The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  Thankfully, her father’s passion was contagious, and she had definitely caught a dose of it. Normal, balanced mortals would have told him just to shut up and go away, as he could talk about food twenty-four/seven. Alain had also been chatting to Paloma.

  ‘She is still having the most terrible nightmares. The screams from her room are gut-wrenching, and some of the surrounding boats have complained!’ He tried to make light of it, but did add, ‘It is lucky I don’t let her sleep long. God knows what they would say after eight hours.’

  Paloma knew, however, how worried he really was, and said she would speak with Deirdre. ‘I think she should go home, deal with her private life. But I understand her need for a diversion. Give her some time off. You don’t want to make her ill on top of everything else!’

  The following day Paloma, Alain and Liberty met up for an aperitif.

  ‘Perhaps that is why you choose such silly girls to bed,’ laughed Paloma. ‘So you can concentrate on your first love – food! They can listen to you chattering on, while thinking about their next pedicure, so they don’t need to comment. Nor are they able to, of course.’

  Even Alain had to admit that one girl he spent a week with in Amalfi had been an excellent sounding board for menus; so good, in fact, at listening that when, at the end of the week (spent mostly making love and writing down new food ideas on his laptop in the boat’s cabin), he had asked her to return to London for a party with him the following weekend, she replied, ‘Quoi?’ It turned out she actually spoke no English at all, not one word. Nor did she understand the language.

  When he related this to his daughter and his friend they both fell about laughing, but had to admit that his passion for food had benefited them hugely, to the exclusion of others who took no interest in it.

  ‘But how can people ignore what fuels them and gives them the energy to get through their day?’ asked Liberty.

  ‘You, my girl, have done exactly that for years.’ Liberty’s father looked at her, feeling grateful. Both he and Paloma were thankful that her sense of what was so important to them both had returned.

  Liberty sat back and thought about that statement.

  ‘I suppose I have,’ she riposted. ‘But my family have always been so immersed in food, either writing about it or cooking it, and I think I have just not appreciated its importance. But now I do, and I am living the dream. So I am going to cook supper for you both. Won’t be long!’ And with that she swept off into the kitchen to make an omelette.

  Paloma and Alain looked at each other. Both were thinking the same thing. This time a year ago Liberty was simply another stunning young woman, who took people’s breath away with her captivating eyes and grace, and who could hold a conversation with anyone from the local dry cleaner to the Greek ambassador, as she treated everyone with empathy and intelligence. But now she gleamed, as though her pilot light had been switched on. Like a young horse turning from a riding school hack into a thoroughbred, her eyes sparkled and her skin gleamed. Passion flooded through her, and it was obvious. Her interest in food had only increased her womanly curves rather than adding unsightly pounds to her hips, and the hard work in the kitchens had given her a bit more strength and form.

  Liberty soon rejoined them, bringing plates that held omelettes aux fines herbes, and a green salad tossed with olive oil and lemon juice in an earthenware bowl. They ate quickly and silently, Paloma because she had to return to her kitchen, the others because Liberty was terrified of the criticism bound to flow from Alain’s mouth, and Alain because he was amazed at the perfect seasoning and delicate flavours on his plate.

  ‘You do have a natural ability to taste what you are cooking,’ Alain said when he laid down his cutlery and wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘You can add a pinch of something here and a sliver of that there, until the combination of flavours in the mixture is exactly right. Not everyone can do that. Not everyone has the ability or the need or the passion to do it. I have no qualms at all about your cooking. You already have business skills, so I say, go ahead with your venture. You need to find your property and to prepare it for your opening, and I need to get back to work.’ And Alain hugged her.

  ‘You also have to find somewhere to live, and to sort things out with Percy,’ said Paloma tentatively.

  For the first time since she had left her husband, Liberty suddenly felt very frightened. ‘I have to go back,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I know. I have to. It’s time.’

  ‘Call your friends and your mother, and go and stay with her,’ advised Paloma. ‘It is definitely not a good idea for you to live in a hotel on your own for the time being. You should see your in-laws, too. You were always very close to them, and they deserve your explanation, because goodness knows what Percy has told them about your split.’

