Free The Dish by Stella Newman Page A

lying.But even so, I think the blond chef was running the show last Thursday. Maybe Adam had the night off? But that would never happen in an opening month. Maybe he was in another part of the restaurant? Perhaps they have a prep kitchen . . .? Weird, though.
    I text him back: Breakfast good, my treat. Where suits?
    He replies instantly: If you’re OK to come to the Square Mile do you fancy The Haute?Great views, and then I’ll have more time with you.
    I love The Haute. I gave them 18 stars when they opened. That’s how you should do a restaurant in a skyscraper – at the top of the building, not in the basement.
    But 7.30 a.m., east, up at 6 a.m. – do I like him that much? With all the potential stress involved if he starts talking about work and I have to pretend to know nothing about anything?It would just be so much easier to walk away from this situation right now, much smarter not to get involved.
    See you at 7.30 a.m. Laura.

7
    ‘Can I have some more toast, please?’ I say to Sophie, who is standing in her kitchen, hands deep in a giant mixing bowl, fingers smothered in sticky cherry marzipan.
    ‘Help yourself,’ she says, poking her elbow towards the toaster. ‘Could you pass the icing sugar first?’
    I leap off the stool and grab the pack. ‘Do you want a slice?’
    ‘I’m having dinner with my sister-in-law in an hour,’she says, rubbing flour off her watch face with her cheek. ‘Shit. In forty-five minutes, in fact.’
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘Urgh, Shelliii’s a nightmare, no way I’m doing raw food, so we’ve settled on a Japanese place near her hotel.’
    ‘When is she flying back?’
    ‘Sunday, but she’s got a casting with some director here on Saturday, so I’ve said I’ll look after Elektra rather than leave her witha random babysitter for the seventh day in a row.’
    ‘Why didn’t they just leave her with your brother or your mum in California?’
    ‘Er, because Shelliii thinks Elektra is an accessory, not a small human – and a beautiful three year old makes Shelliii look even more lithe for forty than her Chloé jeans do.’
    ‘She’s very . . . driven, your sister-in-law, isn’t she?’
    ‘Do you mean she’s a selfishbitch?’
    ‘Well, no . . .’
    ‘This is the woman who had an early Caesarean so she could guarantee Elektra was a Leo!’
    ‘What’s the icing for?’
    ‘This?’ she says, holding her hands up like a sugar-coated Lady Macbeth. ‘Actually, can you give my nose a quick scratch?’
    I gently tickle the side of her nostril and she laughs. ‘This,’ she says, nodding back down at the bowl, ‘is prototype Battenberg,going horribly pear-shaped. It was meant to be cherry and white chocolate squares . . .’
    ‘OMG! Can I say OMG?’
    ‘It might have been OMG but I think I scaled up wrong. Yesterday the marzipan was too crumbly and now I’ve overdone the corn syrup. Try,’ she says, pointing her elbow at a spoon on the counter.
    I scrape a sludge of cerise paste out of the bowl and give it a brief smell before I tasteit. ‘It’s a bit sweet for me, Soph.’
    She shakes her head in irritation. ‘I thought so – but customers do seem to prefer sweeter. Fine, I’d better start getting ready.’ She tips her head towards the taps for me to turn on.
    ‘Do you want me to wash up while you change?’
    ‘No, thanks, I’ve got to fix it when I get home Anyway, you didn’t even get round to telling me when you’re seeing the chef again?’

    ‘Breakfast, Thursday!’ I say, feeling a little thrill of delight at the thought.
    ‘Now that is OMG!’ she says, clapping her hands together, gently prising them apart and licking her index finger, then wrinkling her nose. ‘Too sweet.’
    ‘And you really think Roger’s right about me not saying anything?’
    She gives it a final thought. ‘Yeah. I mean it’s such early days. It feels like a big deal rightnow because you’ve only just written the review – but it’ll seem less of a big deal