He glanced at the table. “What would the right reasons be? She’s interested in being on my arm and the benefits that will bring. I know she’s worried about my connection with you, so I guess there is an emotional investment there. She’s talked about wanting children.”
Phillip had two kids from his first marriage. I knew he’d like more. I also knew that Harriet would be aware if they had children, she’d be on track for more money should they split. But maybe my own bitterness was tainting the situation.
“Is she pressuring you to take your investment out of the restaurants?”
He said nothing, which gave me my answer.
“I understand.” At least I was trying to. I knew the return on his investment had been more than he’d thought it would’ve been. A lot more.
“You know, Simone, I will always support you, but I need to look at my future too. We’re not getting back together. We’re friends and business associates, however if that is going to hinder my future on a personal level then I have to prioritise.”
His meaning was clear.
“You’re sure she’s not just interested in your money?”
He shrugged. “I’m sixty-two. It’s one of my most attractive qualities. But I don’t think that’s entirely it. What would make me happy is knowing that you’ve moved on from what Eliot did and I’ve met Jack a few times; he’s a good man. And you share a passion.”
We certainly did. Maybe more than one.
* * *
London killed me.I wasn’t a southerner by birth, growing up in the North-East, not too far from Whitby and Scarborough, but London had become my home when my father had moved there for work when I was nine. Sometimes I thought of the sea, the parade of fishing boats and the activity, the bustle, when they’d come in with their catch. My dad had specialised in fish dishes and he was headhunted by a London fish restaurant to work there after spending a fair amount of time in France. One of my earliest memories was of him cooking moules, making the white wine sauce and allowing me to try it. It had been so hot I’d burned my mouth.
London became home. On the days when I was more stressed than normal, I’d take a walk by the river, the water soothing. Some days the whole movement and shift of the city was enough to remind me that shit happened, but life still continued.
Its pace was frantic. My job had taken me to a good healthy dose of cities over the last seven years. I loved Toronto, hated Vegas, wanted to live in New Orleans, never wanted to see Paris again and Madrid had my heart. Tokyo and New York made me want to eat my eyeballs because no one stopped, a little like London.
I’d spent an hour or so at Blue after Phillip had left, checking out the kitchen and speaking to the chef. We had menu changes coming up across the board and I’d decided – eventually – that I needed to allow them more opportunity to develop their own dishes. I still wanted to create; at the end of it all, that was why I went into this business – to fuse flavours and introduce people to tastes they hadn’t imagined. But my chefs had gone into it wanting the same thing.
The door to Toad Hall was open when I got there, which was weird, given that no one was in the building. The contractors had pretty much finished. The next event was the furniture being delivered and fitted, something that was happening on Monday, if all went to plan. Nothing ever went to plan.
I yelled through the building, equally not wanting to freak someone out as much I was being slightly freaked out myself. I wasn’t a fan of being surprised suddenly. In a bad way.
There was, unsurprisingly, no answer. The door could’ve been left unlocked by the contractors yesterday, but then my site manager would’ve been here to check on the building last night and in fact, he’d texted me an update that everything looked good.
I headed into the kitchen, the most expensive area and my favourite. I’d taken idea from the time I’d spent in Spain and made it into acantina, very Spanish in its influence.
It was then I saw it. The large letters painted onto the tiles.
WHORE
Nothing more, no other damage, just the graffiti. And an unlocked door.
Throughout my life, I’d felt lonely. Growing up, I’d had dance friends and school friends, but I’d found it increasingly difficult to gel with anyone enough to have a best friend, probably why I’d married so young. Phillip had friends who we’d socialised with, but they’d been a different generation to me and had looked down on my age. And Eliot had isolated me.
But right now, standing in an empty, unfurnished restaurant, the word ‘whore’ emblazoned on the tiles, my phone in hand, was the loneliest I’d ever felt.
I had no one to call.
I dialled the police, probably the sensible thing to do, and was told that an officer who was out on the beat nearby would be there shortly. Outside seemed like a more sensible option to wait, given that I had no idea how long ago the vandal had been there.
The officer was there quickly, checking out the premises and determining that it was empty. He logged it as a crime and left me to lock up. That was it. The city was too busy to take one word seriously, or a small matter of breaking and entering. I called a security firm run by Vanessa’s brother-in-law and asked them to do a couple of checks overnight and then tomorrow to assess what we needed at all three restaurants.
Then I did what I knew best.
I went to work.
* * *
