by Celia Imrie
‘This week!’ said Sally. ‘I’m impressed. So you’ll change the menu every week.’
‘The plan is to keep everything seasonal and according to what’s looking good in the market.’
‘How exciting,’ said Sally, looking forward to many evenings in the restaurant. ‘Don’t you think it’s fun, Cathy? I fear I’ll be eating in here all the time and put on stones, if not tons. I can never resist tasty grub.’
‘As a matter of fact, Sally darling, I was about to email you inviting you to be our guest tomorrow night. We’re having a kind of dress rehearsal. Just to try it all out without a paying public.’
‘Count me in; I could rustle up some numbers if you like,’ said Sally. ‘You’ll have to let us pay you a nominal sum, though, to cover your costs. Start as you mean to go on or you’ll all be broke in a fortnight.’
‘It’s only a preview, Sally. More for us than you. We’ll be using you as guinea pigs, and giving ourselves a warning of how things may turn out. So it should really be on the house.’
‘Who else will be coming?’
‘The usual gang,’ said Carol.
‘Oh yes. Zoe? Sian? How about Marcel?’ As Sally spoke, she noticed that Carol’s eyes flicked towards the closed kitchen door. Sally thought she looked slightly agitated.
Carol stood up. ‘So, Cathy, shall I begin by showing you the ropes?’
Cathy asked, ‘What ropes?’ and Sally’s phone started buzzing. She flipped open the case and looked at the caller’s name.
Stanislav!
‘I’m sorry.’ Sally got up and backed away. ‘I’ll just take this outside.’
Sally had no intention of letting either Carol or Cathy hear this call.
‘Hello! Could you hold the line a moment?’
She started heading towards the back door.
Carol signalled quickly and whispered, ‘Boxes of vegetables piled out there, Sally.’
She turned around, left the restaurant and crossed the road to sit on the harbour wall.
‘I don’t have the words to describe how sorry I am . . . ’ he said.
Sally left him in silence.
‘I thought perhaps I could pick you up and treat you to dinner,’ he went on. ‘Only this time there will be no one else there to stir things up. I would like to propose . . . ’
Sally held her breath.
‘ . . . dinner on my yacht. Just you and me. Out in the harbour at Cannes, watching the fireworks display.’
Sally loved boats, fireworks and food . . .
‘I adore fireworks,’ said Sally.
‘Then it’s a yes?’
She didn’t want to appear to be the keen teenager she felt she was. ‘When would this outing take place, Stanislav?’
‘Tomorrow, of course.’
Tomorrow! Sally had only just promised herself at La Mosaïque. Good. Better to play hard-to-get, to seem cool.
‘I don’t think I can do tomorrow, actually.’
Sally heard Stanislav inhale deeply.
‘I would be so disappointed,’ he said.
Wow! How keen was he being? Perhaps Jackie had not been exaggerating.
‘That’s all right, Stanislav. Couldn’t we do another night?’
‘But the fireworks are tomorrow!’
Now she was torn. Perhaps she should take up his offer. She’d have to wait a whole year to have the same possibility.
How romantic, anyhow, to be out on the harbour at Cannes, dining in a great white gin palace during the film-festival display? Who knew, maybe Steven Spielberg and George Clooney would be on an adjacent boat.
She accepted. She was sure her friends at the restaurant could manage their ‘dress rehearsal’ without her.
* * *
With the new nanny in place, the afternoon at La Mosaïque turned out well. The three kids loved playing with Uncle Ted in the yard, and Theresa cooked up a storm, doing the preparation for every dish that would be on the menu for the next week. She made things like the cakes, which did not need to be done immediately prior to serving. She parboiled and blind-baked and did all the jobs she was going to have to do in the mornings before lunch service. This, she knew, was why she wanted to be part of the project. She was happy working.
She could hear Carol in the next room explaining how to lay the tables and how to serve; how to note down a telephone booking; how to take a coat and present a receipt. From what Theresa could tell, Cathy looked as though she would be quite an asset to the business. She simply needed to brighten up the hangdog expression and put a bit of a spring into her slouchy walk.
