An Autumn Crush (40 page)

There was something about that little interchange that intrigued Gina. Chef wasn’t usually that snipey, not even with Varto. And he hadn’t made eye-contact with this Floz person when
he told her off. Nor had she lifted her eyes to him.

Floz tipped the carrots she had sliced into the bin. Gina watched Chef’s eyes follow her across the kitchen, a look so warm and soft and totally at odds with the way he had just spoken to
her. And her intuition clicked on and she knew that Guy liked this woman a lot. And he wouldn’t have needed to be put on the spot to ask
her
out to dinner. She blinked away the tears
that prickled at the back of her eyes. She knew she was being ridiculous, imagining all this from a few seconds of watching Guy’s expression, but still, she also knew she was right.

Gina picked up another bag of carrots and delivered them to Floz’s workspace. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s a pussycat really.’

‘Thanks,’ said Floz. ‘I know he’s under pressure.’

‘He eats and drinks pressure,’ said Gina sweetly. ‘Are you a friend of the family?’

‘I’m Juliet’s flat-mate.’ Floz ran her scraper quickly down the side of a carrot.

‘Ah. So all this madness is going to be repeated in a few days’ time again,’ laughed Gina. ‘Seems like romance is in the air.’

‘For some anyway.’ Floz’s eyes lifted when Guy shouted for assistance to move the cake.

Gina leaned in closer to Floz. ‘I hope he doesn’t bawl like that in Four Trees when we go out to dinner. I’ll die of embarrassment.’

Gina watched Floz momentarily freeze. Yes, she had been right, there was something between Floz and Guy. Something that she wanted to smash into smithereens. Chef was as good as Gina’s;
she couldn’t get so close to him after all this time and not totally snare him.

‘It’s supposed to be very nice there,’ said Floz, the trace of a tremor in her voice.

‘We’ve held off the date for so long with all the restaurant and wedding stress because he’s been too busy. I’m sure it’ll be worth waiting for. Call me over if you
need any help, won’t you?’

Gina saw again that wounded look in Floz’s eyes before she turned and strolled back to the dessert station. She just had to hold on for two more days then she would make Guy hers. Once she
was under his skin, she would drive ‘Floz’ totally and utterly out.

Lulu Masserati was one inch taller in her heels and only marginally less wide than her father. Not that it stopped her from choosing a black meringue of a dress, against all
the rules of what a woman with her shape should wear. She was big, bouncy and milkmaid-bonny and had a huge bright-red smile when she walked into Burgerov with her groom who, in his top hat, looked
more like an undertaker than a newly-wedded spouse. Steve hoped he’d make Lulu happy. He wouldn’t have liked to have been Alberto’s son-in-law if he ever messed her about. The
short, wide man was a sweetheart outside the ring, but he had the potential to be truly terrifying.

They were greeted by Grainne and the waitresses bearing glasses of Buck’s Fizz, with a splash of green food colouring in as instructed. Whilst they were mingling, Floz and Coco circulated
with trays of canapés: dates stuffed with cream cheese, smoked salmon and dill on tiny peppered crackers, crostini with chorizo and bean pâté, sticky king prawns, curry-filled
pastries – to name but a few.

‘Is the wine on the table? Are the pumpkins lit?’ barked Guy.

‘Yes, Chef,’ replied Perry, cheerfully relishing his role as Commis Chef.

‘Everyone’s nearly seated, Chef,’ said Steve, who was now wearing a suit and operating front of house.

‘Then let’s get these starters out!’

One hundred and twenty red-pepper soups were delivered to the tables, then one hundred and twenty empty bowls were collected and washed and dried by hand, seeing as the dishwashers had all been
stripped out during the refurb. Meanwhile the miniature Coquilles St Jacques were served in scallop shells.

‘Are those sorbets finished? If they are, get them out now, please!’ yelled Guy, watching his team of total amateurs somehow work together in a harmony he wished he’d been able
to see in Varto, Antonin and the rest of his ex-staff. One hundred and twenty champagne sorbets were ferried out.

The main was roast beef, horseradish mash, roasted maple carrots, creamed parsnip, cauliflower in a Stilton and white wine sauce, red onion and port gravy, ‘a ménage à
trois’ of green vegetables and the crispest, puffiest Yorkshire puddings that it was possible to imagine.

