“You can’t be serious,” whispered Arthur, turning to her.
“I don’t think you need to whisper, he’s all the way over there.”
“There’s no way he would ever go along with that kind of thing!”
“Who says he has to know?” she replied with a wry smile. “Sometimes fate needs a little nudge . . . Doesn’t that sound a bit familiar?”
And she crossed the road without waiting for Arthur.
Mia put on the pair of tortoiseshell glasses she’d bought from an antique dealer that afternoon. The thick lenses blurred her vision. She pushed open the door of the restaurant.
Even with her poorer eyesight, she could tell the place was packed. Through a slot window in the back wall, Mia could just make out Daisy hard at work in the kitchen, as could all of the patrons from their individual tables. Her sous-chef moved from one spot to the next like he didn’t know which way to turn. Daisy cleared some plates and disappeared. A door opened and she reappeared, walking briskly toward a table of four. She served them and went off again just as quickly, brushing past Mia without paying her any attention. Just before she went into the kitchen, she took three steps backward.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, “we’re fully booked tonight.”
Mia, whose glasses were making her cross-eyed, did not give up.
“Can’t you fit me somewhere? I can wait,” she said, disguising her voice.
Daisy scanned the room, looking put out.
“The people over there have already asked for the bill, but they won’t stop chatting away . . . Are you alone? I could give you a spot at the bar,” she suggested.
Mia agreed and went to sit down on a stool.
In a few minutes, Daisy returned. She popped behind the bar, set a place for Mia, and then turned around to grab a wineglass from the rack. She produced a menu and announced that there were no more scallops. The restaurant used only ingredients bought that day, and they had sold out.
“What a shame. I came all the way from London to taste your scallops.”
Daisy peered at her doubtfully, then jumped.
“Oh my God!” she shouted. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t carrying dishes—I would have dropped everything. You are absolutely insane!”
“You didn’t recognize me?”
“I didn’t really get a good look at you. But what the hell came over you?”
“What, you don’t like it?”
“I don’t have time to come to a verdict—my waitress left me in the lurch, tonight of all nights. Look, if you’re hungry, I’ll fix you something, but if not . . .”
“What if I help out? You look like you could use all the help you can get.”
“Melissa Barlow, waitress? Somehow, I just don’t see it.”
“Keep your voice down! Melissa as waitress, maybe not. But how about Mia?”
Daisy looked her up and down.
“You think you’re capable of holding a plate without spilling it?”
“I had to play a waitress once, and I’ll have you know I trained for the role.”
Daisy hesitated. She heard her assistant ringing the bell. The customers were getting restless. They were going to need reinforcements.
“Fine. Take off those ridiculous glasses and follow me.”
Daisy led Mia into the kitchen, handed her an apron, and pointed to six plates waiting under heat lamps.
