Rose's Vintage (42 page)

The next day, he took her through the – mercifully brief – dessert menu, and explained that they'd already got most of the preparation needed for service that night underway. ‘Why don't you change into these,' he said, handing her some starched chef 's whites, ‘and then get your skinny
derrière
back in here as soon as you can.'

Rose's mouth twisted into a wry smile. She had never thought anyone would ever call her arse skinny. When she returned, she was thrust into the tiny, cramped kitchen with Philippe and two other chefs. She didn't have time to be nervous.

By six o'clock there was a line forming out the door, and she could see it snaking along the path as she peered outside. ‘Bloody hell, Philippe. You didn't tell me you were doing this well.'

He laughed, ‘
Oui
, what can I say? Seems we're flavour of the month. I reckon it's the cocktails that Benji mixes.'

‘You're far too modest, mate. Didn't we have a coupla food reviewers in just last week? Word's out,' called Benji from the bar.

‘I think that's who they were. They ordered almost everything on the menu, shared all the dishes, and sat there taking notes on their iPads. Benji tried to eavesdrop but didn't give us much. Whole lot of use
he
is,' Philippe replied, chucking a dishcloth at Benji.

As Rose meticulously sliced fruit and caramelised sugar she realised that she found comfort in the familiar procedures. Philippe had created a little bit of rural France in Bondi, fashioning the cafe into a kind of weathered Provençale fisherman's shack, with bleached boards on the floors and walls. It was incongruous, but somehow it worked. Attracting nostalgic Euro expats and hungry locals alike, Rustica was also proving to be a hit with the hip but notoriously fickle Sydney dining crowd, and the adrenaline running through the kitchen was infectious. Rose was impressed as she saw the simple, flavoursome dishes placed on the pass. Philippe was running a clever operation. She didn't want to let the side down with the desserts, and was relieved when he gave her a slap on the back of approval as she put the finishing touches to the first few orders. She hoped his confidence was not misplaced.

As the days passed, Rose settled into a groove and she was thankful not to have too much time to dwell on Mark and everything she'd left behind at Kalkari. Philippe had reiterated that the job at Rustica was hers if she wanted it. She decided to put off her plans to travel and became completely absorbed in her work. It was only when she finished late at night that she felt the now familiar ache in her heart. She missed Luisa's cheeky face, Leo's serious one, and wondered what Astrid was up to, but more than anything, when, wired from a long shift, she lay awake in bed, she missed Mark. The special smile he saved only for her, the satiny feel of his skin against hers, how her heart beat faster when he held her. Her heart twisted again and she rolled over and over, willing sleep to come and give her the oblivion she craved. With a strength she hadn't realised she possessed, she had deleted his number from her phone. It was all too complicated; if she never ran into Isabella again it would be too soon.

The broken nights meant that Rose was groggy and tired in the mornings, with eyes as gritty as sandpaper, but she forced herself out into the sunlight, running or swimming laps in the ocean pool until her lungs felt like they would burst. It seemed impossible that everyone she saw around her could be so happy and carefree when she felt completely numb.

But Rose loved the work she was doing, and, with the approval of Philippe, had made some changes, incorporating new flavours and putting a twist on some of the original dishes. ‘Chocolate parfait with candied beetroot, Rose? Are you sure?' Philippe had asked. It turned out to be one of the most popular dishes on the menu. At last she was getting to stretch her culinary wings and put her training into practice, and she felt a growing self-confidence. Perhaps this was one thing she might not screw up.

One afternoon, as she arrived at work, she noticed that Philippe seemed less like his usually laid-back self. ‘
Alors!
Take a look at the bookings – we've got one of the city's top reviewers in tonight. Benji reckons this is him,' he said showing her the list, ‘isn't that right Benji?'

Benji nodded from behind the bar.

‘Everything must be perfect,' he said, worriedly running through the menu again, checking the
mis en place
was completed to his satisfaction.

‘I don't know what you're so bothered about. This place is jam-packed every night; we couldn't be busier if we tried. Who needs reviewers, anyway?' she said.

‘We do, Rose. I've got a massive bank loan to pay off, and we need the locals to keep coming through winter,' he replied.

‘Right,' she said, at last understanding where he was coming from. ‘Well, let's get to it then.'

A little after eight o'clock a middle-aged couple came in and sat at the table nearest the window. ‘That's them,' hissed Benji, coming into the kitchen backwards. ‘I'm sure he's wearing a wig.'

The atmosphere in the kitchen cranked up a notch. Philippe, who normally never shouted, started yelling orders.

Rose wanted to tell him to chill out, but decided to stay out of it and bent her head over her station.

‘I think they liked it,' reported Benji after they'd gone. He'd been not-so-surreptitiously eavesdropping from the bar. ‘I heard definite murmurings of appreciation.'

‘And they ate everything on their plates,' added Kate. ‘Restaurant reviewers almost never do that.'

‘Really?' Philippe looked hopeful. ‘Well, we did our best. Well done, everyone, you all made us look good tonight,' he said speaking to the assembled team. ‘Now who wants a drink? I know I do. Benji, let's have a large jug of Blonde Française,
tout de suite.
'

CHAPTER 44

R
ose had forgotten about the reviewer's visit as she went for a late-morning jog along the beachfront several weeks later. The days had become a blur of run, work and sleep, and seemed to merge into one another until she could barely remember which day of the week it was, let alone what month. She did notice that the air was cooling and the beach was less crowded, but things at Rustica had, if anything, gotten busier, and the menu had changed to focus on hearty soups, rich, garlicky fish dishes and pot au feu. Rose was experimenting with Calvados-soaked brioche, crème anglaise, and pear and anise compôtes. The luscious ingredients didn't tempt her though. The jeans she'd bought in the valley were now loose and she'd had to make yet another hole in her belt to keep them up. Philippe chided her for becoming too thin, but she paid no attention to his words. Somehow there was never time for more than a hurried staff meal once a day, the fridge in the flat she was sharing with Philippe never contained anything more than a few dried-out lemons and a bottle of vodka and her appetite wasn't up to much in any case.

