A Catered Affair (35 page)

She put me on to Scarlett. “That’s amazing. Congratulations! You’re going to be mummies!”

“I know. I still can’t believe it. Ed and Napoleon are in total shock. They’re coming over later and we’re going out to lunch to celebrate. So you having a good time in Brighton?”

I decided to come straight out with it. “Hugh and I have ended it. Actually, he dumped me. He said he didn’t find me sufficiently stimulating, intellectually.”

“Ooh, get him.”

“The thing is, I’d already decided to finish it with him. I’ll go into details later, but suffice it to say you were right and the penny has finally dropped. I know I can’t let Dad keep influencing my choices in men. But please don’t start crowing and giving me a hard time.”

Scarlett laughed. “As if. So you’ve finally let go?”

“I think I have.”

“Well done, Tally. I mean that. You can really start moving forward now.”

“I hope so.”

No sooner had I put the phone down than Nana called.

“Hey, Nana, how are you?”

“Fine, fine.” She was clearly in no mood for chitchat. “Tally, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s about Kenny.”

“Nana, it’s all over between us. I really don’t want to talk about him.”

“I know you don’t, but this is important. I just had a call from his aunty Pearl—she and I have become quite friendly—and she told me something that I think you should know.”

“OK. Go on.”

“Well, first of all . . . Josh got married.”

To say that the news threw me was a bit of an understatement. “What? I don’t believe it. Josh is incapable of getting married. And I’d set my hopes on him turning into a lonely, miserable old man.”

“Me, too,” she said.

“So who has he married?”

“An anesthetist. Her name’s Amy.”

The name didn’t ring a bell.

“Apparently,” Nana went on, “she and Josh dated a long time ago. It was getting serious, and then Josh ended it.”

“No kidding.”

“You’d think he could have waited a decent interval,” Nana said. “I’m sorry to tell you all this on your birthday, but I thought you needed to know. You OK?”

“I think so. Just extremely shocked—that’s all. But I don’t understand; what has Josh getting married got to do with Kenny?”

“OK, here’s the thing. Josh and Amy decided to have their wedding in London, and Josh asked Kenny to do the catering.”

“What?” I was flabbergasted. “You’re telling me that Josh wanted our caterer for his new wedding? God, that man is weird. And this Amy must be even weirder.”

“Anyway, Kenny kept refusing, but Josh knew how good he was and wouldn’t let it go. Apparently he kept badgering him and bombarding him with e-mails. One of which you found on Kenny’s phone.”

“So he wasn’t actually doing business with Josh.”

“No way. And the only reason Kenny kept the whole thing a secret was to protect you. He didn’t want you finding out that Josh was getting married. I think he was frightened what it might do to you.”

I was starting to feel sick. “My God . . . I never let him explain. I assumed he’d betrayed me, and all the time he was trying to protect me.”

“Look, you weren’t to know. What you need to do now is speak to him and put things right.”

“OK, I’ll phone him.”

“That won’t be easy. Pearl says she keeps trying to get him, but she’s not been having any luck.”

“Why?”

“He’s in the wilds of Devon, and there’s no phone signal.”

“Devon? What’s he doing there?”

“He’s about to open a restaurant.”

“But I had no idea his plans were so advanced. So where is it?”

“In a village just outside Exeter. Pearl did tell me. Now, what’s it called? . . . Upper Snoring. No, tell a lie, it’s Lower Snoring. Or is it Middle Snoring? Yes, that’s it. It’s the Ginger Fox in Middle Snoring . . . Why don’t you go and see him, Tally? You need to sort this thing out.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I sat sipping my coffee, taking stock of my emotions and trying to work out where to go from here. Discovering that Josh had got married had knocked me for six, and for a few moments I allowed myself to wallow in self-destructive thoughts about how he could love this Amy but not me. But the shock didn’t compare to the guilt I was feeling about what I’d done to Kenny. How could I have been so cruel? How could I have refused to give him a chance to explain about the e-mail? He loved me and was trying to protect me, but I’d assumed he’d betrayed me. On top of that, I’d pretty much told him he wasn’t good enough for me. Good God. Was it any wonder I hadn’t heard from him?

