Martinis and Memories

by Martinis

  ‘But you won’t stay?’

  Savvy pressed her lips together. ‘I want to create the menu, I want to hire the chefs, and I want to fly back every couple of months to do training, check in and create new dishes. I won’t be in anyone’s way and you’ll get along as before.’

  ‘But you’ll be a partner in the business?’

  ‘Actually, I want to use my money as a buy-in for Jacques,’ she said, watching my eyes for a response. ‘He wants to be part of the club, in a more tangible way. He can’t keep performing and he’s proven himself with all of this, hasn’t he? How much he cares about you and the club? How capable he is?’

  I frowned. ‘Jacques loves performing. He loves being onstage. He only deals with the other stuff because he’s good at it and it lets him perform.’

  Savvy shook her head. ‘I think you should talk to him about that. He’s proud, he doesn’t want to come barging in and begging you to be part of something, but you guys are an excellent team and he deserves this.’

  Could that really be true? Jacques was my right-hand man, and he’d been the driving force behind trying to save the club. But I didn’t think he wanted more.

  Yet, there had been jokes about his age, the excuses for putting other performers first, that wince as he’d held his position onstage that opening night… Jacques was much more than just a performer at the club. He did everything. Maybe he’d been trying to tell me all along.

  Everything was suddenly starting to seem a little bit possible. A new start, as a team, rather than on my own.

  ‘Didn’t you want that money for your own place?’ I asked her. ‘How will you start up without it?’

  ‘Well, I imagine my reputation as the chef who designed the menu at the famous London Martini Club might give me a boost.’ Savvy grinned at me then reached across to pat my hand. ‘Look, we’re still figuring out our dream, we’re still learning and deciding where we want to build our life and I’m kind of enjoying the adventure right now. I want to keep travelling, keep seeing and tasting and learning. I can put my dream on hold for a couple more years whilst we save yours.’

  ‘I…’ I struggled to find the words. ‘Have you spoken to Jacques about it?’

  ‘Yes, I just came from his, where he’s currently unshaven, wearing a smoking jacket and making a list of everything you’d need to do to get back up and running. He’s not given up. He’s sad and heartbroken, but he still thinks there’s a chance. I didn’t tell him about the money, I just asked him what he’d do if he could do anything. He wants this.’

  ‘And what would I do? If Jacques is in charge, and you sort the kitchen, what’s my role?’

  Savvy laughed. ‘You would be the same as you always have been – our leader.’

  I sat there, trying to think about what she wanted, why she would want that. All those opportunities, cookery school, the chance to start up anywhere in the world, and it sounded like she cared more about the Martini Club.

  ‘What are you saying, darling?’

  ‘I’m saying, darling, that you created something wonderful on your own, but maybe as partners, the three of us, we could create something even better.’

  ‘I’ve been doing it alone so long, I can’t even imagine what a partner would look like.’

  Savvy grinned, placing her hand on mine. ‘Don’t worry, I can. Let me tell you all about it.’

  Epilogue

  8 months later…

  It was a chilly night in February, but the crowds outside queued patiently, their laughing sizzling along with the sound of their pearl necklaces and beaded flapper dresses. Everyone looked exquisite, the women with their dark lipstick and slicked-back hair, the men in their suits. It wasn’t always Twenties night, but I particularly enjoyed them.

  I wore my favourite sparkly black floor-length dress, holding a champagne coupe and surveying the place. It was buzzing with excitement. The band were already playing onstage, one of Brodie’s contacts – a young group playing high-energy versions of vintage tunes. Their moustaches were particularly impressive.

  I watched with amazement as Jacques directed the staff gently but clearly, smiling at guests and keeping his eyes on the clock, the timings from the kitchen clearly on his mind.

  I watched as groups of young women, sparkling like Daisy Buchanan at her best, posed with our giant Martini glass, the only thing that had survived the fire. We went with the scorch marks and branded the front of it with our logo. The huge glass was filled with fake, oversized diamonds, plastic paperweights that Aria had tracked down and lovingly arranged, draped with long chains of pearls, and the odd white gerbera. The girls smiled for the camera, and pointed to the sign on the wall that declared our hashtag. One photograph would be chosen each month, and the winner got a free ticket back to one of our shows. Aria, quite frankly, was a genius.

  She bounced over to me, her short black hair slicked back in a Twenties style, her lips dark and eyeshadow perfectly done.

