Playing With Fire

Chapter Four

Standing in the chilly afternoon shadows that stretched over the Soho pavement, Aidan watched through the glass pane of Cluny’s front door as Tim, the assistant manager, came towards him. Chewing a mouthful of food and grinning, the fair-haired Australian threw the lock.

‘G’day, mate!’ he cried in his distinctive twang as he swung the door open. ‘Good to see ya.’ 

‘You, too,’ Aidan said, stepping into the welcoming, aroma-infused warmth of the restaurant. With a classic décor of polished wood and shiny fittings, Cluny’s was a successful, well-respected London establishment. It was also owned by his uncle, and it had been through that family connection that Aidan had found himself temporarily working there six months earlier. Bored by his long recovery from the stroke and eager to feel useful and self-sufficient again, he’d jumped at the chance to fill the shoes of the head barman who’d walked out without notice. Even though he’d been there a relatively short time before the breakup with Annabel had precipitated the end of his stand-in role, the timeless elegance of the European-style interior felt instantly familiar.

He dropped his overnight bag by the coat-rack and shook Tim’s hand as a hail of greetings came from deeper inside. Seated around several tables that had been pushed together, an assembled group of employees were tucking into their staff meal ahead of the upcoming evening service. 

Following Tim across the room, Aidan spied Annabel seated at one end of the table, her expression a mask of stiff silence amid a sea of smiles as she stared back at him. He’d been fully expecting this unscheduled visit to catch her unawares, but he’d bet her surprise was no match for his own at seeing her sitting there. From what he’d learned from his time working for her, Ms Frost had never joined in with the daily staff meal. She’d preferred to keep a professional distance by eating alone in her office, and, with her fearsome reputation as an ice queen, the staff had been only too happy not to have her spoiling their appetites.

Although he wouldn’t go so far as to say the scene in front of him now painted a picture of perfect, cosy contentment, things had obviously started to change since she’d returned to work after the attack. Maybe, with both sides showing a bit more understanding and compassion for the other, Annabel’s frosty outer layers were starting to thaw.

Approaching the table, Aidan said hello to old faces including sweet-natured Donna, the waitress, Jon, the junior barman, and Stu, who’d been taken on as Aidan’s permanent replacement.

‘How come you’ve been such a stranger?’ Tim asked with a theatrical pout as he retook his seat and swiped a hunk of crusty bread around his bowl to collect the last of the thick dark sauce clinging to the sides. ‘You haven’t been in to see us once since you left. Have you moved back to Ireland already and become Lord of the Pile, or do you just not love us any more?’

In his peripheral vision, Aidan could see Annabel still sitting as if frozen. From the moment they’d first met, she’d made it clear that one of her rules was never to mix her business and personal life. What’s more, she’d particularly disapproved of workplace attachments. As a gambling man, he’d found the challenge of trying to make her break her own rules irresistibly attractive, of course, and had relished every moment of the campaign he’d undertaken to make it happen. Some of the tactics he’d employed had been far from fair, he’d be the first to admit, but, no matter how dirty he’d been prepared to play in private, he’d always respected her need for professional discretion. Was their relationship still her guilty little secret, he wondered, even though their circumstances had now changed?

‘Lord of the Rubble Pile, maybe,’ he said. ‘And no, I haven’t moved back yet, but I’ve not been in London much either. Getting this renovation project off the ground hasn’t left me with much time for anything but filling out forms and jumping through planning hoops.’