Quentins Page 20

  "My name is Brenda Brennan, and I'll be serving at your table. Might I enquire if this is a special family celebration?" she asked.

  "My eldest - you wouldn't believe, Miss, the marks she got."

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  Poor Da was bursting with eagerness to tell someone, anyone, what it was all about.

  "Well, I'll tell this to Chef. He just loves to hear that we have academic people in. Usually it's only people on expense accounts," the woman called Brenda said.

  Maggie wanted to get up and hug her. But she knew that she must not do that - there was a role to be played.

  "Thank you so much. When you're qualified and on your way, Chef Patrick and I will have our own restaurant," the woman called Brenda said.

  Maggie's father's face was glowing red with pleasure.

  "You will leave us your name, won't you, sir, so that we can keep you on our lists?" she asked.

  The scornful waiter was surprised when Patrick, the tall, dark and moody chef, said he was doing a special dessert, free, for everyone in the Nolan party.

  He piped the name "Maggie" on it in chocolate and asked for it to be brought out and photographed. He posed beside it, wearing his chef's hat, with his arms around the family.

  The supercilious waiter sniffed. Imagine making a fuss of riffraff like these people ...

  The Nolans went home on the bus with half the cake. It had been a seriously good celebration.

  Maggie looked out of her window that night and thought of the length of time it would take her father to pay it all back.

  By the time she was a qualified lawyer and received her Parchment as a solicitor, four years had passed. And a lot of things had happened.

  Her father's company had sold out, as had been predicted, but he had been taken on by the new buyers and he wore a straw hat and striped apron at the bacon counter, which pleased him a lot.

  Maggie's mother had had a successful operation on her varicose veins and felt like a new woman. She had been made supervisor of cleaning. One of Maggie's brothers had, in fact, gone to train with a big English soccer team, though the others were going nowhere fast.

  Her grandmother went to a day centre now; things for old people had vastly improved. She loved it there, where she could terrorise everyone happily all day.

  Maggie's grandfather, who when he was seventy couldn't cook

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  his own lunch, met when he was seventy-two a tough woman who taught him to cook everything, married him and turned round his life.

  Maggie won the Gold Medal in Law and was in a position to choose from any law firm in the country.

  She knew her father wanted to take her back to the dull, snobbish restaurant, which had by now become totally passe. She couldn't tell him that the place had fallen from grace and that no one went there now.

  She didn't need to tell him.

  Once Maggie's Gold Medal was announced in the papers, an invitation arrived at her father's house. Brenda and Patrick Brennan, who were now managing the magnificent Quentins Restaurant, hoped the family would join them for a Serious Celebration. They wrote to say that their luck had turned on the night they met the Nolans. It was only fitting that they all mark this in a special way.

  Maggie's father was a generous man. He had no idea that Quentins was the last word these days.

  "Well, I'd like to have got you the best, Maggie, but seeing as these people did well, it would seem to be ungracious not to go, don't you think?"

  "You've never been ungracious, Da."

  "And you know it's not just to have a free dinner? I have the money saved to go back to that smart place," he said, anxious there should be no misunderstandings.

  They went to Quentins by bus, but they would go home by taxi - this was going to be Mam's treat. Maggie's brothers were not overawed this time. They were four years older for one thing; but the place didn't try to put them down.

  Maggie recognised the woman. Everyone was greeting her, trying to catch her eye. Brenda Brennan was warm to everyone but dallied at no table; she was always on the move.

  "We can never thank you enough for this," Brenda began.

  "And do you run this place yourself, Miss? I must say, it's very respectable-looking," Da interrupted.

  Brenda said she did run it, and that Chef Patrick this time had a cake with a gold medal on it for Maggie.

  It was ten times as good a meal as the one they had had four years ago, they all agreed.

  Mam's taxi arrived to take them home and they were getting their coats.

  "Why did you do it for us, Mrs Brennan?" Maggie asked quietly as they were leaving. "All that business about pretending that your luck changed the night -we met you .. ."

  "But that was true," Brenda said. "That was the night we realised we could not go on working for a place like that, no matter how good it looked on a CV. Supercilious, snobbish people, no welcome, no warmth, no love of food

  "How do you remember it was the night we "were there?" Maggie wanted to know.

  "You were real people, honest people having a celebration. They treated you like dirt. We couldn't bear it. We talked about you for a long time that night. The evening seemed to sum up how degrading it was to "work for a place that treated its visitors so badly. And as it happened I came across some information the next night, sort of heard, you might say, that they were looking for people to run Quentins. And because of your family we somehow found the courage. We gave in our notice - and, as you see, it worked out rather well."

  Maggie knew Mrs Brennan wasn't an emotional person. Not someone you might hug. But Maggie still put a hug in her eyes. And saw it had been received. The woman swallowed and spoke slowly.

  In fact, Maggie, as you must realise, I'm very much understating it - it's a habit you get into at work. It all worked out better than we could have dreamed. It's we who owe you - that's why you were our guests tonight and you must come again."

