Love on the Menu
Page 10
He followed the link to the Zak Silver website and clicked on the Play button to allow the singer’s velvety tones to drift through the speakers. This fellow could string the notes together all right. Hal had forgotten quite how good Zak was. Maybe it would be worth contacting the local radio station. See if they were interested in Zak Silver’s being back in town. He was, after all, almost a local boy. No harm in reminding people of his existence. It would also keep Hal’s mind off Zillah. He hadn’t wanted to behave like a lovesick idiot, waving and smiling at her through the glass pane, especially after that acerbic comment he’d heard her make yesterday.
With Abi it was different. She reminded him a little of his younger sister, Nina. Consequently he found her easy company. But when he’d greeted the young woman that morning on his way in, he was very conscious of how it must seem to Zillah. She’d moved away before he could do anything about it. What was it about that woman that transformed him from a hard-nosed businessman into a gauche adolescent with stars in his eyes? Stars that had no business being there.
*
‘I began to wonder whether one or two of the guests were going to eat the table decorations,’ Abi commented as Zillah drove them back from the function, later that day.
Her boss chuckled. ‘Yes. There’s a fine line between wanting them to appreciate the food and worrying about having a mountain of leftovers.’
‘As if,’ said Abi. ‘I’ve never, ever seen that happen.’
‘I think it would shatter my confidence, if it ever did,’ said Zillah, slowing down for an approaching horse and rider. They were a couple of miles outside the city boundary.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ said Abi. ‘Do you want me to stay and help wash up?’
‘Definitely not. It’s Saturday afternoon. You’ve worked eight hours. I think Joe deserves your company but thanks for the offer.’
‘Okay then. If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure. I like Saturday afternoon radio.’
Abi stayed silent before changing the subject. ‘That was a wedding on a shoestring, wasn’t it? It didn’t seem to matter. The atmosphere was brilliant.’
‘The bride’s dress came from Monsoon apparently.’
‘Really? Well, she looked like a goddess. If I ever do get married, I shan’t be wearing designer stuff.’
Zillah hummed a few bars of a song as she slowed down again, this time for an imaginative maze of traffic cones.
‘What’s that tune you’re singing?’
‘Abi,’ Zillah sighed. ‘I’m showing my age. My mother used to play it a lot – the Frank Sinatra version anyway. It’s called Love and Marriage. The two things are supposed to go together like a horse and carriage.’
‘Ha. Maybe mine and Joe’s wedding carriage is held up on the motorway.’
Abi was so lucky, thought Zillah. So fortunate to have it all in front of her. They drove on in silence, the road descending towards the beautiful city spreading its skirts in the sunshine.
When they pulled up in front of their premises Zillah was grateful for her assistant’s help in unloading the van. But she was quite content to be left alone to wash up plates and wipe out the cool-boxes. A reception for 50 guests was very different from one for 250 or 300. She’d need to line up her staff well in time for the wedding on Brassknocker Hill. Fortunately the students on her books would still be on vacation in early September. What a coup it was to have copped this booking. Mr West, a former Member of Parliament, must have loads of important contacts. With her kind of business, casting the net wider was always on her mind.
Zillah worked on, Radio 4 playing in the background. Abi and Joe would be at the club, playing tennis now. Zillah hadn’t played for ages. Well, for sure, she wouldn’t be watching much Wimbledon this year. The highlights would be all she’d manage, no doubt. Daniel hadn’t shared her love of tennis but never tried to stop her watching. He’d sketched her once, anxious expression on her face, wringing her hands while she watched the British Number One serving for the championship.
‘You wear your heart on your sleeve, my darling,’ Daniel had said. She could hear him clearly in her head. She still had that drawing somewhere. One day she really must go through all his things. Maybe when the wedding season was over. Guiltily, she thought how disorganised she was over some personal things.
