‘Why don’t you do it at my house?’ she suggests. ‘I have a proper home kitchen, and you can’t do it at that cottage. James says the oven only works on grill …’
I nod, not sure what to say. It’s almost like James is still a teenager and needs to be protected. But it will keep us both on the straight and narrow, I suppose, and I really do want to learn how to cook.
‘That sounds like a great idea,’ I say enthusiastically, and she looks relieved.
‘Okay. Well, let’s leave it until after the relaunch, though. How does that sound? So Monday week?’
‘Perfect! This placement is basically going to be the finishing school I never had. All I need is to learn Scottish, and how to play the lute, and I’ll return to England ready to marry a barrister.’
‘Yes, dear,’ says Irene, passing zero visible judgement.
19.
June
It’s Sunday afternoon and the last shift before the big launch on Tuesday night. Everyone is either working in the kitchen or deep-cleaning the dining area. Roxy and I have just finished the stocktake, and she has arranged to meet Tom later in the week to go over the shortlist for the Wine Society event. News came back that President Matthew Hunt was thrilled with the ‘English wine’ idea, so now Russell and Irene are fully on board too.
‘What will you do with your days off?’ Roxy asks now.
‘Well, tomorrow and Tuesday I’m going to chill and make sure I’m a hundred per cent across the list, but from next Monday, James is going to teach me to cook,’ I say, trying not to beam too much.
‘Oooh, you’re going to learn,’ says Roxy.
‘Though, honestly, I feel like I don’t deserve any days off yet,’ I say. And it’s weird, but for the first time ever I really do feel like that.
‘I’m sure you’ll have your nose in that notebook, as per usual,’ she teases, as I quickly slip it back into my jeans pocket.
‘How else do you remember?’ I ask her, feeling a little defensive. ‘There are over ten thousand wines, you know. Nearly a hundred and thirty at this restaurant alone.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ she says, and bites her lip. ‘I was just being silly. I’m sorry.’
‘Stop saying “sorry”. You haven’t done anything wrong,’ I say with a sigh.
‘Sorry,’ she says and then covers her mouth, her eyes wide.
I laugh at her. She’s so fucking fresh.
‘What do you think makes a good sommelier?’ I say, as casually as possible.
‘Um,’ she looks at me, and then to the wine rack behind me. ‘I guess a good sommelier should be able to recommend wines that gowith each dish. Maybe a couple of choices? Perhaps a slightly unusual one, for adventurous diners. They shouldn’t assume anyone’s budget – instead, they should guide people to price options they are comfortable with.’ She pauses, looking to the floor. ‘That’s what I’ve seen you do really well.’
I feel all warm inside at this compliment. It is true I do try to put people at ease – but not because I am good at my job, more because I know what it’s like to feel intimidated.
‘Well, it sucks to feel poor,’ I reply. ‘Sucks even worse toactuallybe poor, I might add. No one who comes here is truly poor.’
‘How can you read people so well?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You seem to have that intuition. Irene has it too. Like, have you seen her predict a diner? You’ll have to ask her one day,’ she says, picking up her phone and putting the stocktaking book back on the shelf.
‘What does she do?’
‘When people arrive she will predict, to within ten pounds, what they will spend. How much they will drink. Where they’re from. Why they’re dining with us. It’s incredible. Bill tries to trip her up by upselling, but he hardly ever manages.’
‘Well, thatisimpressive.’
‘Are you sure you want to chill tomorrow?’ she asks again, and I can tell she wants to suggest something.
