‘I’d give it a solid nine, Anis,’ I say quickly.
‘Yes, very good, Anis,’ says Russell. ‘You’ll make a good pastry chef one day.’
‘One day? She already is a great pastry chef. She’s amazing,’ I say.
James looks across at me, and this time he smiles warmly, and Russell cocks his head sharply and furrows his brow. ‘She is doing well in her training,’ he concedes.
I sigh, loudly. ‘Christ, she’s not training to be a Jedi Knight. She’s a great chef. And anyway, Russ, it’s not like you’re ever here to see what she does. She’s brilliant. If she was a watch, she’d be thatApollo 13watch that saved Tom Hanks – she’s that reliable.’
Anis gasps, but I don’t care what Russell thinks of me any more. I’m a fake sommelier trying to do my best, but he is arealchef not trying at all. And, worse, not helping anyone else do better, either.
‘She’s only twenty-four,’ says Russell, shaking his head as he drops his linen napkin in the bin.
‘Twenty-five,’ Anis and I say at the same time, and we both look at each other. Then she smiles slightly.Smiles!
‘Didn’t you run your first restaurant at twenty-six?’ I say with a grin.
‘Thank you, sweetheart, for your input,’ Irene says, ensuring the conversation is shut down before I cause any more trouble. ‘That plate is divine, Anis. I think this fun little experiment is going to work. Bill, have you finished the reception area? Are we ready to go?’
‘Bunting is hung,’ he says. ‘And I’ve cued up Heather’s playlist. It’s certainly eclectic.’
‘Well, thank God it’s not your terrible music,’ says Roxy, who has appeared in her waitressing uniform. ‘He keeps playing me Roxy Music. He thinks it’s hysterical.’ She grins at me. In all the fallout from Tim’s visit, my friendship with Roxy has almost recovered. Tim did a good job of repairing that for me, at least.
‘James, are you nearly done?’ Irene asks.
‘Yep,’ he says, rolling the last Scotch egg in panko crumbs and sitting it neatly in a tray with baking-paper lining.
‘Well, dear,’ she turns to me. ‘This isyourevening really and, as you know, it is customary to do a little introductory talk to the guests about the theme, and what they can expect from the wines. But we are all here in support. I would really love to see what you’re planning to say,’ she adds.
‘I’m ready!’ I say, pulling my now-recovered notebook out of my pocket. ‘You can trust me, I’ve got this.’
‘Very well,’ says Irene, with a flicker of sadness in her eyes.
‘Just quickly, though … um, James?’ I say and he looks up, with his hands still covered in crumbs.
‘Yes?’
‘Can I see you? Two minutes?’
‘Sure,’ he replies slowly, then nods to the kitchen fridge. ‘I have to get the endive.’
I follow him and the icy setting seems rather apt, but I bravely put a hand into my apron and pull out my little surprise. It’s small, but completely perfect.
‘Porcini?’ he smiles.
‘Well, I remembered in that first week, when we went foraging, Anis said they’re your favourite … Are they?’ I start to lose confidence immediately.
‘They’re out early this year,’ he remarks. ‘How did you know what to look for?’
‘I’ve been reading your foraging book. I have been really worrying that I got it wrong, but it’s that netting pattern on the stem, right?’
‘That’s right,’ he says softly.
‘I know it’s been super-busy this week for you, so I went back to that oak grove near your house?’
‘Really?’
‘Well, in the book it says that you have to catch them right away, or the worms and slugs get to them. So, well. Sorry, I don’t know what you’re going to do with one mushroom …’