After she’d stowed away the rubbish bags, she washed her hands and checked the already spotless kitchen. Next week, so far, was destined to be an ominously quiet one. She had bookings for a children’s swimming party and a barbecue, both venues in the city. The barbecue was to take place in the garden of one of the houses in Bath’s Royal Crescent. The couple wanted steaks and chicken marinated and delivered for cooking by Zillah’s team. There was a list of salads and speciality breads plus desserts to die for. Jake was to take charge of the bar.
Zillah stopped herself from thinking ahead. She knew she should try to relax more. It was only six o’clock. Maybe she’d call at the Golden Fleece on her way back to town. They shouldn’t be too busy at this time of day and she could enjoy a long drink with lashings of ice and hopefully catch up with Mickey before heading home. Her landlady’s friendly gardener was in charge of the feline trio’s supper today so there was really no reason to rush back.
If only that wasn’t the case.
Chapter Ten
‘Well, look who’s here! I bet you’ve had a hard day. What can I get you, lovely lady?’
Again, Zillah couldn’t help noticing how Mickey fidgeted with his tie as she walked towards the bar. Trust Abi to have picked up on that one. She smiled at her host. ‘A white wine Spritzer please, Mickey. Heavy on the ice and soda.’
The landlord selected a tall glass.
‘Busy weekend?’ Zillah climbed on to a barstool.
His long, lugubrious face brightened. ‘We’re fully booked for meals tonight. And I’ve taken a bed and breakfast booking that’s open-ended.’ He dropped ice cubes into the glass. ‘That chap that stole your name for his entertainments agency.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Zillah. ‘His cottage is being renovated.’ She made a mental note to avoid the pub for the next week. It was a pity but she really didn’t want to fraternize more than necessary. For his sake as well as hers.
Mickey topped up a generous measure of his house white wine with soda, added an ice cube and curly green straw and placed the glass before her, with a flourish.
‘Allow me to pay for that. And I’ll have a half of that guest ale you recommended, please, Mickey.’ The voice was masculine. And familiar as well as very determined.
Zillah didn’t have to swivel round on her bar stool to know who stood behind her. Tingles ran up and down her spine in far too delicious a manner. Help.
‘Thank you, but you really don’t have to pay for my drink,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He gestured to the empty stool next to hers. ‘May I sit here? Unless you’re waiting for someone to join you?’
‘No. I mean, yes you can sit there. I’m not meeting anyone. I’m on my way home from work.’ Drinking alone. Sad woman. Why did he have to turn up once again when she was unescorted? Not that she had a string of escorts at the ready.
Hal Christmas, immaculate in cream chinos and kingfisher blue polo shirt, hooked one long leg around the vacant stool and seated himself disturbingly close. The faint tang of aftershave seemed like coming home now. He looked fresh and very laid back. Whereas she felt like anyone would feel if they’d worked a ten-hour day and needed a long drink followed by an even longer shower. She disliked feeling at a disadvantage. If he was Mr Ice Man then why not call her Mrs Limp Lettuce?
‘I apologise if you feel I’m muscling in on your local,’ Hal said. ‘Cheers.’ He raised his glass.
‘Cheers. Don’t be silly, it’s the obvious answer for you. Mickey’s pleased. Anyway, I’m not in here that often,’ she said. Stop sounding so defensive.
‘No. I didn’t mean anything. Well, you know -’ His voice tailed away.
‘I wish we could start again, Zillah,’ he said softly. ‘I mean become friends rather than people constantly watching their backs.’
She discarded the dreaded straw and sipped her drink demurely. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Whatever gave you that impression?’
Hal picked up a cardboard coaster and flipped it edgeways on the bar so it landed back on the counter again.
‘Any more party tricks?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. We keep snapping and snarling, don’t we? It’s my fault.’
‘Hang on! I upset you first, by pirating your trading name. That was hardly the ideal foundation for a friendly relationship and for that I’ve apologised. I believe our two businesses will complement one another perfectly. Sorted. Wouldn’t it be better if we could, well, socialise sometimes maybe?’
