Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

‘Earl Grey,' she said eventually.

‘Certainly,' He bowed, and left her.

Feeling a lot better about the whole process than she thought she would, Dora took in her surroundings. A piano played tunefully but invisibly from somewhere. There were pillars painted with garlands of flowers and the occasional bird, a theme echoed in the panels which were interspersed with mirrors. She could see herself sitting rather primly on her chair and relaxed her shoulders a little. It was quite crowded, she realised, and wondered if it had been difficult for Tom to get a table. Not everyone was smartly dressed but there were a few examples of what her mother would call 'tea gowns'.

Had she not been on her own, she wouldn't have felt dreadfully out of place in her new but casual trousers and V-neck T-shirt, but she would have definitely bought a skirt had she known where she was headed. And she was slightly surprised that they'd let her in.

Before she had time to get anxious about her scruffiness amidst so much old-fashioned glamour the waiter was back with a cake stand loaded with food.

Dora hadn't had much lunch – Tom had been very firm about them only having a snack, and when she saw the little finger-shaped sandwiches, oozing with smoked salmon and cream cheese, cucumber and ham, she found herself suddenly starving. Now she was worried about how much it was acceptable to eat. She remembered her grandmother going on about 'an ample sufficiency'. She was bound to err on the side of ample.

Her tea arrived before she had reached a conclusion. It was in a china teapot with an echo of the walls and pillars painted on it. A matching jug and sugar bowl were all arranged around the cup and saucer. Dora felt as if she was six again, playing tea parties with Karen, and smiled.

‘Mademoiselle, wait two minutes and I will come back and pour for you. But do eat!’

She put a sandwich on to her plate and ate it. It was one mouthful. She took another. They were exquisite – little morsels of perfection. The bread was fresh, the fillings just the right balance and the butter creamy and delicious.

At least the food is lovely, she thought, her private irritation with Tom thawing a little. She was glad he had made them have a horrid hot dog for lunch rather than a sandwich – she wouldn't have been enjoying these ones so much if they had.

The waiter swooped up again. 'Mademoiselle, I will pour your tea. Do you take milk?’

Dora began to wonder why he was singling her out for such attention. She had observed several people pouring their own tea while she was waiting. He placed the cup at her elbow. 'You like the sandwiches, yes?'

‘Yes, I do. They're wonderful.'

‘I will bring you more if you wish.'

‘No – no thank you. There are plenty here.'

‘After you must try the scones. I made them myself.' He seemed inclined to linger but was summoned by another table.

Did waiters really make scones? Or did pastry chefs, or whoever did make them, double up as waiters? She ate another sandwich – cucumber and ham this time – while she thought about it.

‘Mademoiselle, please, the scones. With the cream and jam.' He was at her elbow, twinkling at her, making her feel pampered and desirable. He took a scone with the tongs and put it on her plate. Then he cut it in half and put a lavish amount on cream on it, then a teaspoonful of jam. 'Please – eat.’

The scone was small but it still filled Dora's mouth so that she brought her napkin up to her lips to avoid spillage. She chewed, swallowed and smiled.

‘Well?' demanded her waiter.

‘Delicious, but I think I really prefer the sandwiches.’

‘Poof!' he said derisively. 'Try an éclair.’

Partly through embarrassment and partly because of the utter ridiculousness of the situation, Dora began to feel giggly. She struggled to keep herself under control. If this delightful waiter would only go away she'd be able to keep herself in check. Everyone knew about summoning a waiter but she didn't have any personal experience of how to send one away. She put the éclair into her mouth. It was food heaven.

‘Well?'

‘It was delicious, as I'm sure you know. Now do go and look after some other customers. You'll lose your job.'

‘ Pas du tout. I am in charge today. Do you still prefer the sandwiches?'

‘I don't know. Probably not.'

‘Try a meringue,' he urged. 'They are tiny.’

Dora only just got it to her mouth intact. Once there it dissolved into creamy sweetness enhanced by the chopped strawberries in the cream. 'That was truly heavenly.'

‘I will bring you some more.’

Dora was already feeling slightly sick – any more meringues would make her feel very uncomfortable. She belched discreetly into her napkin and felt a little better. She glanced at the door. Could she – should she make a run for it? She realised she couldn't, even if Tom had paid for it all in advance.

‘No, really!' she said as the waiter appeared with five tiny, perfect meringues on a doily-covered plate. 'Mademoiselle…' he said reproachfully.

‘I really couldn't. They were lovely, but..'I will pack them in a box for you.’

He had just presented the box to Dora, having curled the gold and pink striped ribbons, when Tom appeared. He did not seem pleased.

‘Oh, hello, Tom,' said Dora.

‘Could I have the bill please?' he demanded from the waiter.

‘Of course.' The waiter raised an eyebrow and then went away to the desk.

‘That man!' said Tom, furious. 'He's done nothing but try to pick you up since you got here!'

‘No he hasn't, don't be silly!'

‘I've been watching. He wasn't like that with the other guests.'

‘Spying on me, Tom?' Dora pretended to be indignant, but actually she was rather pleased.

‘Just keeping an eye. That greasy, smooth-talking…' He paused while he thought of an acceptable word. '… man was trying to seduce you with cream cakes.'

‘Mm. There are worse ways,' said Dora, feeling very frivolous and lighthearted.

Tom scowled and marched over to the desk. Never had Dora seen Tom being so masterful or, she had to admit, grumpy. While she felt sorry for the waiter and smiled her apologies to him, she couldn't help being a little flattered by Tom's obvious jealousy. Perhaps he didn't see her as just a mate.

He followed the waiter to the desk and got out his wallet. Dora picked up the box of meringues. Tom could eat them in the park.

‘Come along,' he said firmly, taking her arm and marching her out of the hotel. Dora barely had time to smile at the waiter in gratitude.

‘That wretched man!'

‘He was very attentive.' Dora was giggling now.

Tom was marching her along the road like an irate father. 'If I'd known-'

‘It was a lovely tea, Tom, and I feel much braver now about going into a restaurant on my own.'

‘It's not funny!'

‘Yes it is! It's hilarious. Now, stop being grumpy and we can find somewhere for you to eat these meringues. They really are delicious.’

Tom made a growling sound.

Jo had been so excited to see Karen again that she really couldn't think about anything else. Karen had come in the car with her father to pick her up from the airport and flung herself almost into the path of passing traffic so she could run to her mother.

‘Mum! You've got a tan. You look amazing.’

Karen had seemed completely different and just the same simultaneously. Mother and daughter hugged for several minutes until Philip guided them on to the pave ment where they could hug in safety.

‘Darling, I've missed you so much!' said Jo, holding Karen's hand, leaving Philip to carry her luggage.

They had walked, hip to hip, back to the car. Jo ignored Philip, not only because she was so taken up with Karen but because she didn't quite know how to treat him. She felt no animosity but she didn't feel any great warmth either. Especially after her night with Marcus. She would see how she felt when they'd got home. She pushed all thoughts of Marcus aside and concentrated on her daughter.