  ‘My God, you look amazing!’ I smiled at her, then pointed out the selfies by the Martini glass. ‘Best idea you ever had.’

  ‘So far,’ she said, grinning. ‘I have a lot more. We’re going way further than you went before.’

  ‘You want to arrange to talk next week? I do love a business lunch.’ I tucked my arm through hers as we walked through the crowd.

  ‘Absolutely, but also, I’m having a flat warming, and wondered if you wanted to come?’ She looked at me with hopeful eyes.

  ‘You want me there?’

  ‘Of course.’ She nudged me with her hip before stopping and facing me. ‘You’re the guest of honour. If I hadn’t started a fuck-off fund, I wouldn’t have the flat. I wouldn’t be out of a bad situation… I wouldn’t have my dream job.’

  I waved it away. ‘It was all you. You made it happen.’

  ‘But sometimes people just need to be given a chance. To feel like they won’t fall flat on their face if they fail.’ Aria’s smile was wide, and she shook her head at herself. ‘Sorry, that was cheesy. But I want you to come. Besides, we’re friends, aren’t we?’

  I couldn’t fight the smile. ‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Good, I’ll send you the details. Are you heading upstairs for the engagement party?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah, but I’ll pop down and keep an eye on things here later.’

  Aria pointed out Jacques, who was sweet-talking a group of women in the corner, introducing their server with a flourish, before turning and winking at me.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll need to.’

  ‘No, I suppose I won’t.’

  She squeezed my hand and went over to her table, where her friends were waiting. Whilst Aria did the odd night covering on the bar, she was now my marketing manager. And she was the best investment I could have made. We could have made.

  Jacques and I were natural partners, because we had been all along, really. We were taking turns overseeing tonight, so he’d come up to the party in a couple of hours, and I’d go back downstairs.

  It had been a hard slog, building everything up from the ground, from absolutely nothing, but that was how you knew what people were worth, and how much they cared. My mother had been a surprising help, even with the most basic of tasks. I thought she’d want to be critical, looking at things and tearing them down, but no, she was on her knees, scrubbing the floor, or helping with the decor. She’d always been an excellent seamstress, making my costumes as a child, and she used that passion to create gorgeous curtains and chair fabric. The booths had been reupholstered and looked perfect.

  She had meant to go home, for her and Sam to date casually for a while, but she’d stayed to help with the bar, moved into his and never left. They were in America right now, meeting Sam’s daughter. She’d really shown how supportive she could be, and Sam had softened a little, opened up more. He wasn’t so much of a mystery. Now, my mother was the person I shared that bottle of wine with whilst he drank his whisky at the end of the night, trampling up the s
tairs to their flat to talk about nothing. Somehow, she fit in quite nicely.

  I stepped into the old-fashioned lift to the side of the bar and went up to the top floor. When I walked out, I was still always shocked at what they’d done with the space. The concrete area that had once been my garden rooftop retreat was now a tropical rooftop bar that rivalled the best in town.

  When we’d first come to assess the damage, it was Jacques that mentioned it – the rooftop. He’d admitted he used to go up there for a breather, or to sit and unwind before locking up most nights. It was a secret rooftop garden for each of us, and we decided it had to be used. And it had to be something that represented both of us, starting over, rising from the ashes.

  It had been the day we heard they’d found Euan and he’d confessed. Arson was a lot more serious than any of the petty stuff he’d been into before, but honestly, I was just relieved they found him in one piece. He owed money to some nasty people. He sent me letters every so often, apologizing, trying to justify everything. The divorce had come through pretty quickly after that, and I wondered whether if I’d done it earlier, everything would have been different.

  And yet, like everything else, if we hadn’t been through that, we wouldn’t have what we had now.

  Even with the wintry weather, the rooftop bar was nicely contained with tall floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a 360-degree view of the city, lit up like Christmas lights. Huge leafy plants added to the tropical feel, along with strung lights in brightly coloured jars. Along the ceiling a huge red feathery bird made of paper hung, strewn with lights, its huge curling tail feathers leading down to the bar, becoming flame-like as it blended into the wall.

  And there was Milo, behind the bar, doing his thing, throwing cocktail shakers around behind his back and pouring with a flourish. He smiled at customers and made jokes. They’d flown in last week for the engagement party and had both been all hands on deck. I liked seeing how they worked together.

