Chapter Sixteen

The week before the opening, things were definitely off kilter between Elliott and me. The introduction of Jane brought with it a whole lot of unforeseen trouble. She never moved around quietly. When she and Elliott had a conversation, it was never in whispered tones but always in raised voices. To say they were mercurial was an understatement. I now know what Paul McCartney felt like. Elliott and Jane were like the culinary equivalent of John Lennon and Yoko Ono to my Paul McCartney. Pots and pans were on the wall and the next moment on the floor. Besides feeling like a third wheel, I felt like a marriage counselor or a child trying to smooth things over between feuding parents.

Elliott made apologies. Over and over. I got the feeling he really didn’t even like Jane. That conversation was for another day. The day of the opening, I felt at peace. I felt that whatever Elliott and I had created was good, and nothing Lady Jane could do would get in the way of our success. My brother came. He looked good. And happy.

The restaurant opening was teeming with people. Excited people. You had to almost slither through tables to speak to everyone. This is the way my daddy loved it. I wished he could have been there, and something in me wondered why he wasn’t, although he did call and extend his congratulations.

I introduced Henry to Elliott. Elliott shook Henry’s hand and then made his rounds like a triumphant victor. Henry and I stood at the front of the restaurant and watched the crowds interact. I loved every minute of it. I could tell my brother did too.

Henry handed me my drink of choice, a sidecar, while he nursed a tonic water with lime. That in itself would’ve elicited a joke from me, but I could detect a sea change in my brother, and I was willing to honor Griffin’s request and be supportive.

“My little sister has done it. They are going to be talking about this restaurant for a long time. What you’ve done with the place is magical. I love the way the artwork complements the wall color. Did you select the artwork? The salt cellars were an unexpected touch.” Little did Henry know that that was the highest compliment he could’ve bestowed.

“I can perform this magic for you anytime. I appreciate you coming.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. That Englishman is a bit odd. He is very peculiar in the way he cooks, but you can’t argue in that he knows what he’s doing. He is talented. A word of advice: if he’s going to make it, he needs to either hire a baker or go to Balthazar and invest in some of their interesting selections of breads.”

I smiled. I knew my Southern brother would hit on the bread. Who knew that a Southern man could bake a scone better than an Englishman? But then again, my brother inherited the nitpicking gene just as I had.