taking her by the arm and leading her towards one of the booths at the far side of the restaurant. ‘Not that I’m complaining, it’s lovely to see you back again.’ The look he gave Emma was enough to let her know that he was sorry to hear her cancer had returned, sorry that she may not beat it this time. As with most people, the look alone would have to be enough as he failed to voice his thoughts.
Emma gratefully accepted the look and then moved onto safer ground. ‘I thought I’d check out business. See how Louise has been getting on without my interference.’
Steven winced as he made a point of looking around at the empty tables. ‘She’s out at the cash-and-carry at the moment but we’re doing fine,’ he lied. ‘Here, let me take your coat.’
‘No thanks,’ replied Emma, pulling her jacket protectively around her. ‘It’s freezing in here.’
‘Cost-cutting measures.’
Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling in disbelief. ‘It’s hardly providing a warm and welcoming atmosphere. I’m officially back on the case and here’s my first suggestion: turn the thermostat up.’
‘But …’ began Steven. He had been working for Louise from the very beginning and was treated like one of the family, which meant that he had experienced the wrath of both sisters. He now faced a dilemma. Louise was the one supporting his personal development by allowing him to fit his shifts around a catering course and occasionally letting him loose in the kitchens. He could stay in her good books or he could do what Emma told him.
Emma made it easier for him to decide. ‘I was being polite when I said it was a suggestion,’ she said. ‘I don’t care what Louise says, she’ll lose the few customers she has left unless she starts taking action. Please, Steven. Turn it up, if only for me.’
‘You’re the boss,’ Steven relented with a playful smile. ‘How about a nice hot cup of coffee?’
‘This place is going up in my estimation all the time.’
The booth Emma was using had red leather benches along three sides, which would comfortably seat six and, under better circumstances, she would have felt guilty taking up so much space. The table was bare wood with a collection of condiments and menus lined up in a row along its centre. Emma pushed these out of the way so she had room to set up her laptop.
She took a deep breath and held it as she stared at the blank page that appeared in front of her and waited for inspiration to strike. A steaming cup of coffee, complete with swirls of creamy foam and a sprinkling of chocolate appeared in its stead.
Emma let out a sigh and her body visibly sagged as she looked up, expecting to see Steven. However, she discovered Ben watching her instead. Ben was in his early thirties, medium height with broad shoulders and dark short-cropped hair peaking through his catering hat. His eyes were the deepest brown with the longest lashes and he had the kind of expression that Emma missed. Someone was looking at her without pity in his eyes and the look lifted her spirit and her body along with it.
‘Not got anything better to do than serve front of house?’ Emma asked.
Ben looked around the restaurant in the same way that Steven had. ‘No,’ he said. ‘But I’m not here to serve, I’m here to complain.’
‘Complain about what?’ Emma wondered if Steven had told him about her order to crank up the heating but would be surprised if Ben would disagree. He had been in the middle of many arguments between Louise and Emma before now and, more often than not, he had sided with Emma.
‘I’ve been staring at the phone waiting for you to ring me with that order. I thought steroids were supposed to make you eat more.’
Emma laughed. ‘Yes, they do, but if I give into temptation, you’d never get me out of this place.’
‘I wouldn’t complain and, besides, we could always roll you out when you’re done.’
Emma’s smile was so wide that her cheeks began to ache. There were muscles being used that hadn’t been for quite some time. ‘Never mind the steroids. You’re good enough medicine, Mr Knowles.’
She had first met Ben when she and Louise had interviewed him for the job after Joe had left. Louise had still been in shock at the time. Her heart had been broken and her confidence shattered, but Emma had believed in Louise even when Louise hadn’t believed in herself. Her sister had told her she wanted to prove that she could make it without Joe, and Emma had been determined to make that happen. So whilst Louise was assessing candidates purely on their cooking abilities, Emma was looking for something else. She wanted someone who would bring a calming influence, who would be an anchor to the occasional storms her sister could brew up and maybe, just maybe, be the person to mend her sister’s heart.
Ben had stood out for both of them. He had learnt his trade in Liverpool and then travelled further afield to expand his culinary knowledge. Along the way he had transformed his trade into a passion, which translated not only onto the plate but came across in his whole demeanor and for once the sisters hadn’t argued about their choice. Since then, Emma had watched and waited but the only sparks between Louise and Ben were confined to the kitchen.
‘And you are an amazing woman,’ he said, dropping down into the seat opposite her. He rubbed his cheeks, wiping away the gentle blush that threatened. ‘I have to admit though, when I picked you up from hospital, I was scared.’
‘Of me or my cancer?’ Emma asked.
Ben took off his hat and scrunched it in his hands. He looked like he was about to lose the composure that had become his trademark, in and out of the kitchen. ‘Of what the cancer might have already taken from you, I suppose. I thought you’d be a little less …’ he began.
‘A little less alive?’
Instinct told Emma that the usual commiserations weren’t about to roll off his tongue and she was proven right. He rested his head on his hand as he scrutinized her face. His eyes fixed in concentration. ‘Perhaps. But you don’t look like someone who’s ready to give up.’
Emma had always felt at ease in Ben’s company and she had often surprised herself at how much she could open up to him. She respected his opinion and his judgement when it came to the bistro and as he sat in front of her, sharing his fears, she didn’t think there was anything she couldn’t trust him with.
‘Not when there’s still so much left to do,’ Emma told him. ‘I won’t rest until I’ve knocked Louise into shape so she can run this place properly on her own, and then there are things happening at work that would have me turning in my grave, so I suppose you’re right. Giving up isn’t an option.’ Emma took an excited breath. At last she had found someone she could talk to who wouldn’t wince at the vaguest mention of death and she was tempted to take Ben hostage.
‘So why were you frowning at your laptop?’ Ben asked.
As if Ben had magically summoned its return, the frown reappeared on Emma’s brow. ‘That would be because of the book I’m trying to write.’
‘And is this how great writers work? Direct thought transfer rather than actual typing?’
‘Hmm, very funny. I was waiting for inspiration to strike.’
‘So what’s this story about?’ Ben asked, little knowing that so far only Mr Spelling had been trusted with the premise of her opus.
There was something in Ben’s eyes that made Emma pause only briefly before opening up her heart. ‘OK, this is top secret. You tell no-one,’ she said, as if he had spent hours trying to wear her down into a confession. ‘It’s a story about someone like me, who has battled illness but, in her case, she wins. She gets the one thing I never did, the all-clear.’ Emma paused long enough for Ben’s nod of agreement, which he dutifully provided. ‘I need to write about what she would then do with her life. I know you’re supposed to write about what you know but that’s the whole point, I’m writing about what hasn’t happened in my life.’
‘Your