Island-in-Waiting (12 page)

“I'd better confess,” Annette added as we sat down, “that we asked you here with an ulterior motive.”

“Oh?”

“Your brother was saying you hadn't decided what you want to do.”

Excitement moved inside me. “That's right.”

“We've been looking for someone to join us for some time; not just an employee – to be honest, we couldn't afford to pay out any wages – but someone who really knows about cookery and is prepared to put some money into the business – come in as a partner. As I said, my contribution is limited and Gaston really needs more experienced help.”

Gaston was gauging my reaction. “And you,
mademoiselle.
It is essential that you go to London?”

“Not essential, no.”

“Then might our proposal be of interest? We should be happy to discuss it in greater detail if the idea appeals to you.”

I said slowly, “It's very kind of you both.”

“
Au contraire,
mademoiselle
, it is very much in our own interests. As my wife tells you, we have felt this need for some time but it is not easy to find someone who, as well as being of the standard we require, is also – how shall I say? –
sympathique
.”

I sipped my coffee, analysing this new opening. The challenge of helping to run the restaurant, doing exactly what I most enjoyed, was exciting enough. Added to that – and in my heart I knew this was even more important to me it would offer the chance of staying within reach of Neil. “I'll have to talk it over with my brother, of course.”

“
Bien sûr.
It is not a decision one can arrive at without consideration. We shall not attempt to hurry you.”

We talked then more generally of France and its regions. I learned that Gaston had been brought up in the catering business: his parents ran a small restaurant in Aix-en-Provence. I told him about the hotel where I had worked during the summer and he remembered the new management taking over.

At eleven o'clock Annette began to collect the coffee cups together. “You two go on talking, but if you'll excuse me I'll have to be on my way.”

Feeling that her husband was anxious now to return to the kitchen, I made my excuses and left with her.

“I do hope you'll decide to join us,” she said as we went down the stairs together. “It would be the answer to a prayer. Gaston has far too much to do at the moment.”

“And I suppose you'll have to start taking things more easily now.”

She looked at me quickly. “How do you mean?”

“Well, with the baby –” I broke off at the look on her face.

“How did you know about that?”

“I'm sorry, I – didn't you say –?”

“No, I didn't! I'm not sure yet myself – I haven't even mentioned it to Gaston!”

“I'm very sorry,” I said again from a dry mouth. “I can't imagine what put the idea in my head.” But I could.

“It doesn't matter, though I'd be grateful if you'd keep your suspicions to yourself for the moment. But you're right, of course. If I am pregnant, my days of working all hours of the day are numbered, though any baby of ours will have to get used to spending its time in the kitchen! Anyway, talk it all over with your brother and let us know what you decide. We'll be keeping our fingers crossed.”

“Will you come back to the life class this afternoon?” Martha asked as we finished our lunch. “The boys really ought to have another go at last week's sketches.”

“Not today, if you don't mind. If the weather improves I'll probably have to sit for Ray all day tomorrow and there are several letters I must write this afternoon.”

The telephone rang as Martha was fastening her mack. “I can't stop now, I'm late as it is. If it's for me, say I'll ring back.”

But it was Neil, for me. “I've just been checking through my diary. The meeting I mentioned is tomorrow, unfortunately, so our dinner date will have to wait till Wednesday, if that suits you. Is there anywhere you'd particularly like to go?”

“I've heard the Viking is very good.” And it would be interesting to judge it from the other side of the table as it were.

“Right, I'll phone and book a table. I missed you at lunch time, by the way. The mashed potatoes lacked your special touch!”

Smilingly I put down the phone, but as I was turning away a sudden sharp pain in my hand made me cry out involuntarily. I wasn't aware of having knocked it, and when I examined it I could see no sign of any cut, though the base of my left thumb was very tender to my probing fingers. Shrugging it aside, I went in search of writing-paper.