  The food was served on trays tonight, small nibbles and bites especially for the party. I looked around for the guest of honour, but before I could find her, she threw herself at me.

  ‘Bel!’ Mia squawked, her cheeks rosy from the wine she grasped in her hand. ‘This is so wonderful, thank you for giving us the space. And for arranging all this!’

  I waved a hand. ‘It’s really nothing. Savvy did the food, Milo’s on the bar. I just bossed people around and put up some balloons.’

  Mia raised an eyebrow. ‘You did more than that – the Ferris wheel of sweets, with the personally stamped paper bags? The signature cocktails and the decorations? It’s just…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s just perfect.’

  ‘Well, you deserve good things,’ I said, trying not to remind her of the losses she’d faced before. I liked Mia, even not knowing her that well. She was scrappy and feisty and spoke her mind. I liked seeing people getting what they deserved. And she certainly deserved to stand in a big fancy party looking fabulous, with her fiancé looking at her like he couldn’t believe she’d agreed to marry him.

  To be fair, none of us could, really.

  ‘What’s it like, being engaged?’ I asked her, trying to be one of those people who asked those questions, got excited and gossiped about it all.

  ‘Like being in love, but with more champagne,’ she grinned. ‘You know, I didn’t really want to have a party, because I didn’t really have any friends. I had Savvy, and Jacques, and some people from my old job, and my stepmum’s here, but… I was afraid it would look sad.’

  She looked around at the room, at the rowdy Italians she’d been pulling her hair out ferrying around London for the last week, at Salvatore’s friends, and Savvy’s family, and smiled.

  ‘Jacques will be up soon, he just wanted to make sure the food all got out okay,’ I said, worried she was upset.

  ‘No, I know.’ Mia waved my concern away. ‘I just mean, it’s amazing to look at these people and realize: it’s quality, not quantity.’

  I smiled. ‘You know, I know exactly what you mean.’

  ‘You’re coming to the hen do, right?’

  ‘Oh.’ I blinked. ‘I’m invited?’

  ‘Of course you are!’ Mia frowned at me. ‘I’ve always thought a crazy night out with too much drinking was a great excuse to finally cement friendships. You have to come.’

  ‘Okay!’ I said, and let her throw her arms around me again before rushing off to greet the next person.

  Brodie sidled up and put an arm around my waist.

  ‘You’re not playing yet?’

  ‘Later,’ he said, rocking us side to side, ‘and it looks like that song me and Sam worked on might have an audience. You’ll never guess which famous rock goddess I was just talking to.’

  I snorted. ‘Persephone Black by any chance?’

  ‘She says anyone picked out by Sam Callaghan is a safe bet. She wants to hear what I’m working on.’ He gave me a squeeze and I knew how excited he was. In between helping with the club, working his job, spending time with his son and keeping me sane, Brodie was managing to make music again. He was giving it another chance, and it seemed it was paying off.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking that sometimes things happen in the strangest order.’ I looked across the room to see Savvy emerging from the kitchen, her chef whites gleaming. She held up a tray and winked at me. Above her, the rooftop bar’s huge sign read: Phoenix at the Martini Club. We rose from the ashes, and we’ve got a story to tell. That was what Jacques said at the time, and we immediately knew it was true.

  ‘I’ve been telling you all along, it’s completely about timing. Some things are meant to be,’ Brodie said, holding me close as we stared out at the city lights below, twinkling with possibility. Tomorrow was always another day, and I would wake up with friends and family and people I loved, alongside a business we had built to thrive, together.

  ‘You know something, darling?’ I said. ‘You’re absolutely right.’

  Cocktail Recipe: Bel's Intense Espresso Martini

  25ml high quality vodka

  25ml Kahlua

  35ml fresh espresso

  chocolate covered coffee beans to garnish

  Makes one cocktail

  1. Chill Martini glasses, darlings.

  2. Add all ingredients into a shaker, over ice. Add the coffee last so it doesn't melt everything!

  3. Shake with vigour!

  4. Pour delicately to get that gorgeous crema and top with chocolate covered espresso beans (or the regular kind).

  5. Enjoy!

  The Martini Club Series

  All the ingredients for a perfect romance…

  Purchase now…

  Cocktails and Dreams

  Prosecco and Promises

  Martinis and Memories

  First published in the United Kingdom in 2018 by Canelo

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © A. L. Michael, 2018

  The moral right of A. L. Michael to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781911591320

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Look for more great books at www.canelo.co

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