Sean looked beyond the black-garbed teen to the source of the voice. Walking towards him was the girl in Basil’s photograph, over forty years on. Her hair had faded to grey and these days she wore it up in a soft chignon, but the eyes, even without the heavy fridge of false eyelashes, were unmistakable.
‘It’s okay, Gran. He doesn’t want you, he wants Elle.’
‘I hadn’t realised there was more than one Lovage Amery,’ Sean said quickly, bypassing the teen in favour of her grandmother, who was undoubtedly the intended recipient of Basil’s envelope. ‘Did Elle explain to you about Rosie?’
‘Rosie?’ she asked, confused. Which answered that question. ‘Who’s Rosie?’
‘Not who, what. The ice cream van?’
‘Oh, that. I wondered where it had come from. Is it yours?’
‘No …’ This was even harder than talking to Elle. ‘I left a letter for you,’ he prompted. ‘From Basil?’
‘Basil?’ She took a step back, the graceful poise crumpling along with her face. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘He wouldn’t. He mustn’t. Bernard will be so angry.’
‘Gran …’ The girl, a protective arm around her grandmother, gave him a furious look and, for the second time that day, the front door of Gable End was shut firmly in his face.
Freddy stopped her with a touch to her arm. Elle’s instincts were to pull away, but she reminded herself that he’d known her and her family since she was eighteen. That it was avuncular rather than familiar. He was, after all, old enough to be her uncle if not her father.
‘There’s a big party at the corner table, Elle. They’ve got drinks and should have had enough time to sort out what they want to eat by now. Will you take care of them?’
Only one of the backup staff had turned in and it had been non-stop since she’d arrived before six. She was due a break, but that wasn’t going to happen and she pasted on a smile, took her book from her pocket and said, ‘Of course, Freddy.’
The large round table in the corner could take up to a dozen people and it was full, which might mean a decent tip. Or a lot of work for nothing much. You could never tell.
Smile, Elle, smile, she told herself as she approached the table. ‘Are you ready to order?’ she asked. ‘Or do you need a little more …’
The words died away as she looked around the table and found herself face to face with Sean McElroy and her knees, already feeling the pressure from nearly three hours of nonstop action, momentarily buckled.
Since yelling at a diner, demanding to know why he’d dumped Rosie and run, would not improve her chances of a decent tip, she braced her knees, cleared her throat, said to no one in particular, ‘If you need a little more time I can come back.’
‘No, we’re ready,’ the man nearest to her said, acknowledging her with a smile before going around the table, so that she could keep her eyes on her notepad. Everything went smoothly until they reached Sean McElroy. ‘Sean?’ he prompted.
‘Sorry, I can’t make up my mind. I’m rather tempted by the chicken in a herb crust. Can you tell me exactly what the herbs are? Elle,’ he added, proving that his vision was twenty-twenty too, since he could obviously read her name badge across the table.
So much for hoping to avoid another encounter with those blue eyes.
She looked up to find them fixed on her, his expression suggesting that she had some explaining to do which, under the circumstances, was some nerve.
The woman beside him, slender, cool in a linen shift of such simplicity that it had to have cost a mint, straight blonde hair shining like something out of a shampoo advert, turned to look at him and, instantly sensing that there was more going on than just a discussion about food, frowned.
‘I thought you were going to have the steak, darling. You always have the steak,’ she added, declaring herself in possession.
‘Do I? I hadn’t realised I was so boring, darling,’ he said, keeping his eyes fixed resolutely on Elle. The ‘darling’ had sounded like an afterthought. Maybe the woman noticed that too, because she followed his gaze to Elle and her frown deepened.
‘The crust consists of fine wholemeal breadcrumbs,’ Elle rattled off quickly, ‘and a mixture of fresh herbs including parsley, lemon thyme, a touch of sage, seasoned and bound together with egg.’
‘No lovage?’ he asked.
Well, she’d seen that one coming. Was ready for it. ‘No lovage, no basil.’ She waited, pencil poised.
‘A pity. I’ll have the salmon.’
She made a note, moved on. It was just another table, she told herself as she brought a jug of water, went around the table with a basket of warm rolls.
‘Roll, madam?’ she asked the blonde.
She shook her head.
She moved on ‘Roll, sir?’
Sean looked up, his face so close to hers that she could see a thin jagged scar just above his eyebrow. Had he fallen off his bike when he was little? Been cut by something? Been hand-bagged by some woman he’d seriously annoyed?
He took his time deciding, then, when she’d finally picked out his choice with the tongs and she was congratulating herself on keeping her cool when all she wanted to do was crown him with them, he murmured, ‘Tell me, Lovage, who is Bernard?’ At which point the roll shot out of the tongs, knocked over a glass of water and in the confusion most of the rolls landed in his lap.
‘One would have been sufficient,’ he said, rescuing the basket and picking warm bread out of his lap, while she scrambled on the floor for the rest.
‘Fetch fresh rolls, Elle. Quickly as you can.’ Oh, no, Freddy would have to be looking … ‘And replace this glass,’ he added, handing it to her. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone. Can I offer you fresh drinks? On the house, of course.’
‘How about a fresh waitress. Someone in control of her hands. And her eyes,’ the girl in the linen dress suggested, pointedly brushing away a few drops of water. ‘My dress is ruined.’
‘There is nothing wrong with the waitress,’ Sean said as Freddy mopped up the spill, straightened the table.
‘We can all see what you think of her—’
‘The accident was entirely my fault,’ he continued, speaking to Freddy, ignoring the woman at his side. ‘And there’s no need for fresh drinks. We’re fine.’
Sean watched Lovage—Elle—Amery walk away and discovered that he wanted to go with her. Take her hand and walk out into the dusk with her. Walk across the village, along the towpath by the Common. Walk her home and kiss her on the step, ask her out on a date, just like they did in the old days.
‘What did you say to her?’ Charlotte demanded, intensifying the feeling.
‘I asked for the roll with pumpkin seeds,’ he replied.
‘And you certainly got it,’ someone chimed in. Everyone laughed except Charlotte.
‘I don’t believe you. You were flirting with her from the moment she came to the table,’ she accused.
Sean realised that the restaurant owner was still hovering. Listening. ‘If I was, then I am one hundred per cent to blame, because she certainly wasn’t flirting back.’ He forced himself to smile at the man. ‘We’re okay, really. Thanks.’
It was a dismissal and he took the hint, leaving them to their meal. Another waitress brought a fresh glass, a new basket of rolls, and served their meal, but he only had eyes for Elle as she weaved with drinks and trays of food between smaller tables on the far side of the room.
Reassigned