 

 

The last thing I’d imagined doing today was taking a trip to Devon, but it was the only thing to do. I had to speak to Kenny and beg him to forgive me.

The train got into Victoria just before one. From there I took the Tube to Paddington. I was in plenty of time for the next Exeter train, which wasn’t leaving until a few minutes after two. I had time to go to the loo and get some more coffee. I was feeling too anxious to eat anything.

The train was packed with Chelsea supporters. I managed to establish that Chelsea had been drawn against Exeter City in the Carling Cup and the Blues were heading down for the evening kickoff. It was early afternoon and they were already necking cans of lager.

I gazed out the window, watching the cityscape morph into suburbs and then fields, wondering what Kenny would say when I begged him to forgive me for not allowing him to explain about the e-mail and told him that I really did love him. In the background a gang of supporters were chanting “Chelsea ’til I die.”

The train pulled into Exeter at a quarter past four. By now I had Googled Middle Snoring on my phone and discovered a pub called the Globe that also offered rooms. I managed to get the last one.

I picked up a cab at the rank outside the station. I found out from the driver that there wasn’t much in Middle Snoring. “Pretty place, mind. And there’s this new restaurant about to open. According to the local paper, some hotshot London chef just bought it. Might well put Middle Snoring on the map.”

Soon we were charging along twisting, single-track lanes. The driver seemed to know no fear, but I spent most of the journey with my eyes closed, anticipating what might be round the next bend. A couple of times we came to screeching, Fred Flintstone–style halts, but neither the cabbie nor the tractortrailer drivers we nearly collided with head-on seemed remotely bothered.

The cabdriver was right—Middle Snoring was a pretty place. There was a small, manicured village green with ducks on a pond, and white-and-pink-washed thatched cottages. The Globe was a bigger version of the cottages—rough, half-timbered walls, pretty sash windows. Even the porch had a thatched roof.

Inside it was all horse brasses, oak paneling and sloping wood floors. A Labrador and a ginger tom were lying side by side in front of a log fire, looking like they had been specially posed by Hallmark.

Once I’d checked in, I sat in the bar drinking tea and planning my next move. The landlady brought me a plate of homemade scones still warm from the oven, but my stomach was still so knotted that I couldn’t face more than a bite or two.

The landlady said that the Ginger Fox was a two-minute walk along the main road, but I was too late to make a reservation. Tonight was opening night and she knew for a fact that it was fully booked. I looked at my watch. It was nearly five. Kenny would be busy preparing dinner. Not the best time to turn up unannounced, declaring undying love and insisting on a deep, meaningful discussion about our future. I decided to wait until just before the restaurant closed.

I took a shower and lay on the bed watching TV. I didn’t remember dozing off, but the next thing I knew the ten o’clock news was on. There was no time to tart myself up, so I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, brushed my hair and headed out.

Outside I was hit by the cold, damp night air and complete silence. As I trudged down the road, grateful for the occasional ancient streetlamp, I wondered how Kenny was going to react to my turning up. Maybe I should have e-mailed first.

The Ginger Fox was a converted, half-timbered barn set back from the road. The gravel drive was full of smart cars. I pushed open the oak, iron-studded door. Inside it was all cream and beams and sea-grass flooring. A young chap in a suit was standing by a lectern.

“I’m very sorry, madam, but we’ve finished serving dinner for this evening. Last orders are at half past nine.”

“That’s OK. I’m actually looking for Kenny. I’m a friend of his. When do you think he might be around?”

“I think he’s pretty much done for the night. I’ll see if I can find him.”

“Tell him it’s Tally.”

The chap directed me to the bar, a mixture of edgy, modern furniture, antiques and grand oil paintings in gilt frames.

“Tally, what on earth are you doing here?” He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt but no smile. He looked pretty worn-out. He was clearly at the end of a very strenuous “first night.”