Freshly showered, she shrugged into her chef 's whites and walked the few hundred metres to the restaurant. A busy lunchtime crowd hung around the outside tables, soaking up the sunlight. She was almost knocked off her feet as she pushed through the front door.

‘Rose!' Benji lifted her up, spun her around and kissed her on both cheeks before setting her down again.

‘What was that for?'

‘Read it, go on!' he urged, flourishing a newspaper at her, beaming from ear to ear.

‘This summer's sensation, Rustica, lives up to its reputation as the hottest ticket in town. But don't just come to ogle the beautiful people …' she read. ‘And don't let the laid-back vibe and sun-bleached surrounds fool you. There's some seriously good food coming out of this kitchen … Rustica,
nous sommes enchanté!
'

‘Fantastic! That's just brilliant!' Rose was thrilled for Philippe and the team.

Don't stop reading, Rosie, go on,' urged Philippe, coming out of the kitchen.

‘UK ring-in Rose Bennett has upped the stakes on the dessert front, with a died-and-gone-to-heaven selection of sweet courses that put a contemporary spin on some classic Provençale favourites. Our pick? The luscious bruleed tarte au citron scented with rosemary. It's as sweetly delightful and surprising as the place itself.'

Rose choked up. ‘Aww, that's wonderful.'

‘Wonderful?' asked Philippe incredulously. ‘That's bloody brilliant. This guy is so hard to please, especially when it comes to desserts. You should be thrilled.'

‘And look,' chimed in Benji, ‘they've given us fifteen out of twenty. That's a bloody hat!'

‘Hat?' asked Rose, not understanding.

‘Chef 's hat. It's like a star system. It goes from one to three hats. One hat is bloody great for what we're doing, especially as we're operating basically out of a cafe.' Philippe explained.

‘The phone's been going crazy since the review came out this morning,' Kate added. ‘We're booked through till next month.'

Rose saw how ecstatic Philippe looked. The pressure to succeed had been weighing on him heavily and there were lines of stress etched on his face that hadn't been there when she'd first arrived in Sydney and caught up with the carefree barista with little more to worry about than the next day's surf report. How times changed a person, she thought with some irony, catching sight of herself in the mirror, seeing the pants that now sagged in the bum and hollow eyes that spoke of too many sleepless nights. She resolved there and then to stop wallowing and start living. Too bad that she'd broken her heart over a man she couldn't have. There was more to life than beating yourself up over things you couldn't change.

‘So how are we going to celebrate?' she said with a grin.

‘With more hard work!' said Philippe, sighing dramatically. ‘But it'll be fun.'

‘Always,' agreed Benji.

Still on a high from the review, Rose hurried to work the next afternoon. Philippe had given her a shift off and after a much-needed sleep-in she'd had time to get her hair cut; instead of the heavy rope that hung down her back, it now swung glossily about her shoulders. She felt lighter in spirit too. The extra sleep had helped diminish the dark circles under her eyes, and she'd even managed a bowl of fruit, an almond croissant the size of her head and an enormous latte for breakfast. There had also been a double rainbow arching over the ocean as she sat on the apartment balcony. A good sign, even though she was trying not to put so much faith in superstitious nonsense anymore.

‘Hey Rose,' Benji greeted her with a low whistle as she arrived at the restaurant. ‘You look great. Like the hair, babe.'

‘Thanks mate, about time I did something about it huh?'

‘Well you picked a good day. There's someone to see you over in the corner. He's been here for a while. Wanted to wait.'

Rose peered to the back of the room. Her heart almost stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. The clamour of the noisy restaurant faded into the background as she saw the face that she'd wanted to see for so long. One that had haunted her dreams.

Was it really him? Damn, but he looked good
.

She took in the dark hair with its sprinkling of grey, the deep green eyes and sensuous mouth, feasting on the sight of him. She had no idea why Mark was here. How did he even know where she was working? What was he doing in Sydney? Maybe he was in town and had just come to look her up as an old friend, she reasoned, trying to quell the butterflies jostling in her stomach.

Nervously wiping her hands on her pants, she walked over to his table.

‘Hi Rose,' Mark said, looking up at her.

She was unable to look away. Staring at him was like warming yourself at a blazing fire when you were freezing cold. She was helpless. She'd been telling herself that she was moving on, finding other things to make herself happy, but one glance at his face, so beautiful and so familiar to her, and she was lost again.

‘Hi yourself,' she said carefully.

‘Can you sit down? I'd really like to talk.'

‘Umm, I was about to start work actually.'

‘Please?' He pleaded with her. ‘I really need to speak to you.'

‘Is there anything left to say?'

‘Please, just hear me out,' he begged.

‘I'm trying to forget you Mark. To forget everything about the Shingle Valley,' she whispered. ‘This doesn't help.'

Mark looked wounded.

Rose softened. ‘Let me see if I can take a break for half an hour or so.'

She went into the kitchen, her hands shaking as she pushed on the swing door. Philippe looked up. She didn't have to say anything. ‘Go, take all the time you need,' he urged.

‘Thanks,' she mouthed, and swung back into the restaurant.

‘Let's walk,' Rose suggested. She couldn't sit still: there was far too much nervous energy rushing through her veins. She also didn't want Benji and half the restaurant eavesdropping on her conversation.