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‘Sabrina, take a break,’ he called, pouring out a coffee from the jug. ‘You want a piece of cheesecake with this?’
‘No, no thanks, I’m okay,’ she said, standing up from scrubbing the corners of the floor and straightening out her spine.
Teddy brought two cups over to the table and, despite her turning it down, he’d cut two pieces of cheesecake as well. His speciality, black cherry, with a thud of clotted cream on the side.
‘Eat it, it’s my recipe. Come on, sit. You got the job, you don’t have to impress me by flogging yourself to death,’ he said. There were just the two of them here; he could sound her out under the guise of being benevolent.
‘Thank you,’ Sabrina replied. She sat down at the table and picked up the fork. Black cherries – her favourite flavour. And at that moment it came to her that she also liked espresso coffee and cats and red lipstick. Why had all that just landed as one big lump in her head?
‘You can use the computer in my office if you like, to try and find yourself,’ he said, then realised how stupid that sounded and tutted. ‘You know what I mean.’
She smiled at that. ‘Thank you. Your mum lent me her iPad and I’ve been looking,’ she replied. Nothing had rung a bell, and she couldn’t find her daughter on any social media either, which struck her as odd. ‘If I could just remember the name of the place I worked, that would help. This cheesecake is really good by the way.’
‘I know it is,’ said Teddy. ‘So, you’re some sort of business advisor then?’
‘Yes, I help businesses that are failing and I advise new ones that want to start up, but mainly the former.’
Teddy noticed her lips, full and dark pink, and thought it must be their natural colour.
‘Someone must be missing you,’ he said. ‘Family, work, friends, partner.’
‘I’m starting to wonder if I’m an alien and they’ll find an abandoned spaceship in a bush somewhere.’
He smiled at that, involuntarily. She had a small blob of cheesecake on the edge of her mouth and the cynic in him wondered if she’d placed it there artfully to tempt him to lean across and wipe it away with his thumb.
‘Mum tells me she’s taking you to see a psychic tonight.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Do you believe in all that nonsense?’
‘It’s worth a try.’
‘Don’t expect too much. I think Mum is hoping to hear from Dad. If he comes through, trust me, he’ll be singing. Dad thought Pavarotti was an amateur.’
‘I’ll look out for that.’ She wiped her mouth with a serviette. He noticed how genteel her actions were, the way she ate and picked up her cup.
He took a mouthful of his cheesecake and made a mental note to put a bit more lemon in it next time. He was always refining; there was always room for even a little improvement.
‘Okay, so tell me,’ he said then, preparing to test her, which was a bit bad of him but he couldn’t resist. ‘What would you have me change in my restaurant?’
She knew he was testing her. How could she blame him.
‘I’d have to study you in depth.’
Of course you would. Nice get-out.
‘… but, from first impressions, yes, I’d suggest some… tweaks.’
‘Really?’ He hadn’t expected that. ‘Such as?’
‘Well… the kitchen is only half-open to the public, it’s neither one thing nor the other. They can see your torsos, but not your heads. Why not open it up more so people can see their food being prepared? It would work well here.’
‘Go on, what else?’
‘I don’t want to say in case—’
‘I give you full permission.’
‘Okay, I think your food is wonderful, people obviously love it.’ A beat. ‘But… your décor doesn’t scream at me thatyou are authentically Italian. Also, an intimate ambience isn’t automatically made by putting tables too close together. You need to rearrange the layout. You could add in three tables and still have more free space than you have nowandimprove the intimate setting. Your lightbulbs should be warm white not bright white, and dimmable. Put real candles on the table. Don’t tell your waiters to lower their volume; your customers seem to enjoy their theatrics. I notice table four has a wobbly leg and that’s so off-putting—’
‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Teddy, jumping in to stem her flow.