  ‘They may not want to see me,’ replied Liberty.

  ‘No need for negatives. You don’t know that until you phone and ask if you can go to visit. You have never been a coward, so don’t start now.’

  Paloma felt as though she was losing a daughter. She felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes, so instead stood up and suggested having ‘a small party’ to send her off. ‘I haven’t had a party since I was sixty and we decorated the restaurant and garden with Chinese lanterns.’

  Liberty tried to insist she didn’t want any fuss made over her, but Paloma only replied, ‘Do let me, darling, for my sake if not for yours. You will be very much missed by all of us. It has been my great pleasure having you to stay for a few weeks.’

  14

  Alain and Liberty flew home after a very late party, into that grey that only Heathrow can reflect after one has returned from sunnier climates. Each thought ‘Why do we love England so much?’ as they gazed out of the plane window. But by the time they were ensconced at the Ritz by a roaring fire, eating dainty sandwiches and drinking champagne, they were smiling again.

  Liberty felt awful for taking her father away from The Dark Horse, knowing he felt it unfair for people to turn up, expecting him to be behind the stoves. She also felt bad for heaping herself on to Paloma. She relayed her apologies, but he simply said, ‘Don’t be so silly. We were only too pleased to be the ones you could ask for help. Your mother will be fuming, but I know Paloma has spoken to her and explained that I insisted on turning up.’

  However, he had to be up and out at four the next morning, so as to drive back to Fickledown, his village, his true love, his kitchen, to throw a bit of a tantrum to show he was back in charge. He admitted to Liberty he was a little miffed at how well they seemed to cope without him. ‘All these years of sweat, tears and never a day off, and they simply coast along as though I’m not needed!’ Liberty knew he had an excellent staff of sous-chefs, commis chefs and a whole pastry section, but she understood he needed to feel at the helm, to be in control at all times. She smiled at her dear daddy and said, ‘You are a control freak, but I am so proud of what you have achieved. If I can manage to accomplish a fifth of what you have done, I will be pleased.’

  Alain took her hand and explained, ‘As much as I look forward to my time off, I crave and miss the buzz and excitement of the kitchen, the mad rush of my days, just as much as the day I opened the restaurant all those years ago.’

  Now he was picking up messages every five minutes and sending emails and texts on his BlackBerry. He made sure supplies were ready for delivery, checking with his restaurant manager and sommelier, who had reported several thefts over the past weeks. It never failed to amaze him how much people would remove, from whole place settings, to ashtrays, to glasses. Once a painting had disappeared from the hallway. Alain had assumed it had been taken by a member of staff, until after an embarrassing and upsetting police investigation it was proved it must have been a customer. After several waiting staff – and good ones are a little like hens’ teeth – had left, an expensive alarm system and CCTV cameras had been installed .

  ‘I can’t believe that people are happy to pay £500 for lunch for four people an
d then steal a loo roll, but it happens,’ he had once explained in an interview.

  Liberty sipped her champagne and watched her father go red in the face as he heard the news that, due to inclement weather, some of his fresh produce was stuck in a refrigerated lorry somewhere in the Channel, and his garlic from the Isle of Wight hadn’t been delivered for the garlic soup to be served as part of the amuse-bouches at tomorrow’s lunch. She realised how attention to detail was so important, and how much she would have to maintain control of every single tiny thing if she were to obtain anywhere near the results her father did, year after year. She didn’t want a Michelin star, but she wanted to give her little place and her customers the impression that she was capable of one, if that was what she desired!

  They walked from the hotel to eat at a local Italian bistro, as both wanted a light meal before an early night. Liberty was going to meet up with her parents-in-law the following day and needed to compose herself. They spent the entire meal drinking a rather mediocre Chianti, but as the food was really terrible – faux Italian, too many ingredients, over-cooked pasta – they didn’t eat much, so found themselves wobbling and weaving back to the Ritz in a melancholy mood. As he kissed his daughter goodnight by her room, Alain asked if she would like him to accompany her to see Cecil and Isabelle, and when she sighed and said ‘yes, but no, if you know what I mean’, he simply told her to call him the moment she had left them.

