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‘Perhaps you’ll remember what it is by the time I come back?’ says Donatella. Turns on her heel and swanks away.
‘What was that all about?’ asks a Hugo.
‘Oh, God,’ says Tatiana. ‘We gave the sister a job last summer and they’ve totally got above themselves now.’
‘Really?’ asks an Alexa.
‘Yah,’ she says. ‘She was crap, too. We only put up with her out of the kindness of our hearts.’
Donatella stops dead. Fury flashes across her face. I remember how you were, says her expression. You’re not doing that to us.
Mercedes signals wildly from the door, tries to catch her eye. No. No, Donita, leave it. It’s not worth it, my rash and reckless sister.
But Donatella marches back to the table. ‘You can leave now,’ she says.
They all recoil. Look at each other, confused.
‘What … all of us?’ asks a Hugo, humbly.
‘No,’ says Donatella, and points at Tatiana. ‘Just that one. She can go until she’s learned some manners.’
Tatiana swells, visibly. A fighting cock, ready for the fray. ‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ says Donatella. ‘Out!’ She points at the exit, just to make things clear.
‘You can’t do that!’
‘Oh, believe me, I can,’ says Donatella. ‘Off you pop!’
Her English has got so much better.
Tatiana gets to her feet. ‘I’m a paying customer!’
‘There’s no rudeness margin in the profits from a glass of Coke,’ says Donatella.
‘Well!’ snaps Tatiana. ‘That’s your customer base gone, then.’
She looks triumphantly round the table. Clearly expects her companions to start collecting their bags too.
‘A tragedy,’ says Donatella.
‘There’s plenty of other places will want our custom,’ she says. And she looks around the table and sees that nobody’s moving. They’re all staring at the cloth, as though their minds are elsewhere.
She turns back. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ she bawls.
Donatella draws herself up. ‘I am Donatella Delia,’ she says, ‘and I’m telling you to get out of my restaurant.’
