My face drops. Fermented cabbage?
“I spoke to a very helpful girl,” Mum powers on. “Said I was your PA again, and she assured me she’d get right onto it. I mentioned reflexology too, and she’s making inquiries. They do seem good at the Rilston,” she adds approvingly. “Nothing too much trouble. Are they looking after you? Oh, and I didn’t even ask—they did put you on the seafront side, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” I say, glancing at the boarded-up window and away again. “Yes, they did. All good. They even sent me flowers,” I add, looking at the bouquet which arrived last night. The message says, A thousand apologies for your substandard treatment, for which we are deeply mortified.
“Wonderful!” says Mum. “Well, I’d better go, darling. Oh, I spoke to Dinah.”
“Dinah?” I peer at the phone.
Dinah is my friend. My oldest friend. But I haven’t talked to her in what feels like forever. She’s a cheerful, competent lawyer turned doula and I love her to bits, but I guess I’ve been avoiding her. I haven’t had the energy to be “on” and cheerful; nor do I want to dissolve into sobs. I guess this is how people slowly turn into recluses.
“I was wanting to send you a little surprise,” explains Mum, “and I thought she’d know what to get. We settled on lavender bath oil. There now, it’s not a surprise anymore. But, love, Dinah didn’t have any idea! I had to put her in the picture.”
“I know,” I manage. “I was getting round to contacting her.”
“Darling, there’s no need to hide this all away. Your friends want to help!”
“I know,” I say. “Bye, Mum.”
As I ring off, tears prick my eyes. I don’t know why I haven’t reached out to Dinah. Or any of my friends. Because … I’m embarrassed, I guess. They can cope with life. And I can’t.
Anyway. That’s a goal I can work toward. Right now, I need food.
As I reach the dining room door, I tense up at the sight of Finn Birchall sitting at a table.
“Morning,” he says curtly.
“Morning,” I reply, equally shortly.
“Good morning!” Cassidy bustles up to me. “I do hope you slept well! Now, I heard what you said about wanting your own space. So we’ve seated you two right away from each other. Ms. Worth, you’re over here.”
She ushers me to the other end of the dining room and into a chair. To be fair to her, I’m about as far away from Finn Birchall as I could possibly be. In fact, we make quite a ludicrous sight.
“Thanks.” I smile at her. “I appreciate it.”
“I had your PA Erin on the phone this morning,” Cassidy says in tones of slight awe. “She starts early, doesn’t she? You do work her hard!”
“She’s … full of energy,” I manage.
“I’ve noted down all the requests she mentioned.…” Cassidy consults a list, her brow wrinkled anxiously. “Only I wanted to ask, what kind of kefir did you require?”
Oh God. I know Mum means well, but I’m totally embarrassed. I have nothing to say about kefir. Isn’t it just liquidy yogurt?
“Any kind,” I say, trying to appear knowledgeable. “Although preferably organic, obviously. For the organic benefits.”
“Obviously,” says Cassidy reverently. “Now, the fermented cabbage may take a little time. But the good news is, your organic kale’s been delivered! Chef Leslie’s making your smoothie as we speak! It looks so healthy,” she adds encouragingly. “Really green and sludgy.”
“Great!” I try to sound enthusiastic. “Can’t wait!”
“Your PA also said you need a reflexologist,” adds Cassidy, consulting her notebook again, “and I’m working on that. We do have a reflexologist in the summer—lovely lady, very holistic—but unfortunately she works at Burger King in Exeter during the winter, so she’s not presently available.” Cassidy sees that Finn Birchall’s hand is raised and turns to him. “Mr. Birchall!” she calls across the room. “How can I help?”
“Am I able to make a request directly?” he inquires, his tone deadpan. “Or should I ask my PA to phone the reception desk? Is that how it works here?”
In spite of myself, I flush. OK. I can see what I look like. Just for a nanosecond, I consider saying, It wasn’t my PA phoning, it was my mum. But then almost instantly I feel nettled at the idea. Why should I explain myself? It’s a free country. I can have a PA if I want to.
“Oh no!” says Cassidy earnestly, missing his point completely. “You can ask me anything, Mr. Birchall.”
“I’d like a black coffee, please.” He glances briefly my way. “But if I need to ask my people to email your people about it, then let’s make that happen and circle back. Maybe I’ll loop in my chief of staff.”
Ha ha. Hilarious.
“Oh no!” says Cassidy, wide-eyed. “Just ask me.” She beams at him. “One black coffee coming up—and Nikolai will be out for your food orders directly.”
I lift my chin, ignoring Finn Birchall as pointedly as I can, and sip my water. A moment later, Nikolai arrives at my side, holding the breakfast menu and a glass on a silver tray. It contains some sort of livid green substance and smells of algae.
“Kale smoothie,” he says with an air of pride.
My stomach clenches. It looks undrinkable. Unspeakable.
“Thank you!” I say, as brightly as I can, whereupon Nikolai proffers the menu, pointing helpfully at melon plate.
“Madame would prefer the melon plate,” he says confidently. “Melon plate as yesterday.”
Oh God. It’s easier just to say yes.
“Yes, please.” I force a smile. “One melon plate. Thank you.”
“How is the kale smoothie?” Nikolai gestures eagerly at the green slime, and my heart sinks. I can’t dodge it. I’ll have to try it.
I take a sip and try not to heave. It tastes of swamp. I’ve never drunk a swamp, but somehow I know instinctively that this smoothie is exactly what they taste like.
“Lovely.” I force another smile. “Perfect! Please thank the chef.”
Nikolai looks satisfied, then approaches Finn Birchall, at the other end of the room.
“Sir. Some breakfast?”
“Yes please.” He nods. “Two eggs over easy, bacon, sourdough toast, butter, marmalade, orange juice, and a stack of pancakes.” He pauses, noticing that Nikolai is scribbling frantically, then adds, “And maple syrup. And another black coffee.”
My stomach is growling desperately as I listen to this list, but I try to keep my expression pleasant.
“Kale smoothie, sir?” Nikolai gestures over at my glass. “Organic kale, very healthy?”
Finn Birchall looks nauseated. “No. Thank you.”
Defensively, I take another sip of the kale smoothie and nearly gag. What is in this?
Nikolai scurries off, and there’s silence while we wait for our food. I try to relax, but somehow I can’t. There’s something about Finn Birchall’s presence that makes me prickle. Is it because his fingers keep drumming the table? Is it because he looks so murderous? It’s breakfast! I feel like exclaiming. What’s the problem?