  They hugged goodbye and both went to sleepless nights. Alain rose at two in the morning and left the hotel, excitedly jumping into his old Porsche which the hotel had stored for him in their long-term parking area, and whizzed down the motorway, thrilled to be getting back, trying not to worry on Liberty’s behalf.

  Liberty eventually got up, feeling grotty and a little apprehensive, had an espresso after checking out but left her bags at the hotel. Her luggage contained the summer wardrobe she had picked up in Florence, and she shivered in the early November air as she was wearing only a light dress and jacket.

  ‘First things first,’ she said to herself, striding towards Regent Street. ‘Warm clothes, and then somewhere to put them.’ She didn’t know, but assumed, that her car would still be parked in the mews garage where she had left it. Percy would be at work, so she would pick up her car along with the few photos and personal possessions she wanted to keep. She had decorated the mews house, but the furniture had all been gifts from her in-laws’ other homes. It had been a place where she had lived, but not hers. Before that she had lived with Isabelle and Cecil, so had felt no need for her own ornaments or paintings. All the wedding gifts of china and glassware she was happy to leave, and she knew that if she even touched the art works, Percy would call the police. Not that she wanted to – they were all his. She decided she needed backup, so she phoned J-T and asked him to go to the house with her.

  ‘Darling! You’re back at last!’ was J-T’s greeting. ‘Where the hell have you been? What’s going on? Oh my God, you need to fill me in. Is it true you have left Percy? Gossip is flying here! I would love to have you to stay, but Bob has got an opening tonight, and everything is complete chaos here.’

  Liberty stopped his verbal diarrhoea. ‘Don’t worry about that, I just want to see Mr and Mrs CR, and then get out of town ASAP. But I need your advice on a few things, and I know how hard it would be to get you to leave the safety of the city, so if you just help me get my car and a few things, I’ll buy you lunch. I need a little lubrication before I see them.’

  ‘Meet you at the mews in one hour.’ He put the phone down.

  Off sped Liberty to Browns, where she could find a complete winter wardrobe under one roof. She accomplished this within the next half-hour, as she knew what she liked and never wavered from the classic styles. She had shopped there for years, and the staff looked after her quickly and efficiently. They suggested bags, boots, scarves to go with each outfit. Satisfied with a grey, camel, black and white group of clothes, Liberty hailed a taxi and returned to the Ritz, collected her suitcases and then, full of trepidation and baggage, told the driver the mews address. And that was how J-T found her, standing on the corner of the street surrounded by huge shopping bags and five large suitcases.

  ‘Is this camouflage, or are you now the smartest bag lady in town?’ he asked as he threw his arms around her and enveloped her in a long hug.

  ‘Aaaargh!’ he yelled in mock terror. ‘Breasts! Get them away from me.’ Then, as only a gay best friend can, he stood back and grabbed them gently, as though appraising them. ‘Bloody hell, darling, how much did THEY cost? Amazing work. AND you have had Botox and fillers. Is this the new, single you?’

  They both snorted with laughter as Liberty told him no, it was just the result of food and happiness.

  ‘Right, well, let’s get this over with and then I can ask you all the info you haven’t told me.’

  Although J-T was incapable of being frightened unless Dolce & Gabbana ran out of white suits, he was nevertheless rather nervous about the thought of breaking and entering.

  ‘But it’s not,’ Liberty consoled him, as they heaved her bags down the quiet mews to her old house. ‘I have keys, darling.’ He looked visibly relieved.

  As she looked up at the windows, she felt no longing for the home she had shared for so long with Percy. It just resembled another perfect house in a row of perfect houses, with absolutely no individuality.

  And that about sums up my life, she thought.

  ‘OK, I’ll go in, grab my car keys and get my photos. It will only take ten minutes, tops. You stay here and keep watch.’

