Instead, I am content to let my work and Mr Philips’ cooking speak for itself.
Marie-Louise places the paper on the desk in front of her. She just sits there, eyes fixed on the last paragraph like she’s checking for traps.
The silence stretches.
Finally, she exhales. Slow. Careful.
“That,” she says, “is not an apology.”
“No,” I reply. “It isn’t.”
She glances up at me then. Really looks. “You’re aware that this isn’t what the owner asked for.”
“I am,” I say. “But I can’t apologise for something I haven’t done. And I won’t pretend I understand why I should.”
Marie-Louise hums quietly, the sound she makes when she’s thinking and not enjoying it.
“This will escalate things,” she says.
“Maybe.”
She looks back down at the page, taps it once with her finger, then sets it on the desk with deliberate care.
Another beat.
Then she reaches for the phone receiver.
Chapter 18
Tom
Iam standing inthe foyer of Radio Carlisle wondering at what point my life took a sharp turn into other people making decisions on my behalf.
“Relax,” Rupert says brightly, adjusting his scarf like this is a casual brunch and not a local radio station with opinions. “It’s radio. They can’t see you panic.”
“I’m not panicking,” I say.
“You’ve rearranged that leaflet stand three times,” he replies. “And you’re gripping your phone like it might attempt escape.”
I loosen my grip. Marginally.
This was Rupert’s doing. A friend of a friend who works at Radio Carlisle, a presenter who likes food and mild controversy. Rupert had said it like it was nothing. A chat. A bit of balance. A chance to bereasonable.
I do not feel reasonable.
“I run a restaurant,” I mutter. “I am not meant to be on air talking about ethics and newspapers.”
“You are meant to talk about food,” Rupert says soothingly. “And about being a decent human being. Both of which you manage daily.”
“That is in a controlled environment,” I say. “With knives.”
He pats my arm. “You’ll be marvellous. Calm. Measured. Earnest in a way people find reassuring.”
“I am not earnest.”
Rupert gives me a look. “Thomas.”
I sigh.