A knock on the door and Carol entered, suggesting that from now on, while she finished painting a few more motifs on the dining-room walls, Cathy should help out in the kitchen.
Although happy in her work, Theresa was hot and tired from being on her feet all afternoon. She welcomed the offer of an assistant, especially as she had already overheard, from the dining room, how good Cathy was at picking things up.
She showed her where everything was kept, and told Cathy not to take it personally if she barked out orders. Running a kitchen was a bit like being in the army, she explained. It had to run smoothly under enormous pressure.
‘Oh I know about that,’ said Cathy, tying the bow of her apron tightly. ‘Mummy also says being an actress is like being a soldier. You do as you’re told, you turn up on time, you go where you’re sent and you need enormous self-discipline.’
Theresa couldn’t quite understand what she meant, but smiled anyhow.
‘Do you know how to make a roux?’ she asked.
‘I can learn,’ said Cathy, the faithful, keen puppy dog.
Theresa called for ingredients: ‘Butter, flour, milk, salt . . . ’
Cathy ran around the kitchen presenting packets and jars, while Theresa sought out a pan and whisk.
By the time of the evening rendezvous, between them they had managed to get everything perfectly prepared. Once the others arrived it would be on with the live cooking – ‘Which can only work with an audience,’ said Cathy.
Theresa nodded. Perhaps the girl had a point. There were a few similarities.
William and Benjamin appeared, and were surprised to see order reigned, even with the surplus people present.
Theresa suggested that Ted stay for the tasting. William thought it was a good idea. ‘As long as you’re not expecting kangaroo burgers,’ he added.
‘Hey there, mate,’ said Ted. ‘I’m not a total drongo, you know. I’ve probably eaten in more posh restaurants than any of you. If you recall, my wife is a very successful lady of business. It’s five-star all the way with Sian.’
And that silenced any further comments.
William looked doubtful about including the three grandchildren in the notating. But at that exact moment Imogen arrived and offered to help sample the dishes too. ‘I live in London, you see,’ she said slowly, as though addressing primitive people, ‘where we eat out constantly.’
‘I think we should shove the tables together,’ said Carol. ‘Remember, this isn’t the dress rehearsal, this is strictly sampling. While Cathy was in the kitchen helping Theresa, I made some cards, which we can use to mark everything out of ten.’ She handed out the cards to everyone, including Theresa. ‘I’ve drawn columns. It’s important, Theresa, that you also join in the marking.’
While William and Benjamin talked to Imogen and Ted, Cathy and Theresa went back into the kitchen to make the final touches to the dishes.
There was a rapping on the front door and Ted bolted for the kitchen.
Benjamin went to answer.
Diana Sparks stood on the threshold.
Benjamin opened and closed his mouth a few times.
‘I . . . I . . . hello!’
‘I believe my daughter has taken a job here,’ said Diana, still on the doorstep.
‘Oh?’
‘Cathy? She came here this afternoon, with Sally Doyle, I mean Connor.’
William appeared behind Benj
amin and gasped loudly.
He went into something like a curtsy.
‘Miss Sparks,’ he said breathily. ‘How lovely to meet you. Please come on into our little bijou abode – I mean, um, eatery. Oh no, that sounds awful . . . I . . . ’
Diana stepped in and William stopped talking.
Theresa and Cathy were rushing back and forth from the kitchen to the long table laying down plates. Imogen and the children had gathered round one end, sitting with empty plates before them and pencils ready.
‘Ooh, what’s going on?’
‘We’re having a bit of a tasting session,’ said Benjamin. ‘Cathy is helping Theresa in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Diana smoothed her hair back. ‘I don’t want to intrude.’
‘No, no, you’re not intruding at all. Please come in.’
‘Can I wait for Cathy to finish?’ said Diana. ‘I’ll just sit here, quiet as a mouse, I promise.’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ said William, unable to stop smiling.
Diana raised an eyebrow.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I mean . . . Do join us. If you like . . . ?’
