‘OK, what is it?’ He suddenly sighed, bringing his eyes up to meet mine.
‘Nothing,’ I said quickly, straightening up and knocking all my forks out of place.
‘You’re looking at me weirdly,’ he pointed out. ‘Do I have something on my face?’
‘No, no, your face is good. I mean, it’s fine. It’s got nothing on it.’ I moved the forks back into position, feeling flustered. ‘I wasn’t looking at you. I was looking . . . at something else. Anyway, how was your half-term?’
‘It was good. I heard you were kept busy.’
‘Yeah, I learned a lot. Hey, did you know that your dad once stepped in as a film producer’s assistant? The producer was staying here and freaked out when his assistant quit on the first day of filming, so your dad offered his services and got Harry to cover him.’
Cal smiled. ‘Yeah, that’s a great story.’
‘Typical of your dad, always going the extra mile.’
‘Typical of the Royale, you mean.’
I looked at him quizzically.
‘Everyone here goes above and beyond,’ he explained, putting the menu down on the desk. ‘They make sure that everything is perfect. Don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, I guess. How do you know so much about them? And the hotel?’ I asked, leaning back in my chair.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know everything and everyone in this place, and they all know you. How?’
He ran a hand through his hair and fidgeted with the corner of the menu.
‘I don’t know, I just hang out here a lot. And because of Dad.’
‘It’s more than that,’ I insisted. ‘That’s why Audrey told me to ask you to help me learn about everything – she said that, apart from Mum and maybe her, you were the person who knew how the whole operation worked.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve done a bit of extra research recently.’
I opened my mouth to probe him further but Timothy popped his head round the door.
‘How would you like to learn about serving a table?’
‘Great idea.’ Cal jumped to his feet, looking relieved at the interruption.
I rolled my eyes. Only Cal Weston would think learning how to serve a table was agreatidea.
We lined up with the other waiters and took the plates that Chef passed to us, after he had scrutinised each one. Timothy explained how each seat around a table was numbered in the heads of the waiters, so they could remember which dish went to which diner without having to ask them what they’d ordered. My dish was for guest number three.
I followed the other waiters into the centre table of the dining room, carrying a goat’s cheese and walnut starter. Then I saw who guest number three at the table was.
Ella.
She was looking decidedly bored, with her mum and three other ladies, who must have been her mum’s friends. Our eyes met and after looking momentarily surprised, a thin, satisfied smile crept across her face.
I hadn’t heard from Ella once throughout half-term. Grace had messaged almost every day but I hadn’t heard one peep from Ella, and I hadn’t really considered texting her. Seeing her now, it dawned on me that I hadn’t missed her at all.
‘Flick,’ she said curiously, as I placed her starter in front of her, ‘what are you doing?’
‘Serving,’ I replied politely. ‘How has your half-term been?’
‘Serving?’ She sniggered, ignoring my question. Then she saw Cal putting a plate down on the opposite side of the table. ‘Hang on a second, is this what Cal meant when he said you were going on a date? Oh my God, wait until everyone hears about this! Howembarrassing!’