  "When my parents are twenty-five years married, maybe?" Maggie said with a smile.

  Brenda Brennan agreed. "That, or when your brother gets picked to play soccer for Ireland. My brother-in-law out in the kitchen recognised him - he wants his autograph. Would it be all right if he asked your brother for it, do you think?"

  I think it would make this into the most Serious Celebration this family has ever known," Maggie said.

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  Change of Heart

  Drew had never been to Ireland in h is life. And had never even considered going there until the company announced that the sales conference would be held in Dublin. Moira said it would just be a piss-up, an excuse to waste even more money than usual. "The company is paying for it all," Drew protested.

  "Not for everything," Moira said. She knew that there would be pints and outings and items that no company would pay for.

  Drew and Moira had been going out together for three years. A lot of things were agreed between them but nothing was settled. They loved each other, that "was agreed, and they would marry and have two children one day, that was agreed. But when this would happen was not settled.

  Moira wanted them to get a house, which meant having a deposit. Drew wanted them both to move into his flat which was cheaper than Moira's. Moira wanted them to have a big wedding with all their friends and relations. Drew wanted them to have six people at the Register Office with pints and sandwiches afterwards.

  Moira thought you only had one crack at life and you should give it your all, like putting away a certain amount of money each week. Drew thought you had only one crack at life and you should enjoy yourself first time round.

  Moira realised that there was no way Drew would not go to a sales conference in Dublin which he insisted on thinking of as a

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  freebie outing but she knew would cost money. Drew realised that he was going to have to come to some decision about all this very soon. He had given up the Friday night out with the lads, and he had given up the thought of ever having a
decent new jacket. Now it looked as if he were going to have to give up the notion of having any extras while he was on this great trip.

  When he kissed her goodbye before the conference, they both knew that something would have to be settled by the time this meeting was over. They were nervous because they didn't dare to say it to each other. It was too big, too important, in their lives.

  When they got to Dublin they stayed in a big, modern hotel. The first night, Drew told his colleagues that he was way behind with his figures. He'd love to come out with them on the town but seriously now, they'd have to forgive him this time. They accused him of being over-eager and ambitious. He was going to be a tycoon, they said, a captain of industry.

  Drew grinned weakly. He was trying to save the twenty pounds he would have spent in the pubs and more, much more, if they had gone on to a nightclub. He saw there were tea-making facilities in the hotel, so he would have tea and biscuits and look at what was on television. He might even do what he had said and look over his sales figures, examine some trends.

  If only he got a promotion, then he and Moira would not have to set aside an amount that meant they literally had nothing to spend on fun any more. He yearned to talk to her, hear her say something loving, to remind himself why all this self-denial was necessary. But as they had to pay for their own calls, phoning Scotland would have been a huge extravagance.

  The Irish Lottery was on. That's what he needed, win that and come back a millionaire. But it was too late. If only he had bought a ticket on the way in from the airport. He saw later that there had been six lucky winners. He could have been one of them with never a financial worry again. But it hadn't happened.

  Drew began to feel unreasonably irritated with those six lucky winners. What had they done after all, except have the time to buy a lottery ticket? But he tried to get this very useless and destructive envy out of his system. He reminded himself that people made their own luck and created their own chances. He had read enough of this in management books to believe it might even be true.

  The next chance he got he would take. There were many

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  chances that he could take now, this very minute. He would just learn the names of all the senior people who would be addressing them tomorrow and study the little biographies that were among the papers they were all meant to look at.

  Maybe he might look brighter than he was. Possibly someone could pick Drew for a promotion. It happened all the time.

  Next day, he did seem to be brighter than the others, mainly because he had been asleep some four hours before any of them. And he hadn't discovered how much better Guinness tasted when drunk by the River Liffey in great quantities. So this was possibly why he was among twenty of the group chosen to go to dinner at Quentms.

  Drew found out that not only was the company paying, but they would all go there and back in taxis, so this was another huge saving.

  Quentins was certainly very elegant. You had to ring at the door to get in. They had a notice saying that they did this, as they liked to welcome their guests. Drew decided they probably also liked to keep out unsuitable people. He must remember the details of it all to tell Moira.

  Moira worked as a waitress and would love to move to a classier place. She would even press her face to the windows of smart restaurants at home to get the feel of smart places. She would love to be walking in by his side tonight, to a place like this.

  Would it ever happen? Or would he put so much in his savings that there would be nothing left for him ever to have a treat like a night out in Quentins or somewhere of its class?

  Some of the lads he had been at school with were into great schemes for making money. One of them had a big line in issuing fake certificates for old motor cars.

  Drew would have been able to do this and square it with his conscience. People spent far too much time and bureaucracy on cars anyway. But of course Moira wouldn't hear of it. Only Crims did that she said. Moira and her family had a great fear of criminals and what they called the Grim mentality.