“So tonight was opening night,” I said. “Congratulations. How did it go?”

“Full house. Lots of great feedback. People seemed to love the food. So how did you find me?”

“Nana, via Aunty Pearl.”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were opening a restaurant?”

“I didn’t know. It all happened in the last month or so. Somebody else had bought the place to turn it into a restaurant. He’d done the conversion, put in the kitchen. Then he ran out of money and couldn’t afford to hire staff, so he was forced to sell.”

“And that’s where you came in . . .”

“I was worried about letting Stewart down at such short notice, but he was all for it. He’s been great. He even sent his number two down to London to replace me.”

“That’s amazing. I’m really glad it all worked out.” I paused. “Kenny, please sit down. We need to talk.”

“I’m not sure we do.”

“Kenny, please . . .”

He took the armchair opposite me.

“I have behaved very badly,” I said. “I didn’t give you a chance to explain about Josh getting married and how you were trying to protect me. Please forgive me.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you finding out about Josh getting married. It was so soon, and I knew how hurt and upset you’d be.”

“I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry.”

He looked away and said nothing. It was a few seconds before he turned back. “Are you still seeing Hugh?”

I shook my head. “It didn’t work out.”

“So you’ve come running back to me. Why? Because you found out I’ve moved up in the world and I’m not just a caterer anymore?”

“No! That’s a terrible thing to say. You have to understand that being with Hugh made me realize how much I’ve changed. I love you, Kenny. I know that now.”

“And here’s what I know: I will not be second-best.”

“You’re not listening to me. I just said that I love you. You are not and never will be second-best.”

“Yes, I will. You have made it clear that I’m not good enough for you. That’s why I haven’t tried to contact you these past few weeks. It had nothing to do with the e-mail business. I can forgive you for that. The point is that if we got together, you would always be comparing me to your posh lawyer friends.”

My eyes were filling with tears. “But I’m not that person anymore. I was an idiot. It’s a long story, but for years, I allowed myself to be guided by what my father would have wanted for me. It’s how I stayed connected to him. I know it sounds weak and pathetic, but it’s not easy having your dead father on your back all the time—at least not one like mine. I still love him, but I realize now that he was a snob and he turned me into one. I haven’t been listening to what my heart’s been telling me. Now I am. I’ve finally grown up. Please, we have to try and find a way through this.”

“I’m not sure we can. I’d always be wondering if I was good enough.”

“Now who’s being an idiot? You know damned well you’re good enough. You also know you don’t need my approval.”

“Maybe not, but you hurt me. The damage has been done. We haven’t got a future.”

“Of course we have, if only you’d stop being so bloody pigheaded. I’ve said my sorries. I was an arse. Couldn’t you at least try to forgive me?”

He didn’t say anything. Then: “I don’t think I can.”

I stood up, tears streaming down my face. “I’d better get going.”

He asked me where I was staying.

“The pub down the road.”

“They do a great full English breakfast,” he said, clearly for something to say. I told him I wasn’t sure I’d be up to it.

 

 

 

I barely slept. All I could think was what a bloody mess I’d made of my life. I’d sabotaged my relationship with Kenny because I’d refused to trust him and because I had this absurd, childlike need to please my dead father. I’d treated Kenny so badly. He had every right not to forgive me. I wasn’t sure I could forgive me.

As soon as it was light, I decided I might as well get up. I showered, got dressed and put on some makeup because I hoped it might draw attention away from the bags under my eyes. I repacked my overnight bag and went downstairs to check out. The landlord tried to tempt me to their famous breakfast, which apparently came with white and black pudding. “Or we could do you a pair of kippers.” I said it all sounded wonderful, but I needed to get back to London.

By half past seven I was in a cab heading back to Exeter station. I was sitting in the station café forcing back the tears while forcing down a croissant and weak espresso when I saw Kenny walk in. He came striding over.

“What are you doing here?” I said.

“I went to the pub. I thought I’d have breakfast with you, but they said you were catching the early train.”

He pulled out a chair and sat down beside me.