  J-T stood surrounded by all the paraphernalia of Liberty’s shopping trip and summer adventure. He stamped his feet to keep the blood flowing in the chill of the London November morning, and felt as though he looked like an extremely well-dressed burglar scanning the street. A shiver went up his spine. He had loved Liberty from the moment they giggled over a lecturer saying ‘bottom’ whilst reciting from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He would never have allowed her to leave his life as some of her girlfriends had done when Percy became jealous of Liberty’s friendships. If she was too friendly with any of her girlfriends, Percy phoned them to say she did not want to see them any longer. She had remained ignorant of this as he was clever about it and so they simply stayed away. She had spent their years always thinking the best of him in every situation, until the last journey they took together, so she had believed her friends did not want to see her.

  J-T had seen the tougher side of Percy. Never one to admit it, Percy had nonetheless been rather a homophobe. Combined with his desire to control his beautiful, popular girlfriend and eventually wife, this had led to some uncomfortable moments. Once, at Liberty’s twenty-fifth birthday party, held at Le Manoir, Percy had come to the bedroom J-T and Bob were sharing. Using very clear wording, he told them that such was his influence in the City, and his parents’ influence in top social circles (although Mr and Mrs Cholmondly-Radley were nothing but delightful), that if J-T and Bob dared to show him up, embarrass him or say anything whatsoever untoward, he would make sure their business was closed within weeks.

  The gay couple were known to be somewhat flamboyant in their behaviour, but being told how to behave was the red rag to the bull. They shared a bottle of champagne before getting a taxi into Oxford, where the owner of a famous drag shop awaited their arrival. He kitted them out. J-T looked like a giant Kylie Minogue, while Bob resembled a male Anne Robinson. They turned up to the dinner complete with a karaoke machine which was beating out ABBA songs and sang ‘Happy Birthday to Liberty’ before presenting her with a magnum of pink champagne and a feather for her hair.

  J-T and Bob were in fact impeccably behaved, and had warned the restaurant staff in advance and asked if they would like the drinks to be held outside. Everyone screamed with laughter. Even Mr and Mrs CR got up to have a bop. But the next day, after a really fun evening, Liberty and Percy had come down from their room and they left the hotel very early. At breakfast a concerned wait
er had sidled up to J-T and told him that Liberty had literally been hauled out and was nursing a bruised face. J-T was horrified that his actions had caused this to happen, but was aghast that Percy was capable of behaving so badly. He had always been an arrogant, bigoted twit, but a wife beater?

  Liberty had never mentioned the incident, but it had lengthened J-T’s list of why he hated his best friend’s husband.

  J-T kicked his well-shod foot gently against Liberty’s suitcase. Percy looked like a pompous ass, he thought, and he acted like one, too. He became a really, truly arrogant ass when he was drunk, he always put Liberty down, and he was a bully. He also hated dogs, and in J-T’s mind anyone who hated animals, especially dogs, was worthless. This may have had something to do with Percy’s attitude towards Feran and Bulli, J-T’s French bulldogs, which attended every party, every gallery event. More seriously, he had also punched a mutual friend at university, breaking his rather perfect nose, after the friend had whispered something too flattering in Liberty’s ear.

  J-T had always thought that Liberty had stayed with Percy because she believed he gave her security. Percy constantly reminded her that nobody else would ever put up with her, and she believed him. Nobody else had been allowed to show any interest in her. Percy had seen to that.

  But from the time of the birthday party, J-T had constantly hoped that Liberty would break free. He had always seen her artistic potential, in the way one artist can understand another. The fact was, that despite being without a sense of either taste or smell, her dinner parties were legendary, merely from her natural instinct and ability to make everyone welcome, and people wanted to be with her. When she spoke to someone she really paid attention to what they said, so that the next time she saw them she would enquire about a sick wife or racehorse, or ask how the hedge fund (that Percy’s boring friends ran) was faring. It was one of the reasons why she had been so successful in public relations. When Liberty spoke to you, you felt you were the only person in the room. You were made to feel really important. This, combined with her arresting looks, had managed to clinch many a deal for herself, for J-T and for Percy, although Percy would never admit it, and if he saw her speaking in an intimate way with a client of his, a friend of J-T’s or anyone he thought she liked, they were simply never invited to dine with the couple again, in case a friendship evolved.