‘We’re marking the dishes out of ten for how much we like them.’ Carol leaned forward and handed her a card. ‘One to ten on appearance, taste and balance of dish.’
‘And putting in opinions and comments, and that stuff,’ said nine-year-old Chloe. ‘It’s going to be very professional.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Diana, taking a seat. ‘Professionalism is sublimely important.’
‘OK – all clear on the western front!’ Ted put his head round the kitchen door as Theresa appeared with the last of the starter dishes. ‘May I join in the fun?’
‘The more the merrier,’ said Theresa. ‘Pull up a pew.’
Ted took the seat next to Diana and held out his hand. ‘Ted Kelly, poet, man of the world, childminder and general factotum. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Australian! I adore Australia. I toured there years ago. We had a hell of a good time.’
‘I’ll take all the credit for that,’ said Ted.
‘It’s a very beautiful country. So excitingly young.’
‘Unlike us,’ said Ted.
‘We’re young,’ said Chloe indignantly.
‘Very important to have balance in all things,’ said Diana.
William clinked his fork against his glass of water. ‘Now, the sole point of this exercise is to help Theresa, who has been at it all day.’
‘At it?’ said Ted, laughing. ‘Thought that was my job.’
‘We really do want to know your opinions: would you like to pay for this? Would you come again? Which do you like most? Is anything wrong – not enough seasoning, too much, too dry, too heavy, etcetera?’
‘Give them the bad points, why don’t you?’ said Carol, picking up a pencil and a fork. ‘I think it would be very useful to enter positive comments also.’
For the next half hour the dining room was quiet except for the scrape of cutlery on china and the licking of lips. Theresa and Cathy took turns in announcing the names of the dishes.
Once the starters were eaten and marked, Theresa and Cathy served up main courses followed by the desserts. Everyone scribbled away. Cressida sat between Ted and Carol, and they both gave advice on how to put her opinions on the form.
When everything was done, Theresa, Carol and Cathy served the adults with a coffee and the kids with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, while William and Benjamin totalled up the scores and fixed the comments to separate papers marked with the name and description of each dish.
Theresa sat and talked to Carol and tried to act naturally with Diana. Both told her that her recipes were delicious and original.
Theresa felt tingly inside, and wondered why it seemed like triple praise coming from such a star as Diana Sparks.
‘When’s opening night?’ the actress enquired.
‘The day after tomorrow,’ replied Theresa.
‘How do I book a table?’ asked Diana. ‘I’d like to be there.’
Carol fetched the bookings ledger.
‘Make it a table for four,’ Diana added. ‘I’ll bring Sal, if she’s free.’
Theresa dared herself; she hesitated before asking but, as she knew well, nothing ventured nothing gained.
‘Might we be able to let the local paper know?’
Diana flinched and her famed smile became brittle.
‘Let’s think about that,’ she said.
Theresa was aware that if they thought about it they would certainly miss the moment. But getting a photo of a celebrity exiting the building might be just as good publicity as a celebrity being announced beforehand.
While the women were deep in conversation, the men busy marking and the children giggling and running around Nanny Ted, the front door opened and in stepped Marianne.
‘I knew it!’ she said. ‘You had to be hiding in here. It was the only place left.’
She strode up to Ted, who cowered behind the three goggle-eyed children, and slapped him across the face.
‘You’re a bastard,’ she said. ‘If you want to talk, I shall be at my mother’s.’
‘You want to talk to me along with Jackie Westwood?’ said Ted. ‘She’s as mad as a box of frogs. While she’s staying there, no way am I coming in to that house and have to deal with two of you at once.’
Marianne’s eyes widened. ‘Jackie Westwood is staying with my mother?’
Ted winced. He had clearly only just realised that Sally had not told her and that Marianne was in ignorance. Now he had four women to worry about.
Marianne turned on her heels and left.
‘Marianne,’ cried Ted, rising from the corner where he crouched. ‘Don’t go there making trouble.’
‘Order!’ cried William. ‘Order, please!’
Ted grabbed his hat from the coat stand and ran out after Marianne.
