Caroline’s stomach fluttered with bigger and bigger butterflies as the minute hand on the clock edged towards the hour. The Cider Kitchen was due to open at seven o’clock, and, though she knew everything and everyone in it was as ready as they could be she still felt the nerves rising. She jumped as the front door opened. Her stomach flipped for a totally different reason when she saw Jonathan come through the door and stride across the restaurant floor.
‘That is a knockout dress,’ Jonathan said as he drew closer. He looked around briefly at the tables with their glistening glasses and immaculately laid cutlery. ‘And this place looks absolutely perfect.’
‘Thanks,’ Caroline said, jolted by the sight of Jonathan in his beautifully cut suit. ‘You look pretty good yourself. Got somewhere special to go after this?’
‘I like to make the effort occasionally.’ His face assumed a more serious expression. ‘I sort of wish I could stay longer tonight, but I don’t want to tread on your toes.’
Caroline forced a brighter smile than she felt; Jonathan had already told her that afternoon that he wouldn’t be able to hang around on the opening night and she knew she had a good team behind her, but just for a second she wanted him to stay by her side. ‘That’s OK,’ she said. ‘It’s all under control.’
Jonathan smiled back at her. ‘I’ve no doubt of that.’ Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he leaned forward, and for a moment Caroline thought he was going to kiss her, but he merely tucked the fabric hanging tag from the shoulder of her dress out of sight. His fingers were warm on her skin. ‘Good luck,’ he said softly.
‘Have a good evening,’ Caroline called after him as he left. She respected his decision to keep away and there was no time to think about him as the first customers were coming through the door.
At about eight thirty, Ian Smith, food critic for the Somerset Herald, arrived. ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Caroline said, shaking his hand. ‘I hope you enjoy your evening with us.’
‘Always good to support local endeavours,’ Ian replied. He didn’t look like he spent a lot of time in restaurants; Caroline had expected a rather florid, somewhat overweight reviewer, but this was a trim looking man in his mid fifties who looked as though he spent more time pounding the Strawberry Line than quaffing wine and eating restaurant cuisine. ‘Where would you like me to sit?’
‘I’ve reserved a table for you in the window,’ Caroline replied. ‘If that suits. Will you be dining alone?’
‘Unfortunately, yes,’ the critic said. ‘But don’t let that worry you. I’m here just as a regular customer, so don’t feel off your stride.’
Caroline nodded but her knees started to shake, regardless. She turned to Meredith’s friend Izzy. Both girls, and another student called Milly, were working tonight and Caroline wanted to give them a chance to shine. ‘Izzy will be looking after you tonight, so feel free to take your time and she’ll be over to take your order when you’re ready.’ As she walked back to the front door to welcome the next customer, she hoped the critic would leave satisfied.
Twenty minutes later the restaurant was reaching capacity. As it was the opening night, there was a set menu of three starters, three main courses and three desserts to minimise stress on the kitchen and waiting staff. Emma was acquitting herself admirably in the kitchen, and by the time The Cider Kitchen had been open for an hour, Caroline had almost forgotten about Gino’s absence.
The rumble of conversation between guests grew louder as people started to relax into the evening. Glasses were being filled and even a slight hiccup with a mixed up starter order couldn’t dampen the growing convivial atmosphere. Caroline stayed front of house, directing her waiting staff and meeting and greeting her new customers. As she looked around the restaurant she gradually began to feel that taking on this project wasn’t completely insane. She knew that the opening night was just the beginning, but as people started to tuck in to the delectable food combinations that Gino had created and Emma had prepared, Caroline realised that this was exactly what she wanted to be doing with her life.
After checking once again that her customers were all occupied, Caroline headed back through to the kitchen to see how things were going. As she walked through the door she could just make Emma out through a cloud of steam that was rising from the draining pan of wild mushroom ravioli. It was the second on the list of starters and, glancing down at the delicately boiled parcels, she could see that Emma had cooked it perfectly.
‘All good back here?’ Caroline asked.
‘So far, so good,’ Emma replied, slightly pink from her exertions. ‘But can you have a word with the front of house team to pick up the pace in getting the scallops out. They’ll go over if they’re left much longer.’
‘Will do.’ Caroline was impressed. Emma had taken control of the kitchen as if she’d been working there for months, not hours. ‘Anything else?’ she said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
‘Mains’ll start coming in about fifteen minutes,’ Emma replied. ‘Are all of the orders in?’
