Marble's Marvels

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Marble’s Marvels - book excerpt

Chapter One

"Excuse me, dear," an elderly lady on table fifteen said, her hand raised.

Francesca Darby left the tea towel behind the bar, picked up her pad of paper and walked with purpose over to the table of two. Taking her pen out of her black shirt pocket, she smiled at the woman. "Hi! Is everything alright with your meals? Is there anything else I can do for you?"

The white-haired lady slid her plate to the edge of the table. "No, I'm afraid not. This shepherd's pie is too dry, and my husband's chips are overdone."

"They're fine, really. A bit dark maybe, but perfectly edible. Please don't trouble yourself on my account. I like my fries crispy."

"Darling, do shush," the lady said, apologising to Francesca with a roll of her eyes.

Cursing to herself silently, Francesca could do without complaint handling this afternoon. "Oh, I'm so sorry it’s not to your liking. I'll take these back to the kitchen, bring you new meals. I'll pour you a tea or coffee for your troubles as well."

Stooping to pick up both heavy plates, Francesca apologised once again, turned, and walked the dishes through the swing door. In the kitchen, Aidan Marble leaned against the stainless-steel counter, his mobile in hand. She guessed he was playing some game or other. "The pie's dry, and chips over-fried."

Guessing that he would moan about having to provide two new dishes, Francesca walked out before he could start.

Back out in the restaurant, she stepped up to the table of six, asked them if everything was to their satisfaction. The business owner who booked the reservation nodded, not that he cared. "Brilliant! I'll be back later with dessert menus."

Behind the bar, the safest place to be that afternoon, she made herself look busy. Over the last couple of years, Francesca had made a habit of making herself look like she was hard at work. Two years earlier, Marble's Marvels would have been packed to the rafters every lunch and dinnertime. Before the accident, Aidan and Kate Marble loved the restaurant.

They used to love Bishops Drake, too. Sometimes she wished she had moved somewhere bigger, a town like Basingstoke or Winchester, maybe. Or a city like Southampton, or Portsmouth.

Her daddy bought her the three-bedroom house off the High Street for her and a friend. He tried to palm it off as a gift, but Francesca knew he wanted to keep her in Bishops Drake. She could have fought him on the issue, asked for a place in Basingstoke, but she fell in love with her white house with black beams.

Francesca sauntered back into the kitchen when the bell rang.

Two steaming plates sat under the lights waiting to be consumed, hopefully by a happier elderly couple this time. "Thanks."

He muttered something, not that she cared what. Francesca was trying to please his customers. She tried to forget her negative thoughts. Aidan was a lovely guy, or at least he had been before…No, she had to take the plates to table fifteen with a smile.

"Shepherd's Pie for you, and Scampi and Chips for you." Placing the dishes in front of their respective owners, Francesca stood and smiled, before bowing. "Enjoy!"

"I hope to, dear." The lady prodded and poked her meal with her fork.

Having taken a step back towards the bar, Francesca stopped.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened to this place? It used to be full every time we came, didn't it, Henry? The last time we came here was for Henry's seventy-fifth birthday a couple of years ago, and I have never seen a busier restaurant."

Back at the table, Francesca listened to her story.

"Every table in here was taken. That night, they even had to bring out extra seats. And the kitchen, don't ask me how, but they kept up with the orders. Food came flying out of those doors. And the proprietors, they were lovely. A couple-"

"Aidan and Kate Marble, yes, the current owners."

"You mean? They're still here? I thought someone else must have taken over, or something? For it to be this quiet during lunch, even in January; it would have been unheard of a couple of years ago. We have friends in Robertsbridge who used to drive over an hour and a half just to come here. What happened?"

Francesca glanced around the large open-plan room, looking for Kate, who was around somewhere. Happy the coast was clear, she knelt so that she was on the same level as the lady. "I shouldn't say this, but things have changed a bit around here."

"I can see that dear. Changed how?"

Checking for Kate again, Francesca needed to explain the average food. "Their son, Vincent died in a car accident." Before the woman asked for details, she headed her off. "He was driving with friends when their car was hit by a drink driver. Out of five people in the collision, only one survived. He's never going to walk again and suffers from mild brain damage."

The woman's face changed, from nosey to horrified. "Oh, that's just awful. My heart goes out to them, darling." She looked to her husband for support.

