Quentins Read online

  And Judy would not ask him for child support. She wanted nothing from him, except the memory of their love and the hope of their child in the future. She would have this last dinner, leave early and hand him this letter and then go out of his life. She wanted only that he would know how much he had been loved.

  Drew sat there and thought about love and deception and how some people had it really very, very difficult indeed.

  He left the men's room and went straight to Mrs Brennan.

  "I found this under a table," he said.

  "Yes, I sort of noticed you did," she said.

  She wasn't disapproving or anything.

  "Did you know anything about the .. . um ... the situation?" he asked.

  "A little. It was not a happy one, but I don't think I want to go into any of that . . ."

  "It's just, I'm from miles away. I'll never be here again. I wondered should anyone tell him she's pregnant?"

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  If Mrs Brennan was startled that he revealed this to her, admitting that he had read a private letter, she made no criticism.

  "I don't think that will change anything at all one way or the other," she said reflectively.

  "But shouldn't a man know that he was going to be a father? She intended giving it to him tonight but he didn't show up."

  "He's quite good at not showing up, it never stops the ladies." She shook her head at the folly of people and their relationships.

  "So he'll never know?" Drew was astounded.

  "Or maybe care," Brenda said.

  "That's hard to believe," he said.

  "For a nice young man like you and a decent, hardworking woman like me it is, but not for people like the no-show tonight."

  "I'm not a nice young man," Drew said. "But it's all there, every penny of it."

  "I'm sure it is," Brenda Brennan said with a smile.

  "Why are you sure?" He was puzzled. She was serene and she was non-judgemental.

  "Because if it wasn't all there, then you'd just have kicked it under the table when you had a change of heart," she said simply.

  "A change of heart!" he said, surprised at her accuracy.

  "Sure, that's "what it "was. Can I offer you a dinner here some evening, another time, you and a friend?" she suggested.

  "It would mean getting back here all the way from Scotland," Drew said.

  The others were all getting up to leave now, and asking about nightclubs.

  "Not for me, alas," Drew said. "Too old and staid. I'm heading off in my Head of Department's taxi for an early night."

  "I've a feeling it will stand to you," Brenda Brennan said.

  Drew saw her talking to Mr Ball, but he knew that she wasn't telling tales, that he had almost stolen a wallet.

  He only discovered next day what she had been saying.

  That he was a remarkable young man, who had not only rescued a wallet for another customer and handed it in, but who had been caring enough to be concerned over the woman's distress.

  Mr Ball felt the very same about Drew. A boy who might have been overlooked before.

  But once he had discovered Drew's interest in the gym and his

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  obvious sense of disappointment that he couldn't afford to join one, Mr Ball, too, had a change of heart. He would recommend the boy's promotion the moment they got back to Scotland.

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  Brown Paper Cover

  Mon often wished that she was back in Sydney, Australia. On a day like today, she could go out to the beach and lie there with her friends. In Ireland it was what they thought of as summer, but truly it was not a day for the sand. She would be blown to death by the wind, heartbroken by the small tidal ripple instead of the rollers she knew and loved back home, § frozen by the ice-cold water if she ever dared get into it.

  Still, she hadn't come to Ireland looking for a life of surf. She had come as part of a great world tour. Oddly, there had not been all that much of a tour. It was meant to start with a week in Rome, and then a week in Dublin and six weeks hitchhiking around the rest of Ireland, then a dozen other lands before going back to the rest of her life. But something strange had happened - after the week in Rome she had arrived in Dublin totally broke.

  It wasn't exactly that her money had been stolen or lost or anything. It was just that she had managed to spend in one week almost all her two years" savings on a man called Antonio. It was hard to realise quite how, but this had somehow happened. And so, on her first day in Ireland, she needed a job. There was an advertisement in the newspaper that she read on her way in from Dublin airport and she had phoned for an

  interview, got the job in Quentins. Somehow the time had passed.

  "You've fallen in love, that's why you're still there," her mother accused her by e-mail. But it wasn't true.

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  "There must be a crazy scene with those Irishmen," her friends wrote. But that wasn't true either.

  What had happened was that Mon, or Monica Green (as she was never called), had settled in. She had worked in eleven different jobs since she left college, but for some reason she could never understand, Quentins was the first place she really called home. Patrick Brennan, the chef who taught her how to cook when things weren't too busy, his younger brother, called Blouse for some reason, who was a little less than intelligent but certainly not a fool. Patrick's cool, unflustered wife Brenda, who seemed to know everyone in Dublin. She felt as if she was some kind of a younger sister, part of the family. Mon was part of this team and she liked it. No need to move on. For the moment.

  "We'll have to find you a fellow," Brenda Brennan said unexpectedly to Mon one morning.

  "Why?" Mon was genuinely surprised.

  It wasn't the way Brenda usually talked. She must have a reason for saying it. And indeed she had.

  "You're very good, the customers like you, Mon, you'll go on somewhere else unless you get caught up in some complicated messy romance like they all do."

  Brenda smiled as she spoke, as if she alone knew the ways of the mad world they lived in.