For a while I wrote steadily: a formal little note to my parents, a more informative account of the holiday to a girl friend, and several pages in French to Jean-Claude. I wondered if he was still hoping I'd go back to France for Christmas as he'd suggested. That was another possible outlet for my culinary skills –
La Patronne
at
Les Cinq Nids.
The fact that never once had it occurred to me to stay there was indication enough that my interest in Jean-Claude had never been, and I knew now never would be, serious. So I wrote lightly and non-committally about my plans, and hoped he would realize that my decision had in fact been reached before we even parted.

I was addressing the last envelope when the door bell rang and I opened it to find Vivian Quayle under a huge umbrella.

“My dear, I hope this isn't an inconvenient time to call?”

“Not at all, but I'm afraid Martha's at college this afternoon.”

“Actually it was you I wanted to see. I have a favour to ask.”

“Oh?” I quickly masked my surprise. “Come in, then. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just about to make one.”

“That would be lovely.”

She shook the surplus rain from her umbrella, leant it against the wall of the porch and stepped into the hall. I took her coat and left her in the sitting-room while I hurried to put on the kettle. My left hand was throbbing painfully, though there was still nothing visible to account for the discomfort. When I returned with the tray, Vivian was standing at the window looking out at the wet, misty countryside.

“How depressing everything seems in the rain, all sodden and water-logged. I know there's usually a magnificent view from this window.” She smiled slightly. “Give the island its due, the scenery is superb.”

I poured the tea and handed over her cup and saucer. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

“I don't know if Martha has mentioned it, but the village branch of the Women's Institute is holding its annual bazaar on Thursday and I've just had a phone call to say Mrs Pargiter, who runs the cake stall, is ill and won't be able to help this year. It's an awful blow at such short notice. She's the backbone of the committee and as well as running the stall, usually supplies over half the goods herself.” She looked at me appealingly over the rim of her cup. “I imagine you've guessed what I want to ask.”

“I'll make some cakes for you, certainly.”

“Would you, my dear? I'd be so grateful. And could you also take over the stall? It's not too arduous really and would be such a load off my mind.”

“I should think so. How many cakes will you need?”

“As many as you can manage! They'll all go. And if you'd be a love and produce one really special
gateau,
we could raffle it. There are about a dozen stalls altogether, fancy goods, stationery, indoor plants – you know the kind of thing. It's largely run by college wives, of course, since St Olaf's accounts for at least two-thirds of the population of Ballacarrick. Have you met any of them?”

“One or two, at the King Orry last week. They seemed very pleasant.”

“Oh, they're all right in small doses, I suppose. The trouble is there's no getting away from them. We have a very narrow social circle, as you can imagine. The same faces show up everywhere – church, bridge, the W.I., not to mention these infernal sherry parties we have hanging over our heads each term. And of course gossip is rife; Ray Kittering sees to that.” Her eyes flicked in my direction. “I hear he's fastened on to you, my dear. Do for pity's sake be careful and watch what you say. He has an unpleasant knack of twisting your words and throwing them back at you. Believe me, I should know. He had the impudence to make a pass at me once. I soon put him in his place and he's never forgiven me.”

She leant back in her chair and lit a cigarette. “Everyone knows everyone's business – it's inevitable. That's why it was so humiliating when Frank Harrison stepped in front of Nicholas and took over as deputy. The whole of St Olaf's knew Nicholas came over on the specific understanding that the post should be his. Of course, the headmaster's a fool.” She exhaled, watching the smoke spiral towards the ceiling. “A well-meaning, jovial fool, far too easily influenced. It never occurred to Nicholas to kow-tow to him but Frank Harrison had no such scruples and look where it got him. It's amazing what a bit of buttering up can accomplish and our worthy head is as susceptible to flattery as the next man.” She gave a brittle little laugh. “He's known throughout college as H.M., you know. I remember Simon Fenton saying once he was sure the old boy thought it stood for His Majesty!”

