I want to eat your shoulder.
What do you like most about wine?
And then we’d played, turning it into one of those silly games you’d die of embarrassment for someone else to overhear.
Lovely open texture.
Luscious and juicy.
Impressive length, becomes fleshier with each taste.
Beautiful body with plenty of elegance.
Refined and muscular.
Surprising length.
Lingering finish.
In the distance, I can hear Brett’s dogs barking, which means that he is up and with the horses. I have to go. It feels like I’m stuck with thick, resistant Velcro as I tear myself from the bed.
I creep as quietly as I can. Pull my clothes on. James doesn’t stir. Before I shut the door, I take one last look at him and my heart lurches. I want to run back, crawl into bed and stay there for ever. I want to lie across his chest like women do in films, and take sneaky sniffs of his armpit. I whisper,Bye, Jamesas I shut the door, and wonder if last night will ever happen again. I hope so.
As soon as I’m out, I creep down the hall, desperate not to wake Bill. His bedroom door is slightly ajar, and as I tiptoe past I see he’s passed out, snoring, face-down and still in his uniform. And then I see them: the cases of wine from the film premiere. I’m sure it’s them, stacked at the bottom of his wardrobe, door ajar. There must be a dozen bottles in the distinctive red and black boxes. I frown. There has to be some explanation. But it has to wait.
I stop in my bedroom to throw on a T-shirt and slip on my now completely filthy white trainers. I hope Irene doesn’t see me, because she wouldn’t approve of staff schlepping about the place looking like I do right now.
Focus, Birdy. Roxy!I can’t waste any time, and breakfast will be starting to pick up. I race up to the back of the house and crash into the kitchen area, where I see Anis, who shoots me a wry smile. Does she know what happened last night? Has Roxy already discovered my secret? My heart is pounding as I push the kitchen door slightly open and spot her in the dining area.
‘Hey,’ I mouth to her, pointing towards the staffroom.
Roxy sees me and shoots a big smile, which swiftly changes into a wide-eyed look of worry as she finishes de-crumbing table four with one of those little sterling-silver scrapers. It seems a bit much, clearing breakfast crumbs, and I think, not for the first time, that they should toss this whole high-class service shit out of the window and do something more relaxed.
As we both slip into the staffroom unnoticed, I feel my heart beating a little faster in my chest. Roxy looks nervous too.
‘Is this about the reviewer? Or the incident with the Chablis? Anis said there was a review on Tripadvisor about it. I already told James and Irene that it wasmysuggestion. It was corked, and I just don’t know why he didn’t return it. I would have replaced it – you know I would!’
I have no idea what she’s talking about, and frankly it’s the least of my concerns.
‘No, no,’ I say, waving away her concern. ‘It’s okay, it was definitely not your fault. Sometimes wine is bad, but the customer doesn’t return it because they’re arseholes who are trying to impress their friends and don’t know anything at all about wine. Like me.’
She giggles, thinking I’m being self-effacing when I’m being honest. The Heather I presented at the start of this gig is slowly but surely melting away.
Focus, Birdy. Focus on the clean-up.
‘Oh, thank goodness, I’ve been so worried,’ she replies, visibly relaxing. ‘How was last night? No one will tell me.’
‘Well, not great actually,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It was all a bit of a comedy of errors in the end. James thinks he overcooked the pigeon, and I offended the reviewer.’
‘Oh no!’
‘It will be fine. Fine. Don’t worry about that,’ I say quickly. ‘It’s not about that.’
‘Oh. Okay? What is it then?’
Here goes.
‘Look, it’s about the Facebook thing,’ I begin, feeling my cheeks burn. ‘It’s just that I really try not to mix my work and friendships, you know?’
