Vanilla Salt (29 page)

“But what you are saying? This is our dream now be true and we get plenty advertise of journalists. We must to use this good chance.”

“Listen Annette, journalists are two-faced. They tell you one thing and mean the opposite. They’re hypocrites. I think we should go and see the Can Bret man tomorrow and accept his offer. Yes, tomorrow. If he comes up with the money, I’ll sell the building and sign the contract immediately, and you and I can get away and start a new life together.”

He’s desperately seeking strategies to convince Annette, although he knows his arguments do not hold water.

“You no must think this,” she says. “We work here very hard and we keep with idea of new business because it very good. Now my very good idea is celebrate good party tonight. You invite me for listen music in your room?”

Àlex isn’t really up to sexual feats tonight, but agrees anyway. In bed, Annette’s happiness is evident, but Àlex is unresponsive. She believes he needs time to unwind after all the effort he’s put into cooking and fretting about the party. She unbuttons his shirt, removes his trousers and gently finishes undressing him. His tattoos leap out, begging for attention. She caresses them with her fingertips, stopping at one on his back with a heartbreaking message: “I want to be with you, brother.” She licks it and then all the rest of him, leaving no centimetre unexplored, from his toes to the soles of his feet, up his legs, calves, thighs, buttocks, moving towards her goal. Then she stops.

She wants to make him wait, suffer, go mad with desire, beg for more. She wants to make him implore her to hurry, to lick his penis and surround it with her lips. She caresses his chest with her curly hair, tickles him gently under the arms, wanting to hear him laugh. She climbs on top of him, leaning over till their lips touch, gently kissing him. Àlex
is miles away, absent. Annette’s done her best, wanting this night to be doubly magic, but she can’t turn him on. They remain in silence. She’s tired too, and goes to sleep like a baby in the shelter of his arms.

He wakes up to the sweet smell of something hot exhaled from a cup. Annette wants to surprise him with breakfast in bed, but Àlex is distraught. He can’t bear the idea of hurting his beloved Annette. If only he could wind the clock back like a video film, he’d just press rewind and go back to the day when they started to plan the party. He’d tell her to forget all about the idea of putting on a show for these cynical people and just get on with their life in the restaurant, working until they’d had enough. But he can’t. He’s blown it. Now he has to tell her that he’s betrayed her, that he’s a bastard and that all her hopes will be shattered today.

He dips a slice of sponge cake into the cup, letting it greedily soak up the satiny hot chocolate perfumed with cinnamon and vanilla. He loves the intense bitter warmth of the chocolate on his tongue. When he was a very small boy he once covered his white shirt in hot chocolate at the first-communion party of one of his brother’s friends, but his mother didn’t get cross with him. On the contrary she laughed and, still giggling, said, “You look like a chocolate-and-cream zebra.” Now, forty years later, he’s drinking it again. It was sweet when he had it at the first-communion party, but today it’s bitter, quite bitter, although Annette has added quite a lot of sugar.

“The Aztecs they beat chocolate with two sticks and it make the sound ‘choco, choco’. Then they put the water, in Aztec is word
alt
, so make this name
choco-alt
, what very same like today name, maybe only Aztec word we use still today. In sixteen century the people in Spain they crazy for chocolate and in
Le Grand Dictionnaire de cuisine
, Àlexandre Dumas he say everyone know that Spanish they have no need more than chocolate, chickpeas and bacon.”

“Thank you, Annette. It’s been wonderful to know you.”

“We no die now! We have plenty time. Many experiences they wait for us together.”

“That chocolate, which was so sweet when I was a child, is bitter today, because circumstances have taken away the sugar that made everything easier. Growing older means getting used to the bitter taste and learning to find pleasure in it,” Àlex muses, looking out the window so as not to have to meet Annette’s gaze. “Did you try the watercress soup last night?”

“Sorry, Àlex, I no have time. Everyone they say it very good, but if remain any I have today.”

“No, beautiful, I don’t want you to eat it. It’s too bitter for you.”

