He put the glass down, clearing his throat and looked up at me. My stomach grew warm as I found the guarded expression in his eyes had been replaced with amusement.
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ He smiled and I lowered my hand awkwardly.
‘I didn’t think this wasthatsort of establishment.’ Stephen’s voice was all dry humour too but his expression, as he watched Nick and I, was narrow-eyed.
‘Okay, what have I missed?’
‘Um, Mary Jane tea?’ Nick raised his eyebrows, but I shook my head, still not getting it. ‘I think that blend’s more likely to be served inAmsterdam.’
I was still struggling to make the connection. Wasn’t Amsterdam more famous for coffee shops than tea –ohhh. Heat rushed up to my cheeks. ‘LadyJane. Oh my God, I meant Lady Jane tea not…not…’
‘Cannabis?’ Stephen supplied loudly.
I cast a quick look around the room to see if anyone had heard him and was listening in now, thinking I was offering guests illegal substances.No, police officer, we are not selling drugs. I just need more sleep and practice memorising our beverages.
‘Stephen.’ Nick’s voice was low with admonishment.
‘What? You were the one who almost choked laughing at her.’
An uncomfortable silence descended and Nick cast an apologetic look at me. I wanted to tell him not to worry – it was Stephen who was taking up the role of rude brother today – but that would have only made matters worse. This was why you didn’t go on dates with guests. I forced myself to break the hush. ‘Anyway, tea, Dorie?’
‘Normal tea, thank you,’ she said graciously, and I gave her a little nod and tucked my pencil and pad away in my apron because even I could remember that order. Just as I was about to turn away, she spoke again. ‘Oh, one other thing I meant to ask you – the Mince Pie Evening tonight – is that still on?’
I blinked twice. Sometimes my mum was not content with the challenge of keeping a hotel full of guests happy with normal meals and a stocked-up bar – sometimes she felt the need to host ‘Evenings’. It sounded like there was one planned for tonight, which was just fabulous.
‘Yes.’ I had no idea what I was confirming but it didn’t sound too complex. Definitely not as complex as explaining why we couldn’t still host it. ‘Yes, of course. Right. One pot of tea, one pot of coffee and a bacon sandwich coming up.’ And then I escaped into the kitchen.
‘Henry?’ I called out as soon as I was through the door. I was determined to do this quickly and pretend that it wasn’t a big deal that I had no idea what was going on in the hotel that I’d boasted to him I was running.
He was nowhere to be seen but I heard a clatter in the walk-in fridge and he came out, with a scowl on his face.
‘What? I thought breakfast would be done with by now. I’ve got things to be getting on with.’
‘One more bacon sandwich and that should be the last of the hot food orders. Oh…and what’s this mince pie thing that’s happening tonight?’ I asked as I got on with filling a teapot with hot water and tea and grabbing a cafetière of coffee.
‘I thought you were in charge, Princess? Don’t you know?’
‘Iamin charge but hey, you think the Prime Minister knows everything that’s going on at No. 10 without being told by his assistants?’
‘I amnotyour assistant.’
‘No kidding. I’m not the Prime Minister either – it was an analogy. Can you just answer the question please, before we both die of old age?’ I put two cups, on their saucers, on a tray and added a small jug of fresh milk.
‘There’s going to be a cold buffet on instead of dinner, followed by drinks and nibbles in the bar.’
I paused as I thought it over, hands ready on the sides of the tray. ‘So, dinner starts at normal time but it’s a self-service thing and then at, what? Half-eight/nine-o’clock, you crack out the mince pies and booze?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know the timings. I’m just getting the food ready, and then I’ll be gone by eight, since I’m not meant to be here anyway…’ His sentence petered away into a grumble as he disappeared back into the fridge.
‘Great. Thanks. That was really illuminating,’ I called after him.
Walking back through the dining room I caught snatches of conversation; almost all of it about the snow, though half the guests were excited at the prospect of a white Christmas and half were lamenting the cold. As I approached Nick and Stephen’s table, I did my best to tune my ears out by running through the piano chords toThree Little Birdsin my head. I didn’t want to hear what they were talking about. It was none of my business and any little snippets I might catch would only inflame my curiosity.
Once I’d served them their drinks and stolen a glance at Nick’s choice of cereal – a mountain of cornflakes of the sweet variety; the big, adorable kid, gagh – I collected some dirty dishes and cups on the tray I’d come in with and headed back towards the kitchen to pick up Stephen’s bacon sandwich.
After two silent minutes, Henry slid it wordlessly across the counter towards me. Today was going to be so much fun.
I struggled not to salivate all over the plate as I ferried the sandwich back in. Stephen should count himself lucky I was far too nice a person to spit on it after his snarky remarks this morning. The bacon smelt amazing, crisped to perfection on soft doorstep-cut bread. If that didn’t put his hangover to rights, I didn’t know what would, but I didn’t wait around to find out.