‘I really don’t have much time for socialising.’ Irritatingly, he’d managed to bump into her twice now outside working hours and each time he’d caught her on her own. Now she’d succeeded in sounding like Goody Two Shoes. Great.
‘Except maybe with Zak?’ His tone was teasing but she noticed his jaw clench as he reached for his glass.
‘You’re worse than Abi. Zak and I have a purely business arrangement, not that it’s anyone else’s concern. You’re not able to put him up in your cottage any longer. I’ve been contemplating a flat share. Sorted.’
He ignored the gibe. ‘Aren’t you and I fellow entrepreneurs? Zak, for all his sins, has reminded me of how important networking is. Don’t you, for example, have a florist you recommend if one of your clients enquires?’
His eyes were twinkling. She sipped her drink. Despite the deluge of ice and soda, the white wine was relaxing her and she thought of the beautiful flowers he’d sent after his Mr Robinson faux pas.
‘Well, of course,’ she said. ‘It’s just I’d never thought about the entertainment scene, as such. I can’t imagine myself pushing wedding singers and DJs. Clients normally sort that kind of thing out for themselves. Just as they don’t normally need help finding a hairdresser or a nail technician or -’
‘Point taken. That girly stuff comes naturally to the bride and her entourage. All I’m saying is, with your local knowledge plus Zak’s contacts, between us we’ll have access to high quality entertainers, florists, wine merchants, wedding car suppliers and other specialists. People lead busy lives. They want to be sure of value for their money. With a little lateral thinking we can provide a competitive and comprehensive service. I don’t really have to go on, do I?’
She wished he didn’t smell quite so delicious. She probably smelt of eco-friendly washing up liquid. ‘Where’s this leading, Hal? I don’t want too much stuff on the Mrs Robinson web site. My business is about providing good food. I want people to focus on my menus. I haven’t the resources to put myself forward as a wedding planner.’
‘Understood. But you’re out and about a lot, Zillah. I know Abi’s around some of the time while you’re meeting clients, but I shall be on the premises most days. Why don’t we set up some sort of reciprocal phone answering scheme? I hate to think you might miss the chance to quote for a function, by being out of the office. Could you not trust me a tad more than you do at the moment?’
His eyes were kind. She looked away quickly. How could she think straight unless she did? Maybe she was being too hard on him after all. In spite of her caustic comments to Abi about clients being put off by being asked if they’d like to book an after dinner speaker when they really wanted a luxury picnic hamper to take to the racecourse, his suggestion made sense. Women especially, would enjoy the sound of his dark brown voice when they rang up.
Hal Christmas might not be able to sing like Zak Silver but he could certainly charm the birds when he chose, although not usually when it came to her. She was very aware that sometimes, even though her answer phone had kicked in, some callers didn’t leave a message. Maybe Hal was right. Maybe some were put off by not being able to speak to a human being. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.
She stopped fidgeting with her twirly drinking straw and locked gazes with him again. ‘All right, Hal. I’ll agree that we give it a trial. But you’ll have to sort out the techie stuff. Keep me informed as to what expense you incur and I’ll let you have my share.’
He went on gazing at her. This time she didn’t avoid his eyes.
She didn’t know exactly how it happened but all of a sudden they were shaking hands and he was asking her if she’d eaten. She’d finished her drink and knew she needed food. A meal with Hal, on an otherwise lonely Saturday night seemed very tempting.
‘I’ve booked myself in for bed and breakfast from tonight onwards,’ he said. ‘I wonder if we could have a bite to eat here.’
‘Mickey told me he has a full house tonight. I’m sure he’d sort something out for us but I don’t like to presume on his generosity.’
‘Quite right,’ said Hal. ‘I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Again.’
He sounded rueful but she didn’t want to spoil the moment.
‘I live near the city centre. ‘There’s a pizzeria I know that’s not usually busy until eight or so. If you don’t mind pizza or pasta.’