"Aidan took it hard. He's never healed. The business took a hit, only it never bounced back. Aidan's love of cooking never returned either. The restaurant across the road mopped up the customers who would have come here, the locals and walk-ins. There's a two-week waiting list at Elio's now." She stood, regarded the shepherd's pie. "I shouldn't say this, but if you go now, you might be lucky and grab a table there."

"Thank you, but that would be rude," the lady ruled. "Oh, how awful for them."

Francesca nodded her agreement. "Ooh, here's Kate now. Please don't let on I told you their personal business; it's more than my job's worth." When the woman reassured her that her secret was safe, Francesca relaxed a little. "Thank you! Enjoy your meals. If there is anything else you need, I'll be by the bar."

"These chips are delicious, by the way," the husband said, spearing one with his fork.

"I'm going to mention you to my son, dear," the woman said, as Francesca went to leave. The woman smiled up at her.

Standing at the table, Francesca's brow furrowed. "Really? Why?"

"He's a Michelin star chef," the woman confessed. "He's opening a restaurant here in Bishops Drake. When he told us he has a meeting lined up with the owner of this wonderful place, we had to come and take one last look."

Francesca glared over at Kate Marble, who was standing behind the bar, tapping away on the till screen, oblivious to her staring. "What? No, there must be some kind of mistake. Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, dear, he's meeting with her in a couple of weeks, apparently. I'll put a good word in for you. You seem like a hard worker; you're polite to customers. I'm sure he'll snap you up. I'll speak to him."

Annoyed, and trying to hide the fact, Francesca thanked the lady, who introduced herself as Margaret, and her husband as Henry. Finally free, she sauntered over to the bar, where Kate tapped on the screen. "That couple over there, they're interesting people."

Her employer didn't look up, continuing to tap. "Hmm? Yeah, that's nice, Fran."

For years, Francesca had admired Kate Marble. Everything about her screamed stylish, from her trendy hairstyles, clothing, and jewellery, to her down-to-Earth outlook on life. With fabulous glossy brown hair, a pretty smile, and slim figure, Kate was a catch. Francesca didn't think she looked forty-nine. Thirty-nine maybe. "Yeah, interesting."

"I'm a bit busy here, love." Her boss stopped typing for a second, regarded her. "I'm inputting a big party's pre-order. Can this wait?"

Apologising, Francesca loitered, anger bubbling inside her. "When were you going to tell me you're putting this place up for sale, huh?" She couldn't believe the words came out.

Kate shot her a warning glare, gesturing for Francesca to follow her over to the coffee machine, away from the few customers. "Keep your voice down! No one's selling this place."

Not believing her, Francesca folded her arms. "Oh? That woman's lying, is she? You're not meeting some Michelin star chef to discuss him taking the lease on this place?" She could tell Kate wanted to be anywhere but here, squirming.

Kate's face changed, from defensive to apologetic; her demeanour softened. "Look, I'm meeting him to talk through his plans. It's all preliminary at this stage, and I haven't even told Aidan yet, so Lord only knows what he's going to say."

"If he has any sense, he'll try and stop you." Francesca felt choked up.

Kate put her hand on Francesca's shoulder. "You know better than anyone that this place is dying, Fran. Marble's Marvels is on her last legs, and it's going to take a miracle to get her on her feet again, especially with Elio over the road with his two-for-ones, and all you can eat for a tenner meal deals. We can't compete with that."

"Maybe if you got a decent chef in people might start coming back?" She regretted speaking out of turn when she received a glare. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that. It's just that Aidan's head's not in it anymore, Kate. This place needs the old Aidan. He had heart and dedication. He was a laugh, too."

With a sigh, Kate agreed. "He was. This place used to be fun. Packed every lunch and dinner, tables turning over twice, sometimes three times of an evening."

Being the two-year anniversary of the crash tomorrow, Francesca felt guilty adding pressure on Kate. "I didn't mean to bring back old memories."

"It's fine. Don't you think I reminisce about the glory days? I do. I would give anything to take this place back to the way it was a couple of years ago, anything. But reality has different plans for this restaurant. And like I said, without some sort of miracle, we're probably going to be closing the doors soon. I'm sorry you're finding out like this."

Maybe having Margaret put in a good word for her with her son was not such a bad idea. Francesca had known about the financial strain, but not the extent. She should have seen the situation coming months earlier, with lunches all but dead, and dinner services erratic.

Walking over to the front windows, Francesca thought she might enquire about vacancies at Elio's. She had waited busy restaurants before - well, one, here - and it didn't matter if she took out Italian dishes, or British fare.