  "Any advice and help always welcome," Mon said.

  "Someone once said to me that I should keep my heart open as well as my eyes. It worked."

  Mon gasped - immaculate, ice maiden Brenda telling her this. Maybe she was right. But after that amazingly foolish and romantic adventure with Antonio in Rome, Mon was being cautious. Perhaps she had swung too much to the other side. Maybe she should keep her heart more open. Or a fraction more open anyway.

  Mon went through the restaurant before lunch as she did every day, checking that everything "was in place on every single table. Mr Harris from the bank next door came in, to eat his lunch alone as he did three days a week. Dull man with nothing to say. His head always in a book, usually with a brown paper cover. Once Mon had laughingly asked him if it was pornography and his eyes had been cold. She made no more jokes. Her cheerful Aussie humour had been very unsuccessful.

  "Miss Green," he nodded at her.

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  "Mr Harris," Mon nodded back.

  But Brenda had insisted on unfailing politeness and charm, even to those who did not return it. So Mon nailed on her smile as she handed him the menu.

  "Chef has done a really beautiful monkfish today, Mr Harris. I think you'd like it."

  It was hard to know what the man would or would not like. He seemed to eat without noticing. None of them liked serving him.

  About thirty-five, fortyish. Must have some big job in the bank, since he could afford to eat in Quentins so often. Never a guest or companion, never a newspaper or magazine, never a smile to left or right of him. Just studying books covered in brown paper.

  Mr Ha rris said he would try the monkfish and as Mon leaned over to pour him a glass of water, she accidentally knocked against his book, which fell to the ground and the c
over came off.

  It wasn't pornography, but it was something equally surprising. Pop psychology. A book offering twenty ways to a woman's heart. A Never Known to Fail guide to making any woman love you.

  Mr Harris and Mon Green looked aghast at each other and the book revealed in all its humiliating pathos.

  Someone had to say something.

  "Does it work, do you think?" Mon asked as she handed it back to him.

  Mr Harris had a face like thunder. "Why do you ask?" he wondered.

  "Well, over a year back, when I was in Rome, I met this guy, Antonio, and well, I'd have read anything to get him, and they have that kind of guide for women too, to get to fellows" hearts, and you see, I couldn't find the bookstores that sold English books and then it was too late . .."

  She knew that she was burbling on and on, but she couldn't stop.

  "Too late?" Mr Harris looked interested. "How did you know it was too late?"

  "Well, Antonio had gone, and all my money. You see, I was going to invest in a sandwich bar with him

  "He took your money?" Mr Harris was horrified.

  "Yes, well, that wasn't the worst bit ... actually none of it was too bad, but I'd sure like to have known the Way to his Heart," Mon admitted.

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  Mr Harris was looking at Mon as if he had never seen her before. "You mean, women actually read these books too?"

  "You bet they do. Maybe the person you fancy is reading one "wherever she's having lunch today."

  "I don't think so." Mr Harris shook his head sadly.

  "Mr Harris, would you like to have a drink with me about six o"clock this evening and we could sort of pool what we think we know about the opposite sex?" Mon heard herself say.

  Brenda Brennan was, of course, passing the table at that moment. She slowed down slightly so that she could hear Mr Harris saying that nothing would give him more pleasure, and where would Miss Green suggest?

  And for weeks they went out and sought manuals on how to be appealing to the opposite sex, which mainly involved being thoughtful and considerate and tactile.

  Everyone knew that they fancied each other long before Mr Harris and Miss Green did. Their faces lit up when they saw each other. The six o"clock drinks turned into dinners, and theatre visits. And when the annual Bank Dinner Dance came round, Mon was surprised that everyone in the restaurant knew that she was going to go as his guest.

  They thought for a considerable time that they were only exchanging helpful books with brown paper covers. But it turned out, of course, that they didn't need these books at all. Mr Harris and Miss Green had well found the way to each other's hearts long before either of them realised it.

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  The Special Sale

  The January Sales started earlier every year. Most of the big stores opened the very day after Christmas. A lot of people protested and said it was ruining family life. But secretly they were often relieved. Family life could often be overrated. Patrick Brennan said they should cash in on it, serve a comforting lunch to take the weight off the weary shoppers" feet.

  "And what about the weary staff's feet?" Brenda asked. But she knew that he was right. People would love it. It would take the effort out of shopping if people knew that they could hand their parcels in to Quentins" big roomy cloakroom and sit down to a lunch "where cold turkey would make no appearance.

  "We won't force anyone to work unless they want to. We wouldn't need the full team."

  Patrick's brother Blouse and his wife Mary would help. There was no way they could open their organic vegetable shop that day. On the day after Christmas people wanted to buy digital cameras, copper saucepans or designer shoes. They did not want Blouse and Mary Brennan's parsnips, guaranteed free from pesticides.

  They put a discreet little notice on each table in the restaurant advertising a Special Sale Lunch with a limited but interesting menu on 26 December. Early booking was essential. The menu was not, strictly speaking, limited, since they planned to serve Patrick's legendary steak and kidney pies, rack of lamb and a fiery Bouillabaisse.

