It is exactly two weeks now since what should have been an ordinary Friday night service became the last meal that Jean-Michel would ever cook. Pip requested that we meet him and Octavia at his solicitor’s office by Chancery Lane. It’s all very concrete and official and sombre. I expect it’s about the ‘severance, contractual obligations and remunerations’ he mentioned he needed to run past me regarding The Marchand, which basically means ironing out the restaurant’s funeral arrangements in light of Jean’s effective resignation.

But I’m not facing this alone. I look down at my fingers, which are interlocked with those of the best chef, boyfriend and business partner anyone could ever dream of. Right by my side and on the same page is Ben. And we have a plan.

We climb the steps of a huge grey-brick Georgian townhouse and bang the huge brass knocker on the door. The last time I had to go through this kind of meeting, I was all alone. And it wasn’t very pleasant to discover that if you don’t agree with everything they offer you your only alternative is to come up with the money yourself, which means owing a shitload of money to a loan shark mobster who won’t think twice about tearing out your fingernails if you can’t cough up. I look down at my hands. Ouch. I’m glad I didn’t go with that. But, whatever. This is where Pip has asked to meet us and he’s the one we’ve got to get onside. And I’m smarter and stronger than I was the last time I was in a position like this. 

Bring it on.

The buzzer sounds and we wait for the door to click so we can enter. Nothing is guaranteed. Of course they might reject us out of hand. But it is certainly worth a shot. And the thought of being rejected, of them throwing us and our proposal out the door doesn’t fill me with as much fear as it would have done in the past. Because I’ve grown. I’m all right with myself. I’m not going to judge my entire worthiness as a human being on this one day, or this one judgement.

And because whatever happens today, wherever this journey leads us to next, it’s already brought me back to Ben and Ben back to me. And that’s probably a little bit more happiness, love and heart-bursting joy than my quota should allow. So if Pip and Octavia don’t like what we’ve got to say, we’ll survive. We’ll go get some cake. We’ll book a trip. We’ll take each other by the hand and get ready for our next adventure.

I hear the cathedral bells ring out, twelve peals. It’s time for our meeting. They’ll be here any moment. It’s time to find out what’s next.

‘You ready for this?’ Ben asks as he straightens his tie and smooths his cuffs. We’ve left our chef whites and chequered trousers behind today. We’re not here as staff. We’re here as potential partners.

I nod, picking a fleck of lint from the hem of my best red dress. ‘Born ready.’

A secretary opens the door and leads us up the stairs and into a very large top-floor office where Pip, Octavia and a striking black lawyer are already waiting, seated at a long walnut table, a single sheet of typed white paper placed in front of each of them. They all stand to greet us, we shake hands, and the lawyer introduces himself as Jerome. I take a seat, have a sip of water and wait for the shit to hit the fan. I’m nervous. This feels very heavy, very important. It’s too quiet. Everyone’s too stiff, acting too careful. We can hear each other breathe.

I pat the bright purple folder containing my business plan that I hold in my lap. Business plans being my Achilles’ heel in my past life, I sought out the best help I could for this one. I think it’s pretty impressive. Let’s hope these guys feel the same.

The secretary closes the door and I take a quick glance behind me, but this is it, there’s no one else coming. Just one empty chair by Octavia where I’d expect to see Jean-Michel. But clearly he’s not coming. And neither is his wife. There’s a morbid tone to these proceedings. This feels like the reading of a will.

Pip wrings his hands and licks his lips. ‘Let’s cut to the chase. Bottom line is that I invested in Jean-Michel and Jean-Michel has jumped ship. Therefore, I’m perfectly within my rights to do the same.’

I look to the lawyer for development, for more explanation, but he just shrugs as if to say that’s all there is to it. He slides a document over to me.

‘It’s all in there, if any party reneges on their side, it renders the contractual obligations of the other party null and void.’

Right. Even though I was expecting this, it still comes as quite a blow. That’s it. Over. Done. Finished.

Octavia clears her throat. ‘I can see by the look on your face, Katie, that all of this has come as quite a surprise.’

‘Yes and no,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not surprised the pressure got to Jean-Michel and I’m not surprised that Pip wants out. But I am surprised that we’re going to let it go so easily before we look at our options. We’ve worked so hard. It’s worth fighting for.’

Pip throws back his head and his hands fly to the air. ‘Fighting! You hit the nail on the head there! There’s been nothing but fighting, struggle, conflict and drama since I got involved in this freakin’ place. And after all that, what have we got? I tell you what we’ve got. We’ve got no customers! We’ve got no service! We’ve got no food! And why? Because we have no freakin chef.’

Pip reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a newspaper. He glances at the front page, sucks his teeth and throws it across the table to Ben and I.

‘You think we can come back from headlines like these?’