‘I think so,’ Caroline glanced at the chits lined neatly up on the underside of the warmer. She counted off the tables: ‘one, two, three… seven, eight…’ She went cold. Where was Ian Smith’s order? She checked again. Table ten definitely wasn’t there. Not wanting to panic Emma, she hurried back to the restaurant. Sure enough, he was still sitting, unfed, at the table in the window.
‘Izzy!’ Caroline hissed at the passing waitress. ‘Where’s table ten’s order?’
‘With the others,’ Izzy replied. ‘I put it through about ten minutes ago.’
‘Are you sure? It’s not on the warmer.’
‘Hang on, let me check.’ Izzy rummaged in the front pocket of her maroon apron, then turned pale as she found a screwed up scrap of paper from her orders pad. ‘Shit. Sorry, Caroline, I must have shoved it there when I took table twelve’s order.’
Caroline took the crumpled paper from Izzy’s rather shaky hand and scanned it. Ravioli and Chicken Parmigiana. Forcing herself to be calm, she handed it back. ‘Right. Let’s get his starter out to him, shall we? Emma’s got some ravioli ready now, so let’s get back on track.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ Izzy repeated. ‘I didn’t mean to mess up.’
Caroline gave the nervous teenager a tight smile. ‘Hopefully, no harm done,’ she said. ‘Just get that starter out to him now.’
‘Will do.’ Izzy scurried away, determined to put things right.
Caroline drew a deep breath. This was, after all, what building a successful team was all about. Communication was key, especially with a young staff on opening night. As if in contradiction, there was a sudden, jarring crash from the back of the restaurant. The room fell silent as the detritus from a pile of dropped plates settled on the floor. Thankfully, they were clean.
In an instant, Caroline had taken control. ‘I bet you weren’t expecting entertainment tonight,’ she quipped as she crossed to the back of the restaurant where Milly, face flushed with mortification, was doing her best to clear up the mess.
‘Go and get yourself a dustpan and brush,’ Caroline murmured. ‘Don’t try to pick them up or you’ll cut yourself.’
Milly scurried away and, ignoring her own advice, Caroline began picking up some of the dropped crockery. She winced as she did indeed, cut herself.
‘Let me see that.’ The voice was low, mildly amused.
Caroline glanced up to see the restaurant critic staring down at her, a slight smile lifting the corners of his mouth.
‘It’s fine,’ Caroline smiled back gamely. ‘First night teething troubles.’ She got back to her feet and placed the broken plates on the side of the dresser behind her. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the food so far.’
Ian gave her a long, appraising glance. ‘It’s delicious,’ he said softly. He held her gaze a fraction too long before he turned back to his table. Caroline felt very exposed all of a sudden. Grabbing a napkin from the dresser, she wrapped it round her index finger and then headed back to her station at the back of the restaurant by the entrance to the kitchen where she kept a stash of blue catering plasters. After the past few minutes, she needed to regroup, refocus her energies.
In the corner nearest her was a couple in their thirties; she guessed they were parents to young children as they had that liberated look of a pair who hadn’t been out alone in a while. In front of them, on the middle table nearest the wall was an older couple, chewing over their starters in companionable silence. Then there was the food critic back in his seat by the window, apparently immersed in tasting his ravioli.
On the table nearest the door was a family of four; two parents and two teenage children, both of whom were surreptitiously texting under the table. Then, on the other side of the door, before the red lacquered grand piano, was a threesome of women, obviously enjoying the house wine and discussing their other halves in somewhat ribald terms. That made twelve. The other two tables of four were occupied by two pairs of two couples, one in their late fifties and the other more thirty somethings. And finally, tucked away in the other corner, were Anna and Matthew, who’d requested the last table. She’d spoken to them briefly when they’d arrived, but they’d taken their table discreetly, obviously not wanting to intrude on her opening night. They had their heads together, saying nothing but communicating with so much more than words. Their love was an almost tangible force and Caroline was in awe at how perfectly in sync they seemed to be. Caroline could see Matthew’s enraptured expression as he was positioned facing the restaurant. She felt, once again, that bittersweet sensation in her chest that Anna should be so loved by someone who wasn’t James. There was no doubt though, looking at Matthew, that he was very much in love with his new wife. His eyes were soft in the low light and the smile on his face was genuine and unguarded. Caroline wondered if anyone would ever look at her in that way. As her thoughts wandered yet again towards Jonathan, she shook her head. He was the last person she should be thinking about. Now was not the time for daydreaming; not on opening night.