‘Bless you. You’ll get through it – both of you – I’m sure.’
Pippa smiled gratefully. ‘You have a beautiful pub here. So, what made you choose Hartfell?’
‘We were looking for a project and a change of pace. Vince worked in Paris, I was in marketing in Brighton, and this place came up. I have the best job, because I get to choose the wine. And drink it, of course. Alongside the marketing.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly done a brilliant job. I love it.’ She tended to avoid noisy city pubs, packed full of people. This one was comfortable, stylish and welcoming.
‘Thanks, Pippa, that’s kind of you. We wanted to keep the country house feel but make it contemporary, you know, a home from home. We worked with a fabulous designer who took care of everything, and the brand-new Pilkington Arms is the result.’
‘Pilkington?’ Something caught in Pippa’s mind, and she was trying to land on the memory. ‘I’ve heard that name before.’
‘Landed gentry back in the day around here.’ Kenny was busy serving another couple and a waiter was adding drinks to a tray. ‘Although I think most of them have scattered now. There’s still a family up at the Hall called Pilkington, though. Lovely place, if a bit rundown. Rolling acres and a tennis court, that sort of thing. We don’t see much of them, it’s empty half the year.’
‘Right.’ She couldn’t place the name and gave up trying. She took another mouthful of gin and suddenly remembered why she’d come here in the first place, reaching for a menu along the bar. ‘I have a favour to ask, Kenny. Seeing as that bloody Gil Haworth has made off with the contents of the kitchen, is there any chance of me ordering something and taking it back to the house please? My daughter’s still there, waiting for me to provide a solution for dinner.’
‘Bloody Gil Haworth, did you say?’ Kenny’s smile widened.
‘Yes.’ Pippa felt a happy warmth stealing through her. Somehow her glass was already empty, and she really shouldn’t stay for another. ‘Very bloody and very grumpy. Quite good looking though, if you like that kind of thing. All rough edges and no sense of humour. Not that I’ve noticed, you understand.’
‘Can’t say as I’ve noticed you either, Pippa Douglas.’ Gil slid onto the free stool to her left, Lola settling at his feet. ‘Can’t see past all the shrieking.’
Pippa shot him a glare before trying to concentrate on the menu. Ordinarily she’d have taken issue with Gil referring to her shrieking, but the pub was too busy and pleasant for another row, and maybe she had yelled a little. Once or twice. Space was at a premium and she felt a tremor on her skin as his arm brushed hers when Kenny offered him a menu as well.
‘Beer?’ Kenny held up a glass questioningly.
‘Please. The Copper, a half.’ Gil nodded at a pump and Kenny tilted the glass beneath it. ‘Been a rough day. I’m ready for it, even if it is non-alcoholic.’
Of course he drank nothing but beer, Pippa fumed irrationally. She bet he’d never been near a good glass of wine in his life.
‘Can I have the wild mushroom risotto for two, please, Kenny.’ She replaced the menu on the bar. ‘It sounds wonderful and I’m sure we’ll both love it.’
‘Mate, you do know she’s a vegetarian?’ Gil added what he apparently considered another of Pippa’s faults to his list of grievances. ‘So you won’t be needing any of your outstanding grass-fed Shorthorn steak or shrimps caught fresh in the bay for her. Cheers.’ He held up his glass in mock salute and she stared straight ahead.
‘Don’t be so naughty, Gil. You take no notice, darling.’ Kenny patted her hand, and she could’ve kissed him.
‘I thought you liked saving animals, not eating them,’ she told Gil coolly and he laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘I don’t generally eat my patients, at least not knowingly.’ He took another long drink and set the half empty glass on the bar.
‘Seeing as you’ve had a rough day too, Pippa, why don’t you take a bottle of wine to go with the risotto?’ Kenny had an iPad in his right hand. ‘Then you can drink it at your leisure.’
‘You’d better send the glasses as well,’ she said glumly. ‘I don’t suppose there are any of those left in the house.’ But necking the wine straight from the bottle did seem rather tempting. ‘Oh, go on, then, thank you. Whatever you’d recommend.’
‘Why don’t you suggest something, Gil?’ Kenny arched a brow. ‘You two should be playing nicely, not falling out.’
‘You’re the expert, Kenny,’ Pippa said quickly. ‘I’d rather have your suggestions.’
‘The New Zealand Pinot Noir?’ Gil glanced at her. ‘Or if you don’t like red, try a French Pinot Gris instead.’
‘Perfect, Gil.’ Kenny beamed. ‘Think dark plum, rose petal and violet for the red, Pippa, with a deliciously silky palate. But the white is gorgeous too, creamy and fresh, not too rich on the finish. Perfect with a risotto.’
She pursed her lips, not sure she was up to such complicated decision-making. ‘The red please. Thanks.’ Right now it was the wine that mattered, not the colour of the grape skins, or even that Gil had suggested it.
‘Here you go. Uncork it at home and give it a few minutes, won’t do it any harm.’ Kenny set down a bottle and a glass in front of her. ‘On the house.’
‘Kenny, please.’ Pippa was reaching for her bag, and he held up a hand.
‘I insist. Call it a welcome present. You can thank me by coming back for another meal and bringing your daughter next time.’
