“Well,” Pam was saying, looking pointedly at her watch and getting slightly unsteadily to her feet. “It’s nice to know that at least you tried, Flora.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it won’t be long,” said Flora in a panic.

“I mean, I thought I’d give you a chance. But this . . . I mean. It’s difficult to run a business. My darling Charlie and I have been doing it for years, of course. We know what we’re doing, don’t we, darling?”

Charlie stared at the floor. Malcy laughed.

“But you can’t just walk in out of nowhere and start from scratch—it’s just not possible!”

“I don’t come from nowhere,” said Flora through slightly clenched teeth. “I come from down the road.”

“Yes, but all the gadding about? Marrying foreigners and whatnot? You don’t really understand what the local community needs now, do you? I mean”—she gave a little laugh—“a bit of dinner at least, don’t you think? And how you’re going to cope with travelers from farther afield . . . I mean, people do have standards, you know. They’ll want a little more than a cheese scone! Which, I notice, we don’t even have.”

Irritatingly she was right about this; Flora cursed herself for not even having thought to bring up some baking. Mind you, she had felt it would be insulting to Fintan and demoralizing to the kitchen if she’d arrived with backup. Meanwhile, short of being able to Instagram the food, Iona had taken to putting sunglasses on a stag head and photographing it instead.

“Okay, Pam,” she said finally as Pam smiled graciously in triumph. “It’s all very new . . .”

Suddenly there was a clatter at the swinging doors and Gala appeared, all flustered, but smiling and balancing the first three plates of food.

Chapter 17

I t was extraordinary. Wizardry.

It was a simple steak and chips—but what steak and chips. The steak was soft and bloody, with a dark caramel crispy outside and a melting inside. There were crispy fried onions (courtesy of Konstantin) on the side, perfectly salted, like the best seaside treats; the chips were triple fried in goose fat and satisfyingly crunchy; the salad was tart and green; and next to it all was the most wobbly, mustardy, perfectly set hollandaise sauce Flora had ever tasted.

It was an absolute rave, completely and utterly delicious.

Without saying another word, Pam simply sat back down. Flora half smiled. Obviously there was wanting to walk out—and then there was how insanely hungry you got as a feeding mother.

Gala poured the wine, a particularly beautiful private bottle of Colton’s, and brought cola for Agot, which she wasn’t actually allowed, but nobody could stop eating for long enough to explain this. The room fell into a reverent silence, punctuated occasionally by people saying, “Oh my God,” and “Bloody hell,” and Iona trying to photograph plates before they got emptied. Even as she was eating it, Flora felt sure and slightly sad that every single steak and chip she ate in her life after this would be a completely pale imitation of it, a true disappointment. She felt like Edmund in Narnia looking at the empty box of Turkish delight when she’d finished, staring regretfully at the empty plate.