schoolfriends and relatives came in practically every day and he had to feed them all,’ I told Daniel. ‘There wasn’t room for paying clients. Mind you, he had a wonderful time while it lasted. The same could not be said for his wife, who was doing the cooking,’ I concluded.
‘You really are amazing,’ said Daniel.
‘It’s a gift,’ I said modestly. He laughed.
The elderly man left. Several customers bought sweets. Then a woman came in with an opened box of chocolates and slapped them on the counter.
‘Aha,’ said Daniel.
‘A complaint,’ I said.
‘A dissatisfied customer who has bitten into a mouthful of chili sauce,’ said Daniel.
Juliette did her best to placate the woman.The woman waved her arms. She was expressing just how ruined her evening had been. She clutched at her throat to demonstrate how shocking had been the taste which had insulted her innocent mouth. Juliette pleaded. She grovelled. She offered a new box. The woman gradually allowed herself to be pacified. She accepted two boxes, specially chosen, as compensation, and stalked out, still upset.
‘Oh dear,’ said Daniel. Selima had come back into the shop and Juliette had fled in tears.
‘I suspect she isn’t going to get a lot of sympathy from her sister,’ I commented.
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘But maybe she isn’t expecting any from her sister.’
‘George?’ I asked.
‘They would be nice arms to throw yourself into, ketschele.’
‘George wouldn’t like it,’ I said nastily. ‘Tears might stain his shirt and emotion might disarrange his hair.’
‘You really haven’t taken to him, have you? All right, we are getting to the end. Shop is closed. Juliette and Selima do something to the cash register …’
‘Count the money apart from the float, write it all out on the bank voucher and put it into the bag for the night safe,’ I said, repeating what had to be done every day the bakery was open. Then someone will go to the bank … it appears to be Selima,’ I said, as the young woman doffed her smock, picked up her handbag and the bank bag and went out. ‘Now we clean the shop and then everyone gets to go home.’
This is, in fact, what happened. George condescended to sweep the floor, the chocolates were carefully covered with a cloth and the display cabinet glass and the window were cleaned. George left, followed by Juliette. Vivienne remained in the shop. She turned away into the back room and shut the door behind her.
‘Fin,’ said Daniel. ‘Applause.’
‘You know, watching too many of these could make you feel very sorry for the human race,’ I said, leaning on him.
‘It does,’ he responded. ‘It also makes me want to go to bed with you,’ he added.
That sounded like a good idea. We did that. And Horatio, who is a perceptive animal, stayed where he was on the couch.
C HA PTER FIVE
Horatio was there, purring, when I woke, however, promptly and automatically at four. I stroked him, momentarily regretted the lack of Daniel, and did my favourite Saturday morning thing: I turned over and went firmly back to sleep. Extra sleep is such a luxury. One reason why I had never had children is that I might have been woken up once too often and then had to donate them to the Salvation Army to get some sleep, and that isn’t socially responsible behaviour.
Another reason is that James would have been their father and I would not wish that on any child. Poor creatures, isn’t a world with George Bush in it bad enough, without adding James to the mix? Out of the question. Whatever Jason might say, I am not a cruel woman.
I snuggled down into my pillow and only had time for one groan of pure pleasure before I was waking up again and it was ten in the morning and high time to get some breakfast. As this was also Horatio’s opinion we went into the parlour, picked up our current novel, and settled down with pasta douro toast, marmalade and coffee—and kitty dins for him—
53
to spend a
‘You really are amazing,’ said Daniel.
‘It’s a gift,’ I said modestly. He laughed.
The elderly man left. Several customers bought sweets. Then a woman came in with an opened box of chocolates and slapped them on the counter.
‘Aha,’ said Daniel.
‘A complaint,’ I said.
‘A dissatisfied customer who has bitten into a mouthful of chili sauce,’ said Daniel.
Juliette did her best to placate the woman.The woman waved her arms. She was expressing just how ruined her evening had been. She clutched at her throat to demonstrate how shocking had been the taste which had insulted her innocent mouth. Juliette pleaded. She grovelled. She offered a new box. The woman gradually allowed herself to be pacified. She accepted two boxes, specially chosen, as compensation, and stalked out, still upset.
‘Oh dear,’ said Daniel. Selima had come back into the shop and Juliette had fled in tears.
‘I suspect she isn’t going to get a lot of sympathy from her sister,’ I commented.
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘But maybe she isn’t expecting any from her sister.’
‘George?’ I asked.
‘They would be nice arms to throw yourself into, ketschele.’
‘George wouldn’t like it,’ I said nastily. ‘Tears might stain his shirt and emotion might disarrange his hair.’
‘You really haven’t taken to him, have you? All right, we are getting to the end. Shop is closed. Juliette and Selima do something to the cash register …’
‘Count the money apart from the float, write it all out on the bank voucher and put it into the bag for the night safe,’ I said, repeating what had to be done every day the bakery was open. Then someone will go to the bank … it appears to be Selima,’ I said, as the young woman doffed her smock, picked up her handbag and the bank bag and went out. ‘Now we clean the shop and then everyone gets to go home.’
This is, in fact, what happened. George condescended to sweep the floor, the chocolates were carefully covered with a cloth and the display cabinet glass and the window were cleaned. George left, followed by Juliette. Vivienne remained in the shop. She turned away into the back room and shut the door behind her.
‘Fin,’ said Daniel. ‘Applause.’
‘You know, watching too many of these could make you feel very sorry for the human race,’ I said, leaning on him.
‘It does,’ he responded. ‘It also makes me want to go to bed with you,’ he added.
That sounded like a good idea. We did that. And Horatio, who is a perceptive animal, stayed where he was on the couch.
C HA PTER FIVE
Horatio was there, purring, when I woke, however, promptly and automatically at four. I stroked him, momentarily regretted the lack of Daniel, and did my favourite Saturday morning thing: I turned over and went firmly back to sleep. Extra sleep is such a luxury. One reason why I had never had children is that I might have been woken up once too often and then had to donate them to the Salvation Army to get some sleep, and that isn’t socially responsible behaviour.
Another reason is that James would have been their father and I would not wish that on any child. Poor creatures, isn’t a world with George Bush in it bad enough, without adding James to the mix? Out of the question. Whatever Jason might say, I am not a cruel woman.
I snuggled down into my pillow and only had time for one groan of pure pleasure before I was waking up again and it was ten in the morning and high time to get some breakfast. As this was also Horatio’s opinion we went into the parlour, picked up our current novel, and settled down with pasta douro toast, marmalade and coffee—and kitty dins for him—
53
to spend a
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