‘I’m definitely a pizza man. Why don’t you leave your van here and let me drive?’
She hesitated. This was becoming a little too intimate. ‘I’m not over the limit, in case you’re wondering.’
He held up his hands. ‘Okay, fine. Do I follow you, or what?’
She considered. He was bound to have to ferry Zak back to her place some time soon. It wouldn’t hurt if he knew where she lived. ‘It’s only a mile or so to my flat. You’ll be able to park outside at this time of day and we can walk into town. Would you mind if I freshened up first?’
‘Of course not but it isn’t necessary, surely?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, I think it is. I like my uniform but enough is enough. You can sit in the garden while I get ready.’
They drove off in convoy. Hal found a parking space just down the street and she unlocked the side gate and pointed him towards the bench under the heady white jasmine. It was an evening made for relaxing in the open air with a drink in hand.
‘Would you like a glass of Zak’s lager? He seems to have stocked up the fridge.’
Guiltily, she remembered her instruction to Zak about nicking each other’s food and beverages. What the heck! Sometimes rules were made to be broken.
‘That sounds good,’ he said. ‘Shall I come and collect it?’
She left him to pour his own beer and hurried off to shower. She wasn’t bothered about her make up as long as she could brush her hair and slip into something cool. She chose a crinkle cotton dress, its colours shifting from deepest emerald at the bodice down to palest pistachio at the hem. A little black dress or linen sheath might make him think she was keen or something. This was just a meal with a colleague, or almost-colleague, she told herself. On her way back, it seemed silly not to be sociable by pouring herself a glass of chilled white wine.
Hal was enjoying a visit from Ruby when Zillah joined him. ‘I see you’ve met one of the divas,’ she said. ‘Ruby adores men. You watch the little minx - she’ll totally ignore me when I sit down.’
Hal, stroking the kitten, chuckled as Ruby turned her back on Zillah and purred contentedly, digging her claws into his chinos.
‘You fickle creature,’ said Zillah. ‘Who is it that feeds you and talks to you when Roxy and Velma won’t let you play?’
‘Are you talking about children? I hope you don’t mind my asking whether you have any.’
She shook her head. ‘Roxy and Velma are my landlady’s other cats. I have no children a
nd my landlady’s are all grown up with kids of their own. Now, we mustn’t delay too long or we’ll end up having to ring for a takeaway.’
Would that be so very bad? She’d find it disturbingly easy to stay here with him beneath the jasmine in the velvety, perfumed evening - safer by far to head towards the bright lights.
*
By the time they were seated at a window table in the little restaurant tucked away down an alley Hal hadn’t realised existed, they were chatting more easily. Although Zillah thought he might still be wary of asking what had brought her to Bath, probably not prepared to risk spoiling this unexpected truce in their somewhat stormy relationship. They were both considering the menu. Except Zillah, who knew so many menus off by heart, was experiencing difficulty in concentrating upon types of pizza, when the man who so often occupied her thoughts was seated opposite.
‘I’m going to order a bottle of white wine,’ he said. ‘Which one would you prefer?’
‘I can’t drink a whole bottle on my own. And what about your car?’ She bit her lip, afraid she sounded reproving.
‘If you’ve no objection, I can leave it where it is and get a cab back to the pub. Collect it tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine by me.’
Zillah, despite her wish to keep things on a non-personal footing, soon found her finance concerns came spilling out. Hal began asking the kind of questions she realised an accountant needed to ask and which she answered to the best of her ability. His gentle interrogation didn’t seem too unpalatable while they were drinking such delicious chilled Chablis.
They were halfway through their pizzas when Hal put down his cutlery and picked up his wineglass. ‘You know, I’m happy to give your accounts a once over. I can tell it’s not your forte and why should it be? You cook like an angel. You also have a genuine flair for presentation.’
‘My late husband made a similar comment at our first meeting. But I really can’t presume on your generosity. As for the lovely compliment, have you actually tasted anything I’ve cooked, Hal?’