Sally was sitting in the kitchen, deep in conversation with Jackie about Stanislav’s invitation, when Marianne burst in, chased by Ted.
Chaos ensued.
While Marianne yelled profanities in Jackie’s direction, Ted threw his arms in the air and hollered.
‘I had no idea he actually belonged to anyone, old bean.’ Jackie was backing up behind a dining chair.
Sally tried to thrust herself between the warring parties.
Marianne spat at Sally, ‘And you are as bad. Sheltering, aiding and abetting . . . ’
‘It was the excitement of being at Cannes,’ exclaimed Ted, as Marianne wrestled with him. ‘And, be fair, you’d told me to bugger off. Nothing happened except that I had a boxing round with Sally’s new boyfriend and we ended up spending all night banged up in the cooler.’
Marianne rounded on Sally.
‘What new boyfriend?’
‘Nobody,’ replied Sally. ‘Not that you know, anyhow.’ She reached out for her daughter. She didn’t care what happened to these other two but had no desire to drive Marianne away.
‘He’s sweet,’ said Jackie.
‘And loaded,’ added Ted. ‘And younger than me.’
‘That is just weird,’ said Jackie, glancing from Sally to Marianne. ‘But he is charming.’
‘And Sally’s a beautiful woman,’ added Ted, realising his gaffe.
Marianne stared in horror and disgust, then said to Ted, ‘I suppose you’re after my mother too?’
A hard rap on the door.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Jackie, glad to find an excuse to edge towards the exit.
She opened up.
On the doorstep stood Sian. She took one look at Jackie and slapped her cheek, then calmly stepped over the threshold to see where the yelling was coming from.
Sally, Ted and Marianne were pulling hair, jabbing at one another, jammed up in a corner looking like a St Trinian’s rugby scrum.
‘Just as I expected – a writhing nest of vipers,’ said Sian serenely. ‘Except that you are supposedly mature adult
s. Are you feeling quite sane?’
Ted extricated himself from the fight and stepped forward.
He flung himself on to his knees before his wife.
‘Take me back, darling,’ he cried. ‘It was always you and only you. I made a big mistake here.’
Sian looked at her prostrate husband, crooked her finger in his direction and said, ‘Does my big bad Teddy want his honey?’
He nodded. She held out her hand. He took it. They left.
Marianne said, ‘I think I am going to be sick.’
‘Well, please don’t do it on my Turkish rug,’ said Sally.
‘Oh lawks, so it was his wife he was on about,’ said Jackie. ‘I obviously got it all wrong. When Ted told me the lover he wanted to ditch was a sharp-tongued non-starter he must have meant you, Marianne, and the mother he thought was a dried-up old twig was obviously . . . ’
‘That’s quite enough, Jackie, thank you,’ snapped Sally, twisting the metal lid off the gin bottle. ‘Does anyone else need a drink?’
Theresa spent a lovely evening with her family. After the tasting at La Mosaïque was over and they had cleaned up the kitchen, leaving everything prepared for the dress rehearsal tomorrow, they all sat out on the terrace of the brasserie enjoying a drink and a snack.
Imogen was very impressed to have met a celebrity, and even the kids were bubbling with excitement, as they had realised that Diana had played the big bad witch in one of their favourite films. On hearing about this, Theresa ordered them bright-green drinks – Perrier Menthe – which they glugged down joyfully.
‘Tastes a bit like toothpaste,’ said Lola. ‘But I like it.’
‘It’s a very witchy drink,’ agreed Cressida.
Imogen leaned back and took a deep breath as she gazed out over the darkening harbour. The sun was setting in a haze of red, and, on the navy-blue horizon, little boats, their lights flashing white and red and green, bounced over the waves heading round the capes in the direction of Cannes or Monte Carlo.
‘I can really see why you wanted to move here, Mum.’ Imogen sipped her chilled glass of local rosé then stabbed at an olive from the small bowl that had arrived with the drinks. ‘They know all about service, don’t they? A drink needs nibbles. You shouldn’t have to ask.’