Her eyes came back to my face. “You must think it's all very parochial and childish, this jostling for position and caring what everyone thinks of you. Believe me, so did I at first, but somehow you get sucked into the stream yourself. I honestly don't know how I'd have held on these last few years if it hadn't been for Neil.”

‘Old Vivian has quite a hankering for him,' said the serpent's voice in my ear. Almost as though she'd read my mind she smiled wryly.

“No doubt friend Ray had Neil and me tucked up in bed together long since. In his world there's no such thing as platonic friendship.”

I moved to the fire to screen my burning cheeks and threw on another log. I was realizing for the first time that Ray's poison was so insidious that I'd been in danger of half-believing it and I was bitterly ashamed.

“God!” Vivian burst out explosively, “if only Nicholas could land this Downhurst appointment! There might still be time for him to make his mark after all. He's brilliant, you know, completely wasted in a backwater like this.”

She bent forward and put down her cup and saucer. “But I'm boring you again. It's an occupational hazard, my dear. Forgive me. And I've taken up quite enough of your time. Thanks so much for agreeing to help us out. The bazaar is held in St Stephen's Hall, by the way. It opens at three, so if you could be there by two it would give us time to get everything out and price it. And you might remind Martha she's on fancy goods this year. She did say she'd contribute a shawl or something, but ten to one she's forgotten all about it!”

As I watched Vivian go down the drive under the giant mushroom of her umbrella I was planning what I should bake for the stall. Perhaps Annette would lend me a few recipes.

Martha returned from her class soon afterwards. “You were right about Pam's phone call,” she said expressionlessly, dropping a bundle of sketches on to the coffee table.

“Oh?” I closed my eyes briefly against a wave of sickness.

“Phyl Lathom told me at break. Apparently she did go to the King Orry, but she was obviously uneasy, Phyl said, and left early. She'd just got back when it came through.”

I said with an effort, “Who was it, do you know?”

“Her sister, in Douglas. She'd taken an overdose of sleeping-pills after a row with her boy-friend. Then she panicked and phoned Pam. She passed out during the call but they were able to rush an ambulance to her in time. If Pam hadn't been in, though –”

She broke off and after a long silence I said tonelessly, “That's all right, then.”

Martha glanced across at me. “Don't expect any thanks,” she said dryly. “Pam's insisting it's all coincidence.”

A regular little sybil, she had called me. Being proved right was unlikely to endear me to her any further. I pushed the incident out of my head and tried to concentrate on the Viking.

Over dinner that evening I said to Hugo, “Did Martha tell you I had coffee at the Viking this morning?”

“I think she mentioned it, yes. They're a pleasant couple, aren't they?”

“Very. As a matter of fact, they've asked me if I'd like to go in with them.”

“Chloe! You never told me!” Martha stared at me round-eyed.

“Sorry, but there seemed no point in going through it twice.”

“Permanently, you mean?” Hugo demanded.

“More or less.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“It's just the sort of place I'd love to have. I don't know what kind of profit they make, how it balances out throughout the year and so on, but we could soon find out if I decide to go ahead. What do you think?”

“My dear girl, only you can decide. I thought you'd set your sights on London, though?”

“The competition would be pretty stiff and you know what a coward I am. I've been dreading the thought of having to break into a profession with no-one near I could run to for help.”

“Oh, nonsense. You set out for France on your own without a backward glance.”

“That wasn't bravery; I was in full retreat from Oxford.”

“Well, from our angle, of course, we'd be delighted if you stayed.”

“But?” I prompted shrewdly.

“It's just struck me that you'd be subjected to an indefinite proximity to Ray. I can't say I'm too happy about that.”

“He always said I'd stay, didn't he?”

Hugo looked at me with narrowed eyes. “I trust that didn't have any influence on you.”

“No, of course not.” I added quickly and with deliberate lightness: “Anyway, he's not the only man in my life! I'm having dinner with Neil on Wednesday.”