Àlex’s eyes light up with happiness. He gets into his best clothes: shirt, tie and jacket. He rushes downstairs, out into the street, where the cold air reddens his cheeks and abruptly wakes him up, even though it doesn’t banish the fog taking over his brain.

He marches into Can Bret, where the boss receives him. The transaction lasts a few minutes. Àlex signs away his home and also a commitment to transfer the business.

He walks slowly back to Roda el Món, crunching plane tree leaves underfoot. He looks at his property and is suffused by a mix of nostalgia and happiness. He wants with all his heart to go somewhere a long way from here.

15

MAIZE

All the newspapers are full of the story of poisoned journalists and other guests at the party. The more charitable pieces speak of error, but most are harsh, speculating about inadequate hygiene, negligence, poison and so on. A quick glance indicates the strength of Àlex’s degree of friendship with the journalist concerned: the measure is malice.

Annette has read all the reports with great attention. The grim reality is that the restaurant’s image was already terrible, and all it needed to go right under was to be the cause of mass food-poisoning, which is what the headlines are screaming, loud enough to be heard in the furthermost corners of the country. There’s no denying the evidence. They’re done for. It will take years to win back the confidence of clients, and Annette will need centuries to recover. She’s as tough as an old maple tree, but being blamed for a second episode of food-poisoning which she hasn’t caused is more than she can handle.

Cleaning up after the party and reading the newspapers, she hardly notices the morning flying by. She’s decided not to open for lunch. Friday is the slackest day, because most people from the local factories only work in the morning, so they’ve practically begun their weekend, while the city people with holiday homes haven’t arrived yet. They plan to open
for dinner, but after the newspaper reports Annette’s not expecting too many customers today.

She goes to the door for a breath of fresh air and to look at the sun. Still holding the newspaper, she sees Àlex walking towards her. If she didn’t know that wild horses wouldn’t drag him to Can Bret, she would almost have thought he was coming from there.

“Almost all journalists they sick because they get poisoned and say it because of our dinner. What will happen us now, Àlex?” she almost shrieks.

“Right now, we’re going inside to have a cup of coffee. I need to talk to you.” Àlex looks hangdog and can’t meet her eye.

“Àlex, we finished. We no can recover now. I destroyed. I no know what can we do.” Annette’s crying and sobbing.

Àlex fears that Annette’s tears will wash away her freckles, but now he has to inform her that he’s just sold his house to the Can Bret people. He can’t find the words, because this will be even more devastating for her. He should also tell her that he knows that the journalists are suffering from food-poisoning, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Listen, darling, let’s forget about the restaurant. We’ll use our money to set up our vanilla-salt business.”

“We no have money. I use money we get for to pay debt with suppliers, and the party it was very expensive. I was thinking the journalists write good things and we get more customers, more money for to pay Òscar the money he lend. We no have money!”

“I have money. I just sold the house, and we have the option of selling the restaurant too, but I need your agreement. But we have to do it immediately, today in fact.”

Annette is really alarmed. “What you have done? You sell the house? Who you sell to? Who want restaurant that all newspapers they attack? You must to forget this idea. You say silly things.”

“I sold the house to the Can Bret people this morning, and they want to buy the restaurant too. I’ve signed a commitment to sell the restaurant as well.” He still can’t look at her.

“With permission of who? To Can Bret, never! You crazy. We finished, yes, but we must to keep the honour. You no ask me. You son of the bitch, you betray me!”

She’s so hurt her despair turns to rage. Transparent tears are little magnifying glasses on her freckles, making them flash like red lights.

“We can’t afford to talk about honour. This is an extreme situation, and the Can Bret boss is willing to pay. We’ve been struggling in vain. Now we have to put all our efforts into vanilla salt. We’ll find a small place where we can live and work.” He tries to sound reasonable.

The phone interrupts them. It’s Carol, wanting to know how Annette’s taken the news. She tries to calm her and invites her to lunch, saying she wants to help her with this terrible situation and the future of Roda el Món. Annette thinks this isn’t the best day to leave the restaurant, but her feelings are mixed and she’s very confused. Even though she senses that going to see Carol would be like tightrope-walking across Niagara Falls in a storm, it also seems that she’s the only person showing fortitude and determination. Nothing is clear in this murky situation, but at least Carol is offering warmth and Annette needs a change of scene. Carol finally dispels all doubts by dropping the bombshell: “I know what happened yesterday.”

