Something From Tiffany’s (13 page)

‘Oh.’

‘And I’ll need to get out there and start trying to get a few more jobs in. Money doesn’t make itself, you know.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Rachel hadn’t expected him to be quite so negative.

‘Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate this trip and everything. And I had a great time the first few days. It’s just, you know, work and then the big New Year’s motorbike ride, which I’m still doing despite these bloody ribs, I swear.’

‘No, no . . . I understand that,’ she said, raising a smile. After all, he was right. Money
didn’t
make itself, and she reminded herself that he had already laid down a good chunk of that for the ring. Chances were he was planning ahead and budgeting for their wedding and honeymoon too, so thinking about it, a few extra days here would indeed be too much of an extravagance. Not to mention that Rachel also had her own responsibilities with the bistro.

No, it was probably better in the end, she realised. Gary would no doubt have already thought about this in detail, and decided that it was best to wait until they got home to propose.

Oh well, Rachel thought, it seemed she’d just have to wait that little bit longer to get that ring on her finger.

‘That’s my girl. Come here,’ he said, motioning to embrace her. She duly leaned in and kissed him tenderly. ‘Now let’s get the doc to write me a prescription so I can get the hell out of here.’

He seemed unusually anxious to leave the hospital. Maybe he wasn’t waiting until they got home to propose and wanted to do it as soon as possible, preferably before they took their return flight?

That would be much better; to Rachel, an engagement in New York – be it on Christmas Day or otherwise – seemed much more romantic.

‘Hello there,’ came a voice from the doorway and Rachel and Gary turned to look.

‘Kim, hi!’ Rachel greeted her warmly. ‘Oh I’m glad you’re here. I –
we
wanted to say thank you and goodbye. You’ve been so kind and I loved talking with you.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it. I think he’s being discharged tomorrow, but just in case I’m not here when you leave, I wanted to pop in and say hi. Hey there, Irishman,’ she said, turning her attention to Gary. ‘How does it feel to be back in the land of the living?’

‘It’d be a lot bloody better if I had some painkillers,’ he replied rudely, and Rachel looked at him, mortified. ‘And why can’t I get out today?’

‘Gary, have some manners,’ Rachel chided. ‘Kim has been looking after you very well while you’ve been here, and she’s been brilliant to me too.’

‘Well, someone had to keep your lovely lady company,’ Kim replied, evidently unperturbed. ‘I’m glad you’ll be back on your feet soon. Quite a knock you had. She’s been like an angel watching over you,’ she told him, putting her hand on Rachel’s shoulder. ‘Anyway, I’ll leave you two to your catching up. Just wanted to wish you well in case I don’t see you. I’ll find out from the doc when he’s happy for you to leave, and come back and let you guys know.’

‘Thanks, Kim, we really appreciate it.’

‘No problem.’ The nurse turned to go but then paused and looked back over her shoulder. ‘And you, sweetheart, just you remember what I told you before, OK?’

Rachel flushed, and her eyes darted towards Gary for his reaction. Of course he had no idea what she was referring to, but still she felt a little caught off guard. She hadn’t noticed the clock on the wall before, but all of a sudden the ticking from it could be heard clear as anything. ‘Of course, of course I will,’ she replied quickly. ‘And thanks again.’

‘What was all that about?’ Gary asked after Kim had closed the door.

‘Oh nothing . . . just some insider secrets on helping you get better,’ she said, stroking his arm and trying to sound carefree. ‘Anyway, I can’t wait to have you out of here either. We’ve got a belated Christmas to celebrate.’

‘Yeah, I hope you got me something nice; after all this, I think I deserve it,’ he said, and Rachel had to smile at his ironic sense of humour.

Clever diversion, honey, she thought happily.

Chapter 10

As she prepared to close up Stromboli bistro for the night, Terri Blake was still reeling from Rachel’s phone call from New York and the news of her best friend’s engagement. Although she was thrilled for her friend, it was the last thing she’d expected, especially from Gary.

Terri had been surprised last year when, shortly after the bistro opened, Rachel had taken up with the builder who’d carried out the renovations. She remembered the way he’d gone the extra mile in helping them get the refurbishments finished on time, but it was obvious (to her at least) that this was purely in the hope of impressing Rachel. And it had worked.

Still, she’d never truly considered Gary Knowles a real match for her friend, not a long-term one anyway.

He was attractive certainly, in that coarse, dishevelled kind of way, but in her opinion he seemed rather immature and self-centred. For this reason Terri had never really taken to the guy, never really understood exactly what it was that Rachel saw in him.

She also didn’t like the fact that Rachel hadn’t been introduced to Gary’s family, and knew little or nothing about them, despite being with him for almost a year. To Terri that was something of a red flag, regardless of Rachel’s protests that he just preferred to take things slowly.

It also irked her that Gary routinely took advantage of Rachel’s generosity; expecting to eat and drink at the bistro for free, and more often than not staying over at Rachel’s flat. Granted his own place was further out of town so it made sense for convenience, but from Terri’s point of view, give and take in Rachel and Gary’s relationship had up to now been a one-way street, with Gary doing all the taking.

Rachel was aware of her misgivings and Terri knew that her friend took the odd barb and banter between her and Gary in good stride, often comparing them to quarrelling siblings. Luckily she didn’t seem to notice that Terri was genuinely baffled by her interest in him.

But now Gary had gone and bought Rachel a diamond ring, and one from Tiffany’s, no less.

Terri had heard that a ring from the world-famous jewellery store was supposed to be the epitome of romance. She wouldn’t know about that. But she did know that the nadir of romance was the love of your life running off with your supposed best friend, as had happened in Terri’s last relationship.