  Sometimes it would have been much easier not to love Moira, she was so unbending in her ways. Not flexible like other girls he had known. And she didn't understand how hard it was to go on a trip like this and be thought tight-fisted. She would say something stupid about the bosses watching him and how impressed they'd be.

  That wasn't the way it happened in the real world. The boss class often spent more than anyone else.

  Still here he was now on a real fancy night out and he was going to enjoy it. Maybe they might give away little boxes of Irish chocolates and bits of Irish glass as well, then he'd have a present for Moira and for his mother's birthday.

  Drew thought to himself that it would be nice not to have to be so obsessed with money and the price of things. Not to be looking at the floor endlessly in case someone had dropped a wad of notes. Would he give it in to the authorities if he found one? Oh how he would not!

  When they were all in the restaurant they were shown to two round tables for ten. The young waiters and waitresses were Europeans from different lands, all smartly dressed in their dark trousers and white shirts.

  Around them moved an elegant woman, Mrs Brennan, apparently, who put everyone at their ease, translating the names of dishes casually as if they had all easily known them already. She had a way of explaining how they were made as if it were peculiar to the restaurant. She even said in a conspiratorial whisper to Drew and his end of the table that they must be very highly thought of indeed, since the best of wines had been ordered and no effort was to be spared.

  His mind wandered back to the unfairness of life. Why could some people have this lifestyle all the time, and for others like himself must it be a one time only that he would describe to Moira at second hand.

  He didn't even need a whole sixth of the lottery. Just a few hundred pounds would be fine.

  He dragged himself back to the conversation the others were having. It was about a girl with big sad eyes sitting at the next table. The table was set for two but she was alone.

  Some of his mates thought she might be persuaded to join them. Drew had his doubts. Quentins didn't look like a place where you could pick up a bird at a nearby table. And she looked tearful. Quite possibly having drunk a little too much. Much wiser to leave her where she was. "Aw, don't mind Drew, he's in love," someone said.

  He was, he knew it, but unless he had some more money soon,

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  he might not be and that was very frightening. Drew decided to think about something else.

  Nobody was talking to Mr Ball, the Head of Department, an anxious uncommunicative man with no small talk whatsoever. But it was either talk to Mr Ball or think about Moira. And the same Moira had often said that everyone was interesting if only you could find their subject.

  "Are you a golfer, Mr Ball?" Drew asked desperately.

  "Oh no, Drew, never saw the sense of it, actually," Mr Ball said, closing the door to any more talk of that.

  Drew wasn't giving up. "But you look so fit, Mr Ball, I thought you must do some sport and I know I once asked you, did you play football, and you said no."

  Mr Ball looked left of him and right of him and then he told Drew in endless detail about his visits to the gym. There was no point in going once or twice a week, he said. You had to go five days a week. Fortunately, this hotel here in Dublin had a reasonable workout room. Had Drew seen it? No? Well, Mr Ball would show him round it tomorrow.

  Tm sorry to drone on about money, Mr Ball, but is that gym you go to back home expensive?"

  Mr Ball mentioned the annual figure and saw the look on Drew's face.

  "Of course, when you get to the next level in the firm, if you"re promoted, the company will pay for your subscription. It's in their interest to have fit personnel," he said. In truth, he had never thought of Drew as on the fast track.

  "A nd tell me about your programme, Mr Ball," Drew said in desperation, nailing on to his face a smile of interest as he h
eard about muscles and movements and routines. He nodded and shook his head as he heard of machines that did all they promised and those that did not. He got an ache in his face but Mr Ball thought that Drew was fascinated. Drew saw that Mr Ball was loath to leave the conversation and only had to do so out of a sense of duty.

  Drew joined his own colleagues again. They were still talking about the girl and speculating abut whether she might be an available companion for the evening.

  "Get sense," Drew advised them. "She'd be no fun at all. Look at her, she's crying. Didn't any of you notice?"

  At that moment, Mrs Brennan the manageress woman had

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  arranged that the customer with tears in her eyes be helped to the door gently and discreetly by one of the young waiters. The taxi had already been phoned for by the restaurant. Possibly she was someone who ate here regularly and maybe drank a little too much. Someone worth looking after. It was all done with great dignity, Drew noticed. Then he saw the wallet on the floor.

  He leaned back and put it into his pocket. Nobody had seen. He went to the gentlemen's cloakroom. Inside the cubicle he opened it. A big, black, soft leather wallet. It had credit cards, receipts, tickets for a theatre and a letter.

  It also had plenty of cash.

  Silly girl, drunk on her own, leaving without checking. She could have lost it in the taxi. Or on the pavement while getting into the taxi. Or getting out of the taxi.

  He would take the cash and tomorrow he would mail the wallet back to the restaurant anonymously.

  He never knew when he decided to read the letter. He wasn't a criminal, just someone taking a chance. She was called Judy and she wrote to some guy saying she was sorry to plead and beg with him to have this last dinner with her, but she had so many things to tell him - how much she loved him and how nothing else mattered. And she had to tell him that she was pregnant, but she would be noble about it and never tell his wife.