Guy had no time to listen to the praising comments that the waitresses and Steve brought back. He was too busy checking the towers of heart-shaped raspberry shortcakes and chocolate mousse
trifles that were lined up for dessert.

Floz watched how he checked every single one, rejecting one for having a misshaped swirl of cream on it, another for having a deformed heart shape drawn around the plate rim in raspberry
coulis.

The waitresses marched out with hands full of dessert plates. As the last one was set on the table, everyone in the kitchen dared to let out a sigh of relief.

‘I don’t know how you bloody did it, but you did, lad,’ said Perry, with a beaming smile of pride on his face.

‘Because he’s a genius,’ said Gina. She put her arm around Guy’s waist and hugged him, and saw Floz turn away as if the sight of her touching Guy burned her eyes.

She’d been an idiot, Floz could see that now. And she’d missed her chance because now Gina had claimed him and he was taking her out – to Four Trees of all places. Leggy,
blonde Gina, whom he was bound to fall in love with because she was so golden and pretty and more than likely able to give him what he most wanted. So Floz didn’t see how quickly Guy pulled
away from Gina, only heard that he clapped his hands.

‘Come on, we haven’t finished yet. Don’t rest on your laurels. Where are those home-made mints? Where’s the cake-knife? Didn’t I ask someone to tie that black
ribbon around the handle? Sharon, Janice, put the water through the coffee machines, please.’

Over coffee, the wedding speeches were made. Alberto delivered his with so many tears that people who didn’t know him might have been fooled into thinking he was soft. At least he could
take the Mick out of himself and warned his new son-in-law never to climb in a wrestling ring with him, not even as a joke. Alberto made Guy come out and take a round of applause. Guy was followed
into the restaurant by his impromptu kitchen staff to see him take his moment of glory.

‘It’s more down to these guys,’ said Guy, casting his hand towards the others behind him. ‘They’ve had to put up with me shouting at them all morning, throwing
orders at them, when they could have been sitting at home enjoying their weekend. I must especially thank my second-in-command – Gina – who always does every job to
perfection.’

Gina beamed at the accolade and the applause. She heard love, hope and promise in every one of Guy’s words. She couldn’t help but flash a victorious look at Floz who was clapping
dutifully but her eyes were downcast.

After the meal the wedding party began to drift off. Some had travelled a long way and had to get home for work the next day, the bride and groom were being driven off to the airport to catch an
early evening plane to the Bahamas, and the rest were going back to Alberto’s pub for a nightcap.

‘You are all welcome to join us,’ said Alberto, shaking Guy’s hand with his usual bone-crushing vigour.

‘Thanks, mate, but I’m knackered,’ said Guy. That was the response of them all. They just wanted to put their feet up and have a totally easy Sunday night.

‘We’ll make it up to you on Friday – I’ll be in touch during the week,’ said Alberto. ‘I can’t thank you enough. I even think if we had a fight in the
ring, I’d let you win.’

‘Aye, course you would,’ scoffed Guy. Not for a minute did he believe that one.

Gina went to the loo for the fourth time in as many minutes. To say she was nervous about this evening was an understatement. She had started her primping and preening at
lunchtime, but her preparations for this night had begun much sooner. For over a year the lingerie, which she was now wearing, had been bought and stored in tissue paper in her drawer awaiting a
date with Guy Miller: a black basque and matching g-string, stockings with seams and little bows at the thigh. The black dress over the top of it was new, chic and very expensive. She sprayed
herself with her lucky perfume and stood back to view herself in the mirror and smiled. She was now as ready as she would ever be to put her first step on the road to being Mrs Gina Miller.
It
all comes to she who waits
.

When she heard Guy’s car draw up outside her front door, her heart went into a crazy rhythm. She slipped on her new black velvet heels, her new panther-black faux-fur coat, and blew
herself a good luck kiss in the hall mirror. She looked good and she felt good, because before the end of the night she knew she would have felt Guy Miller’s lips on her own.

Guy watched Gina come out of her front door. She looked lovely. Her hair was glossy, sleek and golden-blonde, her legs slim and long in those killer heels, but his heart-rate stayed constant
– there was no skip, no kick, just a steady regular beat. But Floz, cutting up carrots in a huge white apron, had made it race like Red Rum towards the last fence.