That had been almost eight years ago, she reflected with some dismay, but she didn’t think she would have got through the devastation that followed if it hadn’t been for Rachel, whom she’d met at catering college shortly afterwards.

It was strange but upon digesting Rachel’s unexpected news from New York, a panorama of memories Terri and her friend had shared throughout the years suddenly seemed to fill her head from every side.

Student days spent lounging around in Rachel’s flat with their feet up, drinking wine and talking about past or present loves; days out shopping and sharing wardrobe advice; staying up late discussing dreams for the future . . .

Then, of course, the huge excitement of deciding to go into business together, the subsequent haggling over the mechanics of the bistro and its bakery offshoot until, finally, the opening day of Stromboli itself, which Terri was sure was the proudest moment of both of their careers, and a defining moment in their friendship.

She smiled, recalling the commotion surrounding not only opening the restaurant, but giving it a name.

While the two easily agreed on the type of cuisine to offer, she and Rachel simply couldn’t come up with a name that encapsulated their intentions, yet was creative but not too pretentious.

Eventually they chose something that reflected both Rachel’s Sicilian heritage and their explosive cuisine: Stromboli. It was the name of a volcanic island off the coast of Sicily. One thing could be said for certain: there was nothing like it in all of Dublin.

An eclectic blend of art, furniture, fragrances and Mediterranean foods, Stromboli drew people from miles around. The artisan bakery section was practically becoming a tourist destination in itself thanks to write-ups first in local newspapers and then in the
Irish Times
, followed by a special mention in the
Dublin Food Guide
. Within a few months of opening the bistro they’d had to post a ‘Reservations Recommended’ sign in the window.

Their focus on creating an authentic palate of individual dishes and blending flavours and textures from various countries had paid off in greater ways than either Terri or Rachel had imagined. Although they originally intended to keep the off-site catering aspect to small and intimate gatherings, their services were increasingly in demand.

The Mediterranean dishes, full of vegetables and rich in egg, meats and cheeses, were some of the most popular choices on both the bistro and the catering menus.

The more traditional Irish preparations of tarts, roasts and starchy vegetables enticed the tourists, and Stromboli’s location a stone’s throw from the Ha’penny Bridge helped considerably with bringing in custom. Their seafood paella, with which they served fresh sourdough (from Terri’s leg-quivering recipe), had undoubtedly become the bistro’s signature dish, and the reason their regular customers kept returning time and time again.

Also, the drinks menu, full of personal touches, reflected an impressive consideration of detail. Terri had chosen the majority of the list herself and was immensely proud of it. They carried a nice array of popular European wines alongside a line of various Spanish and Portuguese beers, as well as the most popular Irish ones. For additional colour they even had a few American microbrewery selections to choose from. Terri’s own favourite was Arrogant Bastard Ale, which, Rachel joked, Terri only ordered shortly after first being introduced to Gary. It had been a staple on the bistro menu ever since and oddly, despite the in-joke, was one of Gary’s preferred choices; he’d even bought a round of it for everyone on his birthday.

Everything about the bistro inspired Terri: the day-to-day running of it, the administration and ordering of supplies, the budgeting and book-keeping, even the madness that was the catering arm.

And even though Stromboli was her and Rachel’s shared enterprise, it still felt a little like she was carrying on a piece of her dad’s legacy.

Tom Blake had run a traditional old Dublin café from the selfsame location since Terri was very young, and although he’d raised an eyebrow at the refurbishments, and Stromboli’s striking purple and orange signage above the doorway, she knew he was overjoyed that catering (albeit of a very different kind) was staying in the family.

For as far back as Terri could recall, cooking and food had simply been an extension of her very self and the life she experienced all around her.

It was really only in the kitchen – her hands covered in sticky dough, her senses filled with the rich sweetness of the egg-and-sugar-laden mass and her arms tired from kneading – that she felt secure and confident in her life. Baking represented a link not just to her past, but to her passion in the present and her identity in the future.

On the wall of the kitchen in the bistro hung a plaque:

When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, nor social harmony.

Her dad had given her this plaque on Stromboli’s opening night and she’d since learned that it was attributed to a person called Marie-Antoine Carême. It confirmed for Terri that she was doing something of value, something that brought a sense of continuity to her own life and the lives of others.

She couldn’t remember which book it was in particular, but there was a Toni Morrison story she had read in which the main character made bread time and again, sustaining her family and entertaining friends. The section of the story Terri loved most was the description of the woman kneading bread with her warm hands while, behind her, her lover held her closely, gently and firmly kneading her body too.

Thus came her passion for baking bread. Bread – like real love – took time, cultivation, strong loving hands and patience. It lived, rising and growing to fruition only under the most perfect circumstances. If the water was too warm, it killed the yeast; too cool and the yeast was not inspired to grow the bread. Without enough sugar, the yeast would starve, leaving the bread flat and lifeless; if the air was not humid enough, the yeast could not spur the bread to reach its full potential.

Many were the late nights or early mornings that Terri had spent in the kitchen concocting new bread recipes and kneading dough of various textures – herbs, spices, sausages and cheeses – until it gleamed and grew smooth under her persuasive hands.

Unfortunately, Terri thought wryly, as her mother kept telling her, the time and effort she dedicated to baking might have been better diverted to her love life. While she’d had a few flings over the years, she hadn’t been involved in a proper relationship since Rob, and in all honesty she didn’t particularly care.

It wasn’t for the lack of offers, and although Terri knew she was a million miles from Rachel’s drop-dead beauty, she figured she was OK-looking in her own right.

Her hair was probably her best feature, and customers often commented on her curly red tresses, which were so thick she could barely contain them beneath her chef’s cap, and while she was probably a teeny bit overweight, there was no way she was forsaking her and Rachel’s delicious food for the sake of ‘finding a man’.