I place the newspaper back down on the table and lean forward in my seat. ‘Jean-Michel may be gone, but you do have two other chefs.’

‘Two?’ Pip does a double take. ‘You two?’ And then he starts laughing. ‘I can’t take much more, gimme a break. Let me spell it out to you guys, people don’t book The Marchand because they are hungry. People can eat anywhere. So why on earth would you book three months in advance to reserve a table at one of the most expensive restaurants in London?’ He turns to his lawyer. ‘You ate there a few weeks back, why’d you do it?’

‘Our wedding anniversary so we wanted to do something special,’ he answers.

Pip’s finger points in the air. ‘You hear that? They wanted something special. Jean-Michel is what made the place special. He was the one that excited people; he was the one with all the stars and awards and accolades.’ He clasps both hands on the back of his neck and shakes his head. ‘There’s nothing special about two unknown chefs serving food in a hotel restaurant. I’m sorry, guys. It’s over.’

Octavia makes a steeple with her hands and shakes her head. ‘I appreciate your efforts, but I’m afraid Pip is right on this one. You can’t take this place over from Jean-Michel. Like anything, a new venture with one foot in the past will simply limp towards failure.’

Okay, it’s now or never. I ball my hands into two fists to steady the quiver and I take a deep breath. There is nothing to be afraid of. We already know we can do this. We’re already winning. And with that, I stand up, open my purple folder and, with a sure, steady hand, give three copies of our business plan to Pip, Octavia and their lawyer. I wink at Ben and he begins our pitch.

‘We’ve already shown you that we can both cook, that we can run a kitchen, lead a team, put in the hours, stand the pressure.’

The lawyer scans down our stapled four-page business plan, complete with graphs and figures and everything you would expect from a world-renowned business tycoon. Trailing down the figures and projections with his pen, he suddenly stops. And then, right at the point I was hoping, he shifts in his seat, taps his pen, nudges Pip and draws a circle midway down the first page. Pip peers in, squinting to read, then as the realisation washes over him, he lifts his chin and exchanges a wide-eyed look with Octavia.

Ben continues with our pitch. ‘As you can tell by the extent of our research, the originality of our concept and the detail of our business plan, we’re now ready to go to the next level, to step in and take over the current premises at the Rembrandt Hotel and relaunch it. Give it a second chance with the same high-quality ingredients, the same exacting attention to detail, the same vision of excellence… but this time with an entirely different feel.’

I watch Octavia raise her eyebrows and lean in towards us. ‘May I just stop you a moment, Ben?’

Ben nods graciously and Octavia focusses her attention on me, raising our business plan in the air with her right hand. ‘It reads here that you’ve secured investment from Sir Leo Rosenblatt. Is that correct?’

‘That’s correct,’ I tell her. ‘As long as myself and Ben are the chefs. That’s the condition, and we are absolutely in agreement with Leo on that.’

She regards the paper in her hand and a smile breaks her lips. ‘Please continue.’

We show her our sample menus, our branding, interior design mock-ups while Pip’s lawyer makes some calculations and Pip makes some phone calls.

By the time we finish, Octavia is nodding along and scribbling notes down.

‘Everything you’ve shown me tells me that I’d be extremely foolish to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Life is a delicate balance between knowing what to keep and knowing what to throw away. Yes, in ways we’ve lost, but in others ways we’ve gained. Not everything has been in vain and we’ve emerged all the wiser. So…’

I can feel Ben’s hand squeeze my elbow.

‘Maybe this is the time to start afresh,’ she continues. ‘New name, new menu, new beginning. It will just be you two, laid bare. You have a lot to prove: two unknown chefs, no big name behind you. It won’t be easy, of course there’s still plenty of risk, but I’ve watched you work, watched you overcome challenges before. If there’s anyone who can do this, it’s you.’

Pip rubs his hands down his face, conflicted. They ask us for some time to discuss the proposal as Ben and I are ushered out of the office to the waiting room where we wait to be called back in and learn our fate.

But we’ve barely sat down. Barely caught our breath and loosened our collars and quenched our dry throats, when we are called back in.

And this time when we enter the room, all three are on our side of the table, smiling with their hands outstretched.

‘Well, this certainly isn’t what I was expecting to happen today,’ says Pip. ‘I’m feeling the love, you guys, I’ve got to say the energy is back. We’re in. All the sums add up, Leo is as solid an investor as you can get and, well, let’s do this!’

We shake his hand and then Octavia wraps her arms around Ben and I, whispering to us, ‘You know, I think I’m already in love with this idea.’ She pulls back and narrows one smiling eye, as if focussing on something very specific that as yet only exists in her imagination. ‘Martha’s Cellar could be the greatest thing to hit this scene in a long, long time.’