Lunching at Laura's

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Schadenfreude,’ Joel had said, and shaken his head in mock reproof. ‘Pleasure at another’s downfall –’

  ‘Don’t you feel it?’ she had demanded.

  ‘Be damned sure I do!’ he had said and then had made a small grimace. ‘But don’t enjoy it too much, Laura. If you do it will mean you’re still involved with him. The only emotion you ought to feel now when you think of him is no emotion. Indifference. That’s the only way to be sure you’re rid of the infection. Not when you hate, but when you no longer care.’

  And now, six months since that day, she knew he had been right. She could think of Philip Cord, even use his name, and not care at all. It was a wonderful way to feel, so free, so renewed, and she revelled in it.

  But there was more than that to her new contentment. There was the way she was feeling about Joel. It wasn’t something they talked about, or at least not yet, that comfortable feeling that had grown between them. She hadn’t actually noticed it was there at first. She had just been content to go along with his plans for his new career as shopkeeper, adding her own ideas as they came up, spending more and more time with him, finding his company at first agreeable and then important and eventually indispensable to her peace of mind. He was part of her life now, the best part, as she knew she was of his. But it was still something they didn’t talk about. Yet.

  The phone beside her rang and she picked it up.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Laura? Tim Wafare. Can you manage a table for four, do you think? I know I’ve left it late, but I’ve got an important client who’s just come in from the States, as jetlagged as hell, but I have to make a fuss of him. I’m counting on you, Laura – I really need to bring him in to you or I swear I lose the contract and if that happens I lose the agency, so help me I do –’

  She made soothing noises as her gaze travelled over the tables and then, as it reached the corner table her glance sharpened and she said into the phone, ‘I think I can help, just this once, Tim. Give me half an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting till two for your lunch? No? Then come then.’

  She put the phone down and went across the room, stopping at some tables to talk for a moment and just smiling at others until eventually she reached the corner and then stood very straight backed and unsmiling beside the people sitting there.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said and her voice was very calm and cool. ‘Mr. Davriosh, I see.’

  He looked up at her, and grinned, very pleased with himself.

  ‘You remember me, then! I’m honoured, Laura!’

  ‘Miss Horvath,’ she said coldly. ‘May I ask who booked this table?’ Her eyes moved across the three faces, and stopped for a brief moment at one of them.

  ‘Not me, Miss Horvath,’ Preston said. ‘You never seem to have a table for me. I have to leave it to others to bring me here.’

  The other man was only vaguely familiar to her and she lifted her brows at him. He was a very sleek looking person, wearing an obviously expensive white leather jacket over a silk shirt, and he smiled at her coolly and she knew she liked him as little as she liked his companions.

  ‘My name is Malplackett, Miss Horvath,’ he murmured. ‘I booked the table.’

  ‘I see. And have you ordered your lunch?’

  ‘Indeed yes,’ Malplackett said. ‘A little of your excellent pink trout and cucumber salad. After we have finished our wild cherry soup, of course. Is that what you would have recommended?’

  ‘Had I know you were here, I would have recommended you save yourselves the trouble of reading the menu,’ she said and then smiled, a self satisfied little smile that was clearly not meant to please them in the least. ‘Because I find I am unable to serve you.’

  ‘Eh?’ Davriosh said and Preston shook his head gloomily.

  ‘You see Joe? I told you, if you’re in my business no one has a decent word for you. You should have stayed with your real estate instead of coming in with me –’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand, Miss Horvath.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do, Mr. Malplackett,’ Laura said, now enjoying herself greatly. ‘I don’t know you, but I do know your companions. And since I regard neither of them as people I welcome in my restaurant I now ask you to leave. There will be no charge for the wine you have already had, nor for the first course I see you have started. I simply ask you to leave quietly and at once. I have other customers for whom this table is required. Had I not been occupied with my Extra rooms upstairs when you arrived I could have saved myself some expense and you and your guests the trouble of sitting down. Now, are you leaving quietly, or must I make a fuss? I can, you know.’

  ‘Try and make me,’ Malplackett said softly and the ugly note in his voice should have frightened her. But it didn’t; it hardened her determination. This was the first time in all her history as a restaurateur that she had done anything like this. In the past when she had discovered that she had customers she disliked she had done all she could to get them served quickly and out, but she had never actually thrown anyone out. Now she was going to do it, even if it meant calling the police. She had never been so determined in all her life.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll have any problems,’ she said more loudly now and looked round. The people at the other tables had realised there was something going on, and were listening with lively interest, and as she caught the eye of the man sitting at the next table she added, ‘Will I, Mr. Wilson?’

  ‘Absolutely not, Laura!’ the man said and stood up. ‘I’m always glad to be of any service to you –’ and the softness of his Scottish accent lent added menace to his words.

  Preston was on his feet, shrugging on his coat and after a moment Davriosh stood up too. ‘Thanks for lunch, Ed,’ Preston said loudly. ‘As much as I’ve had. I’ll get a hamburger for the rest. Come on. Joe. Believe me – I know when I’m not wanted. It’s no skin off my nose to be asked to go, but it’d hurt like hell if it got physical. Good afternoon, Miss Horvath –’ And he went lumbering across the restaurant with Joe Davriosh behind him.

  Someone at a table near the door produced an ironic cheer and then someone else began to clap their hands slowly and one after another took it up until the whole place was echoing and Angie appeared at the door from the kitchen, red faced and sweating under his white toque to stare in amazement.

  ‘Out, out, out,’ someone began to chant and with great promptitude everyone else joined in and then, moving with deceptive laziness the man Wilson stepped forwards and put his hands on the back of Malplackett’s chair. ‘Can I help you?’ he murmured.

  Malplackett looked at Laura and then over his shoulder at the man behind him and with a ghost of a grimace stood up. At once the restaurant burst into applause as he walked towards the door and Laura went after him.

  She held the door open as Malplackett went with what dignity he could muster and stood there, pink with pleasure and grinning from ear to ear as her customers went on applauding, and then held the door invitingly open as four men appeared on the other side of it, coming from the Frith Street archway. They stood puzzled and clearly taken aback just inside the restaurant as the applause went on and the cheering and laughter increased at the sight of their faces.

  ‘Good afternoon, Tim!’ Laura said and closed the door. ‘So glad you could get here. Your table will be ready in just a moment –’ She looked back over her shoulder to where Janos was already stripping and relaying it. ‘And there’s some excellent pink salmon trout and cucumber today. I hope you and your guests enjoy it –’ And calmly she led the way to the corner as at last the cheers stopped and the other lunchers returned to their meals in high good humour.

  ‘Jesus,’ said one of the men in the quartet as Janos held his chair out and settled him. His face was blank with amazement and his eyes looked dazed. ‘What sort of a joint is this, for Chrissakes?’

  ‘This?’ Tim Wafare said and grinned at Laura who had brought the menu to them. ‘My dear chap, this place is one of the sights of London, more important tha
n St. Paul’s or the Tower or the House of Lords. This is what it means when you tell people you’re lunching at Laura’s. Right, Laura?’

  ‘Right,’ she said, and handed them the menu.

  FAMILY TREE –