“How about a nice steak?” Might as well get it clear right off that she was a definite carnivore.
“We’ve got a nice Porterhouse or, if you want something smaller, a nice fillet.”
“I think I’ll have the fillet. Rare.” Elizabeth carefully pronounced it fill-it like Alf did. “And…”—she eyed the board on the wall—“how about a side salad and a jacket potato?”
“Right you are.” Alf turned to Antonia, “And what about you, madam?”
“The same.”
He called the order back to someone through the open hatch and turned back to take their drink orders. He seemed disappointed that they only wanted sparkling water, encouraging them to pick a bottle of wine. “We’ve a nice line in California wine you might be interested in.”
If he’d offered Oregon wine, Elizabeth might have been tempted, but it really wasn’t worth the heaviness in her head that resulted from drinking alcohol. “Maldon water will be fine.”
Taking their glasses, they settled in a corner table by the empty fireplace, nodding to an old man sitting on the opposite side of the inglenook. He sat deep in a wing chair and looked as if he inhabited the spot permanently. In front of him was a half-empty tankard of beer and an open packet of crisps. At his feet lay a shaggy black spaniel that raised its head and growled softly as they passed.
“Easy, Parsnip, easy,” he said, patting her head to calm her. “It’s just two ladies. Nothing to get het up about.” He looked up, returned their “good evening,” and gave his attention to his crisps and beer.
Antonia took a sip of her water before setting the glass down on the polished tabletop. “Can’t see the point, paying through the nose just to get bubbles in it.”
“It’s called fitting in. Something Tom has lectured me about endlessly. It’s most unchic to drink tap water these days.”
“I know, I know. I paid a ridiculous amount every month to get twenty liter tanks of drinking water delivered to the gallery in York. But one has to cater to them, after all.”
By them, Antonia meant mortals. Sheesh, vamps could be terrible snobs at times. “They have their uses though, don’t they?” She couldn’t resist the jab. “Like a certain potter?”
“Behave yourself, or I won’t share my dinner with you.”
Elizabeth grinned “What are you going to do with it then? Feed it to Parsnip here?”
Antonia cackled. Several customers looked their way, curious but not altogether interested, and returned to their drinks and conversation. “So much for being unobtrusive. Ghoul, you’re a disturbing influence.”
“Sorry about that.” Big lie really. Antonia needed to laugh once in a while. She was too damn serious about everything. “Tell me more about the potter.”
“His work is good. Very good. I’m not sure I totally convinced him we’d be a good outlet for it, but I’m not giving up. Having his stuff and those incredible cushions from Judy, the vicar’s daughter, will start us off with quality articles. Set the standard, so to speak. My one dread is having all sorts of handicraft nuts wanting us to sell their crocheted loo roll covers or candlesticks made from wooden cotton reels.”
No point in telling her cotton thread now came on plastic reels. “I think you can handle that, Antonia. We just need to accept work slowly. We ought to talk to Emma, sound out her interest in taking over the tearoom once it’s finished. How long do you think that will take?”
“Judging by the work on the gallery in York—twice as long as the contractor estimates. Demolition is the easy bit. Once that’s done and everything cleared away, then comes the slow work. We’ll open without it and hope to have it done by October or November. We also need to decide what to do with the garden. We have to find space for a car park, and a picnic area with tables might be a good idea.”
Elizabeth had definite plans for one particular part of the garden, but she’d pick her moment to share them. “We still need internet connection. Once we get that, I can set up the web site.”
“You’ll see to that?”
“You bet! I’ll start on it tomorrow.” Would be nice to get connected. Would be even nicer to have Tom here to work with her. She was already missing him, and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. Vamps did really get a hold on one. “I might need to talk to Tom about it…”
Antonia let out a deep chuckle. “Missing him already, are you? I thought you wanted time on your own to put space between you?”
“I thought so too.”
Antonia must have inferred more than she’d intended. “If he means that much to you, why did you ever leave him?”
Darn good question. She took a drink of the sparkling water. “When I’m with him, I feel as if I’m being absorbed into him. I can’t describe it. We make love and I’m utterly content, but then I yearn to be single, alone and self-sufficient again. And when I’m on my own, like now, I miss him like hell.”
Antonia’s mouth twisted at one corner in a wry smile. “I think it’s called being in love.”
“I’m sure of it! Just never thought it would be this complicated.”
“Oh, it is, Elizabeth. It is.” She grinned. “But at least you have a good man. He might drive you batty, but he’ll never be unfaithful.”
Did Antonia still hurt? Obviously! Dumb question. Good thing she’d kept that thought to herself. “If he were, I’d cut the offending part off.”
“Doesn’t work with a vamp. It just grows back.”
Elizabeth spluttered expensive bottle water down her nose. Most undignified, but when she wiped her eyes with the napkin Antonia handed her and had her breath back, she asked, “You are speaking from experience?”
“Oh, yes! When I caught Etienne with that floozy, I grabbed his own knife from the bedside table and amputated. If he’d just been feeding, I’d not have given it a second thought, but he was going beyond the bounds of mere sustenance.”
Didn’t pay to wrong a vamp. Not that she planned to any time soon. But she had to ask…“Didn’t he fight you?” She could just imagine two angry vamps locked in combat, one hell-bent on revenge, the other defending his manhood—literally!
“He tried, but it was approaching dawn, and he was half asleep—he’s different from us—his bloodline sleeps during the day. Plus, I’m several centuries older and much, much stronger.” She paused to sip her drink. “I don’t think he’s ever forgotten or forgiven.”
“I met him, remember?”
“And Tom had a fit, if I’ve heard rightly.”
“He didn’t need to. Frankly, the smooth, smarmy sort doesn’t appeal.” Not that anyone did, not that now she had Tom.
“Not to me now either, but…” She shrugged. “I was younger then. Amazing what a century or so can teach you.” She looked up, and Elizabeth followed her gaze. A young black woman with a shaved head and a silver barbell through one eyebrow stood by their table, a plate in each hand. “You’re the ladies who ordered fillet steaks?” She set the plates on the table and reached into a pocket of her apron for cutlery rolled in linen napkins and salt and pepper. “Anything else I can get you? Worcester? HP Sauce? Ketchup?”
It was hard to think of a reply with the heady aromas of meat fogging her brain, but Elizabeth managed, “No, thanks. This is great.” Barely registering Antonia’s, “Thank you, this looks lovely.” A lie if ever there was one.
“Right you