‘Good evening, Dorie.’ I met her at the door with a menu. ‘Table for two?’
‘No, just me again.’ She laced her fingers together neatly. If she was upset about Nick not joining her, she was hiding it well. In fact, she was twinkling as brightly as her very elegant diamond earrings. ‘My grandson has to catch up on some sleep. He was flying for nearly twenty-four hours.’
I supposed that would account for why he was so grumpy when I bumped into him earlier. I mean, whenwebumped intoeach other. It was definitely a fifty-fifty thing.
‘Don’t pilots get to sleep on long-haul flights?’ I led Dorie around the tables to the back of the room where she usually sat by the window. The curtains were pulled back on the tall Georgian windows and even though the sky outside was inky black, fairy lights illuminated pathways in the rose gardens: it looked like the stars had fallen to earth.
‘“Controlled rest”, they call it apparently.’ She gave me a wry look as I pulled out her chair for her. ‘I have a “controlled rest” every day after lunch.’
I laughed as she sat down. It was obvious she was intensely proud of her grandsons but from what I could gather of her sense of humour, I doubted she let them know it. It would be extremely interesting to earwig a conversation between them. Not because I was curious about Nick. No. Just in a general, voyeuristic way. And I guess that meant I was in luck since I’d no doubt be serving them food and drinks for the rest of Christmas.
Quite different from my original plan for this Christmas. Peter and I would have been here at the hotel, for the first time in our four years together, rather than visiting his parents in Wales. I’d wanted to take him to the Christmas fayre because it was impossible not to get in the Christmas spirit there, go for some invigorating walks across the Downs to build up an appetite for all the gorgeous food on offer, and enjoy hot chocolates cuddled up by the fire – all that cheesy nonsense. I’d had it all figured out, the perfect opportunity to try and ease all his stress and get us back on the same page. What is it they say about the best-laid plans?
‘Ooh, this is nice.’ Dorie pointed to the candle flickering within my holly/poinsettia creation around it. Bless that sweet-hearted woman – perhaps all her reading of romance novels had left her eyes strained?
‘Would you like me to give you some time to decide?’ I gave her the cream faux-leather wallet, which held our latest menu.
‘Oh no, I’m old, honey, I know what I like, and I don’t want to waste too many of my minutes being indecisive. I’ll have the squash ravioli and a glass of the house white please.’
‘No starter?’
‘The more I eat, the less room there is for wine,’ she quipped. I laughed again and took her order to the kitchen.
The dining room filled up quickly after that. A few of the guests sometimes went out in the evenings for their meals, and there were a couple of very nice restaurants near the village, but the food at the Everdene Hotel was renowned itself. Serving up steaming, fragrant plates of squash ravioli, cheese soufflé, scallops, tuna steaks, roasted aubergine and belly of pork, was frankly making my stomach tie itself in knots. That packet of peanuts hadn’t taken long to burn off.
It didn’t look like the service was going to drag tonight though. At least, not for my six tables. Only four were taken and three of those were occupied by solitary diners. Dorie, Julius Mundey – aforementioned Mr Awkward who stayed with us for a weekend at least once a month and managed to make those couple of days feel like a fortnight – and Noelle Kingston, a writer from New York who was either scribbling in her notebook, staring off into space or asking me very strange questions, then laughing gleefully at my answers. I think she was working on a novel set in a hotel, either that or she was planning a murder and I was becoming an unwitting accessory.
The other table was taken by the Nakamuras, a young couple from Japan who were always ravenous after going hiking for miles every day. As soon as they hoovered down their food, they’d be off into the bar to plan their next adventure.
Lola – the other waitress working tonight – was not as fortunate as me. All of her six tables were full. Two families of four, with young kids: the Hendersons and the Featherbys; two middle-aged couples: John and Louie from Brighton, and Geoff and Fiona from Essex. Then there was Olive and Matilda who were about Dorie’s age and most likely sisters given the level of the bickering they engaged in – one was currently brandishing a butter knife in a decidedly threatening way. Lastly were the J’s: June and Jane, a mother and teenage daughter, who liked to photograph every meal and beverage they were served for at least ten minutes before they partook of it.
By the time the guests were well into their main courses and the volume of chatter in the room had risen considerably because they were well into their bottles of wine too, I felt it was safe to retreat to the waitress station near the serving hatch and check my phone. Anything to take my mind off my hunger pains and aching feet.
I had a message from Lisa:
Lisa: I can’t believe you knew Geri was planning to propose for months and never said anything!
I smiled, picturing her exact expression, shocked and happy and not at all cross. It was like when a kitten attacks a slipper, a lot of fluff but not a lot to take seriously. I checked on the guests before tapping out a reply:
Me: It was a secret. Looks like I’m better at keeping them than Geri. Congratulations, my lovely. I hope you are both sickeningly happy together forever and ever.
Lisa: I hope so too. We’re having an engagement party on New Year’s Eve. Say you’ll come back up for it? You can stay at our place.
Me: I’ll have to see if I can get the time off. My grandad had a fall today. It’s not serious, but my mum has to go up there and the hotel is fully booked.
Lisa: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Let me know when you can. Miss you, honey.
Me: Miss you too. Think of me while you’re soaking up the sunshine.
I slipped my phone back into my apron, feeling marginally better having offered proper congratulations for my friends’ engagement. It had only taken me half a day to get over myself and genuinely feel happy for them. Not bad for someone still extremely bruised from the end of a relationship. I was making progress.
I did another quick scan of the dining room. Over on table six, Geoff was peering around the room seeking service. Lola looked like she was half asleep and hadn’t noticed. I gave the guest a nod of acknowledgement and stepped over to Lola, nudging her shoulder gently.
‘Table six are after something.’
‘Oh right, sorry,’ she said hoarsely. Her face was noticeably pale even in the ambient glow of the room.
‘It’s fine. Are you all right?’
