasionally putting his hand on her thigh.
At 4am the street outside Feast is empty. She leans to him, and they share a deep kiss before she climbs onto the pavement feeling transparent, glad nobody can see her.
There is no need to go inside the restaurant, so she follows the brickwork down the shadowy side passage to her car. The Volkswagen crouches in its dark space, overshadowed by the locked kitchen door and two battered refuse bins with hinged lids, that smell of rotting vegetables. She opens the car door and is relieved when the interior light brightens the little area. When her car noses out of the alleyway James is at the roadside opposite. He flashes his lights and rockets away.
At home she creeps up the stairs and showers before sliding under her duvet. Her breasts still carry the memory of James’s lips, and her mind sings.