‘Hi,’ said Gina, buckling herself up. Her eyes were shining, her smile was soft and hopeful, and Guy knew then that this was a mistake.

He drove on, making conversation about Alberto’s wedding and the enquiries he’d had since from two of the guests about holding functions in the new restaurant when it opened.

When they got to Four Trees and he opened the car door for Gina, he knew she was reading so much more into it than mere automatic gallantry. He had intended to order them champagne at the table
but he couldn’t, because she would see that as more evidence of romance, and by the end of the night he was going to have to let her down very gently.

They went to their table and he felt Gina staring at him whilst he was looking at the wine list. He knew her eyes would be big and doe-innocent, pupils dilated to max aperture. It make him feel
slightly suffocated and he pulled at his collar.

‘Any preference – red or white?’ he asked.

‘White for me, please,’ replied Gina. ‘Have they got a Pinot Grigio?’

Guy looked down the list. ‘Er, yep. That’s fine for me too. So what do you fancy for starter?’ he asked.

‘How about you choose for me?’ smiled Gina. She had seen that on films many times and it always looked so romantic.

Guy cursed himself. He hadn’t realized she had it this bad for him. He dreaded the thought of hurting her, but he had to get through the evening. Maybe she would deduce his non-interest
during the course of the meal if he gave off just enough of a chill for her to get the message and save her dignity. Like Floz had done with him.

‘I don’t know what you like though,’ said Guy.

‘Anything,’ said Gina.

Balls.

Gina was seeing them with different dishes. If he ordered her the scallops, she would take that as a sign that he wanted her to spear one with a fork and pass it through his lips so he could
taste it. He would do the same for her, that’s what happened between flirting couples.

He ordered scallops. True love, she thought. For himself, the mussels. They sounded a macho and sexy thing to request.

‘And the Pinot Grigio,’ Guy told the waiter.

‘Which one, sir?’ The waiter was fairly new. He wasn’t that familiar with the listings.

‘It’s number . . . er . . .’ Guy opened the wine menu;
oh God, it just had to be, didn’t it?
‘. . . sixty-nine.’ He slammed the menu shut and handed it
quickly over. He reached for some bread and busied himself ripping bits off and dipping it in olive oil.

Gina did a lot of silent smiling at him whilst they waited for the starters to arrive. It occurred to Guy that he had never socialized with Gina in all the three years they had worked together.
He didn’t know what she was like when she was free of her duties. From the looks she was giving him, he would have been forgiven for thinking that in between shifts, she worshipped at a
shrine of him. In Burgerov she was all innocent blue eyes. Now, those eyes looked borderline feral.

He refilled her empty wine glass.

‘That’s a lovely wine,’ she said. ‘You must be an expert.’

‘Hardly,’ laughed Guy bashfully.

‘French, isn’t it? I like France so much,’ said Gina. ‘I wish I could have gone there this summer but it’s hard to holiday solo, don’t you think? I miss going
away with someone.’

‘It’s harder for a woman to do that, I often think,’ Guy replied, filtering his reply for come-ons.

‘Lots of things are,’ Gina sighed like Snow White at the Wishing Well. She was fishing for a ‘Like what?’ which Guy felt obliged to give.

‘Well, take for instance, asking a man out.’

Oh shite
.

‘Women have to wait around for years sometimes until a man asks her out. Otherwise she’s “forward” and a bit butch, don’t you think?’

Guy made a series of hand expressions, eyebrow formations and huffs to indicate that he wasn’t sure about that one. He could have snogged the waiter, who rescued them by delivering the
starters.

‘How’re your scallops?’ asked Guy, immediately regretting it as Gina picked one up with her fork and held it to Guy’s lips. To take it would have been suggestive, to
refuse it ungentlemanly and churlish. He tried to take it from her fork as unsexually as possible.

‘Lovely,’ he said.

‘How’re your mussels?’

‘They’re good, thank you.’

‘Can I try one?’

‘Sure.’

He felt obliged to reciprocate the fork thing. Gina closed her mouth slowly around the mussel and chewed seductively. ‘Fabulous,’ she said.