  Yvonne booked a table for four as soon as she heard about it. It

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  was the ideal choice for her boss Frank. He could take his three children to lunch there as a treat, something totally different on this, the first Christmas that he would spend away from his home. Frank's difficult wife, Anna, who had laid down so many ground rules and made things so awkward, would not object to this. It was quite extraordinary, Yvonne thought, that Anna, who had left Frank for another man, was still calling the shots. She still lived in the family home, and she had the children for Christmas. Frank was altogether too easy-going. He said that there was no point in upsetting little Daisy, Rose and Ivy still further. The whole thing wasn't their fault. He seemed to imply that it was nobody's fault. Anna had suddenly fallen in love with this other man, Harry, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Everyone at the office was furious with him. Some even went so far as to say that if he were as passive as this then perhaps Anna had a case for leaving him.

  But Yvonne knew better. Frank was a loving husband and father who put in long hours in computer sales so that his family could have a holiday abroad, a new carpet, add decking in the garden. Yvonne knew how he worried about these expenses. She saw him sigh and frown when he thought that no one was looking.

  Yvonne was always looking at Frank, but he never saw. Why should he see her? The small, dumpy assistant in the sales department. Yvonne lived with her handicapped mother. Yvonne, who had no style or love of her own. A million miles from the tall, blonde Anna, who only had to smile and everyone did what she said.

  She told her mother about it.

  "And will you go too?" her mother asked eagerly.

  Sometimes Yvonne despaired. She would love to have had a great lunch on the day after Christmas in a smart, buzzy restaurant with Frank and his three children. Love it more than anything, but it would have been entirely inappropriate and intrusive. The only part she could play was to call his attention to the lunch and make the reservation for him.

  "Oh, no, Mother," Yvonne said. "That wouldn't do at all."

  "You must go out yourself over Christmas, Yvonne," she said. "I'm fine here on my own with my thoughts and my television."

  I know, Mother, but there's really not all that many places I want to go." Yvonne looked into the flames and thought about being thirty-six, the same age as Anna. Even Mother, who was in a

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  wheelchair, had once had a life and a love and a child. Wasn't it odd the way the world turned out for people? Frank reported that Anna had been highly approving of the lunch-in-Quentins idea. She had even praised him for thinking of it.

  Tm afraid I didn't say it was your idea," he apologised. She wanted to lean over and stroke the side of his face. But she restrained herself. He would have been horrified and embarrassed and eventually the nice, easy friendship they had would have disappeared.

  Christmas Day was cold and windy in the city centre. Brenda Brennan cooked a turkey for Patrick, Blouse and Mary. And the new baby Brendan. Mon and her fiance were with them.

  Yan the Breton waiter telephoned to send them greetings and to say that his father was now fully recovered and home from hospital. Mon's family called from Australia to say they had been sunburned at the beach and to know if Mon's Mr Harris was still on for the wedding. Or had he seen sense?

  Mr Harris, flushed with port, told them all that he just adored Mon and he didn't care who knew it. They ate in the kitchen of Quentins and played Country and Western music all day long.

  "I hope we'll all think it's worth opening tomorrow," Patrick said.

  They reassured him. "Isn't the place going to be full, and we don't get that every Tuesday," Brenda said, ever practical. Blouse said he loved the thought of being a waiter for the day, all dressed up and people thinking he was the real thing.

  "You are the real thing," they all said to Blouse at the same time. They talked about th
e bookings they had taken. Blouse had taken one from a woman in a wheelchair "who had never been there before. She had been very anxious for a table where she and her companion could be seen by everyone. Brenda had booked a table for a young man who was going to propose to his girlfriend and wondered could they have champagne on ice ready. And if it were not needed he would let them know. They all agreed that there was no other job quite as interesting as watching the human race at feeding time.

  Christmas Day was cold and windy outside the big house where Anna and Frank's three little girls opened their presents. Harry stood watching.

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  "It's a bit rough on Frank that he's not here to see it," he murmured to Anna.

  Her blue eyes were sad. "We have to start as we mean to go on," she said, "and he does get them all day tomorrow."

  Frank didn't notice the weather as he sat in his sister's home playing with her children instead of with his own. Trying all the while to avoid everyone's pity for him and their rage at Anna.

  Yvonne and her mother sat together as they had for many a year. Yvonne's mother was resplendent in the fine wool stole with a soft lilac colour which had been Yvonne's gift. Yvonne was sitting speechless, looking at the invitation for two to lunch at Quentins the following day, which had been her mother's gift to her. There was no way she could return or refuse to accept a present like this. She would have to go through with it.

  Frank called for the girls at ten-thirty. Anna looked beautiful as she always did. Harry looked a bit embarrassed, not sure how to play it. The girls were excited, they dragged him over to the Christmas tree to see what Santa Claus had brought. All of the gifts were exactly what they had been hoping for. And Mummy had given them each a new velvet dress.