Page 118 of The Honeymoon Affair

I look more like a waitress than a chef in my white T-shirt and black jeans. Fortunately I have my comfy Skechers with me, so I can wear them while I’m cooking. I let myself into the house, where I check the dishwasher and see that it’s full of dirty cups. I put it on a quick wash cycle and then investigate the cupboards. I doubt Charles has moved anything, but it’s a while since I spent any significant time in this kitchen. When we were married, I used to cook either on Saturday or Sunday, depending on our mood. I wasn’t always someone who could afford to eat in fancy restaurants, after all.

I’ve got all the utensils I need in place when I hear the front door open. Ellis and Ma Miller’s voices waft down the stairs – Charles’s mother is talking about Dublin traffic and Ellis is agreeing that it’s a nightmare. Charles then tells them to go into the living room and says he’ll get them a drink. I wait, immobile, in the kitchen, wondering if he’s going to come downstairs. But he doesn’t. I take out my phone and send him a message. A minute later, he’s standing in front of me.

‘What the actual . . . What’s going on? Why are you here?’ he asks.

I explain about the culinary crisis.

‘They had no one?’ He’s incredulous. ‘No one at all?’

‘Apparently not.’

‘I should’ve asked Iseult’s cousin,’ says Charles. ‘Iseult suggested her, you know. She said she’s a great chef, but I wanted to be loyal to Ash’s company. We’re never using them again, by the way. Incompetent fools. I’ll make arrangements with Celeste in future.’

‘We’ve used that company dozens of times, and this is the first occasion something has gone wrong,’ I point out. ‘It’s hardly James’s fault his father died.’

‘They should have had backup,’ he says.

I decide not to argue with him, but instead remark that as Iseult will be looking after the New Year’s Eve party in future, she can be the one to find an alternative. (She can try, but despite today’s disaster, there isn’t a better company in Ireland.)

‘In the meantime, I’m your best hope,’ I tell him. ‘Unless you want to ask Ellis to cook? Or Iseult herself?’

‘She’s not here yet. I told her not to come until half-six. I wanted to give Mum and Ellis time to relax.’

‘How is she?’

He knows I’m talking about his mother. He knows my relationship with her was always tricky.

‘She’s fine. She’s older, Ariel. Not as prickly.’

‘Astonishing.’

‘You need to go easy on her.’

‘I don’t. I need to stay hidden in the kitchen. Which I promise I’ll do.’

‘What about serving?’ He looks at me in sudden horror. ‘You can’t serve. Iseult and Mum mustn’t see you.’

‘I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see me demoted to being your waitress,’ I say.

‘Ariel.’ He gives me a hurt look. ‘It isn’t like that.’

‘You can serve it yourself,’ I tell him.

‘I can’t. Maybe Ellis. You could hide in the pantry when she comes to collect the plates.’

I laugh.

‘Oh, OK, maybe not.’

‘Can I point out that I’m doing you an enormous favour?’ I say. ‘Otherwise you’d be ordering takeaway from the Golden Pond or El Molino.’

‘Maybe we should go out instead,’ he muses.

‘Like you’ll get a table for four in Dublin on a Saturday night without a reservation.’

He sighs.

‘It’ll be fine,’ I assure him. ‘It’s always fine when I’m in charge.’