Life seems much easier in Carol’s car than it does when she’s hanging around Àlex. It’s clean, there are no papers scattered on the floor, the petrol tank is full and it smells nice. When they stop at a toll gate the barrier opens immediately, a small detail which Annette finds comforting. Life with Àlex is full of barriers that block and complicate everything, a
continuous succession of gates that don’t let them through and conspire to thwart all their dreams.

Carol stops at the entrance of a restaurant in Arenys de Mar on the Maresme coast, where they are effusively greeted by the woman who owns it. Carol tells Annette to get whatever she wants.

They order an array of Catalonia’s splendid sausages, haricot beans, potatoes with lobster and cannelloni. Carol seems happy. Her chief concern today is to find the restaurant with the best cannelloni, and the ones she’s ordered are exceptional, especially when washed down with French wine.

When their second course has been served, Carol decides that it’s time to raise the subject. “This is a terrible thing to have happened. But you can come out of it brilliantly, because you’re wonderful in the dining room. I can help you find a good chef, because with this crisis there are plenty of them looking for work.”

“Àlex he very good chef. We have bad luck, because if this thing happen with other people who no are journalists we say sorry and nobody know. The problem it is big because they tell it in all the media.”

“Yes, it’s everywhere, that’s true. This is very tough, but the journalists like you. They think Àlex is a madman, a temperamental artist. They admire him, but also fear him, and some of them can’t stand him as he can be very crude at times. I think that if you get rid of him, we can start again from square one. I’ll organize a couple of interviews for you in the mainstream newspapers and TV programmes, and I’m sure you’ll come out of this.”

“I no think I need kick Àlex out. You get interviews in newspaper for him and he explain and have new chance. Carol, I want ask if you OK. You no have problem with dinner?”

“Actually, I’m not a hundred per cent today, but at least I’m not in intensive care. I didn’t eat much yesterday, because I desperately wanted
everything to go well and was very nervous. And look how it all turned out… Do you think the food-poisoning was just bad luck?”

Annette, surprised by the question, asks, “What this mean? Of course it bad luck. Some ingredient it was bad.”

Carol runs her index finger round and round the edge of her bread plate as if trying to hypnotize Annette. “Well, it’s just that… Àlex said something weird a few days ago and it made me very uneasy. Have you noticed anything strange about him?”

“Strange? We so busy I no give attention.”

Looking condescendingly at Annette, as if struggling to convey to her that this is a dangerous world where babes in the wood get gobbled up by wolves, Carol, apparently drained by the most crushing weariness, sighs loudly.

“I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, since you should have worked it out for yourself, but Àlex wants to wipe you off the map. He hasn’t told me so himself, but I can see from a mile away what he’s up to. Poisoning the journalists meant destroying your last chance of getting the restaurant up and running again. If you are ruined he can then get it back for himself without paying a cent. Once it’s in his grasp again he’ll find a way to start all over again.”

“You are telling me Àlex he sabotage the food? This no have sense. Impossible. We start new business… together. You make mistake, Carol. No, this all wrong because he give up and sell house to Can Bret. It impossible he want get restaurant back.”

“I adore your cute innocence, sweetheart! Look, I’m an old hand and I’ve been keeping an eye on him for a while now, waiting to see what he’ll do. Àlex wants to hurt you. It’s a matter of pride, nothing to do with wanting to be the owner but with his waning popularity. You were becoming the queen of the place, people know who you are, they’re asking for you and feel let down if you’re not there. Your work in the dining
room is very important, because you’re the visible face of the business, and it doesn’t matter who cooks, as long as the quality and appearance of the dishes is excellent. The chef is anonymous and you’re the real boss. This is too much for Àlex’s ego. I’m telling you this because I love you. If not, I’d leave you to deal with it all by your sweet little self. I don’t know how he managed to poison the journalists, but I’m certain it was him. Think about it and work out how you’re going to pay him back.”