his stubbornness and stupid fear of rejection that he’d lost her. But, it was far too late now to ring and talk; she’d probably just laugh in his face, and that, he decided would be nothing short of what he deserved.
At the sound of Simon calling his name he snapped to attention and stuck his head out of the office door.
“Hey, Chef, your sister, Jenny, is in for lunch. She’s at table four.”
Great, he fumed, that’s just what he needed to make his day complete. Stopping in front of the mirror to make sure his white hat was correctly in place he made his way through the kitchen, past the serving bench and out into the dining area.
It was a large square room with enough space to fit ten round tables comfortably in no particular format. It was clean, colourful and the décor resembled different areas of Italy with old paintings of Venice and Rome hanging randomly on the walls. Green and orange tablecloths with black olives and ceramic jugs covered the tables. Tim knew in comparison to other new restaurants it looked very tired, old fashioned, and in desperate need of a make-over.
He’d mentioned it to Jack when he’d first arrived and was told it had been renovated six years ago and was still perfectly adequate for his clientele and that it was the food that gave a restaurant its good reputation not the colour of the tablecloths. Tim had disagreed however, and told him restaurants now-a-days worked on the principle that diners opinions were based upon the whole eating experience which certainly did include the colour of the tablecloths.
But, a lively atmosphere prevailed while he walked through the lunch time diners and a couple he knew called out a greeting to him at which he waved back and smiled. Even if he hadn’t known what table Jenny was sitting at it wouldn’t have mattered because he would have recognised her mass of bright copper curls anywhere. She had the same green eyes as him but thankfully he’d been spared the red hair as it was only prevalent in the female line.
“Hey, Tim,” Jenny cried loudly and jumped up from the table to hug him. He put his arms around her and inhaled her usual strong Chanel No.5 perfume which Kate had often remarked was an old perfume for a young woman to wear. But Jenny had always been old beyond her years, he thought, and shook his brother-in-law, Greg’s hand. Now here was a guy who definitely lived in someone else’s shadow, he thought dragging a chair up to their table and sitting astride it with his hands resting on the back.
“And what have I done to deserve the pleasure of your company?” he asked playfully knowing for certain his mum had sent her.
Her green eyes danced mischievously when she grinned widely at him. “Oh, we were just having a day of R+R and decided to call for lunch. How you doing, bro?”
“I’m fine,” he said warily waiting for her to probe him about Kate.
Forever the mediator between them Greg asked, “So, Tim, what can you recommend on the menu?”
He turned to face him and began to describe the new royal wedding desserts he’d been working on when a waiter appeared, took their orders, and Tim suggested a good red wine to accompany Greg’s steak.
Greg was as quietly spoken and composed as Jenny was loud and exuberant and he nodded his head enthusiastically when Tim described the sorbets, jellies and custards. “What a great idea, we’ll definitely be trying one of those,” he said easily.
Jenny’s smile had disappeared along with the waiter and she put her hand on Tim’s arm. “There’s no point skirting around this. Mum told me Katie has left you?”
Tim’s shoulders immediately rose defensively like they always did when he tried to talk to her about anything other than day-to-day chit chat. “Yeah, she has,” he said looking past her to the other diners on the next table.
He was starting to feel uncomfortable as if he was on trial and because he couldn’t face another lengthy explanation of the break-up, he said abruptly, “Look, sorry guys, but I need to get back into the kitchen.” Pushing the chair away he stood up to move.
Jenny bristled at the rebuff. “Tim, I’m only asking out of concern for you,” she said narrowing her eyes. “I mean, mum said you hadn’t even talked to her. And I could talk to her for you if you want me to?