P.S. from Paris(12)

“There’s no way he would ever go along with that kind of thing!”

“Who says he has to know?” she replied with a wry smile. “Sometimes fate needs a little nudge . . . Doesn’t that sound a bit familiar?”

And she crossed the road without waiting for Arthur.



Mia put on the pair of tortoiseshell glasses she’d bought from an antique dealer that afternoon. The thick lenses blurred her vision. She pushed open the door of the restaurant.

Even with her poorer eyesight, she could tell the place was packed. Through a slot window in the back wall, Mia could just make out Daisy hard at work in the kitchen, as could all of the patrons from their individual tables. Her sous-chef moved from one spot to the next like he didn’t know which way to turn. Daisy cleared some plates and disappeared. A door opened and she reappeared, walking briskly toward a table of four. She served them and went off again just as quickly, brushing past Mia without paying her any attention. Just before she went into the kitchen, she took three steps backward.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “we’re fully booked tonight.”

Mia, whose glasses were making her cross-eyed, did not give up.

“Can’t you fit me somewhere? I can wait,” she said, disguising her voice.

Daisy scanned the room, looking put out.

“The people over there have already asked for the bill, but they won’t stop chatting away . . . Are you alone? I could give you a spot at the bar,” she suggested.

Mia agreed and went to sit down on a stool.

In a few minutes, Daisy returned. She popped behind the bar, set a place for Mia, and then turned around to grab a wineglass from the rack. She produced a menu and announced that there were no more scallops. The restaurant used only ingredients bought that day, and they had sold out.

“What a shame. I came all the way from London to taste your scallops.”

Daisy peered at her doubtfully, then jumped.

“Oh my God!” she shouted. “It’s a good thing I wasn’t carrying dishes—I would have dropped everything. You are absolutely insane!”

“You didn’t recognize me?”

“I didn’t really get a good look at you. But what the hell came over you?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“I don’t have time to come to a verdict—my waitress left me in the lurch, tonight of all nights. Look, if you’re hungry, I’ll fix you something, but if not . . .”

“What if I help out? You look like you could use all the help you can get.”

“Melissa Barlow, waitress? Somehow, I just don’t see it.”

“Keep your voice down! Melissa as waitress, maybe not. But how about Mia?”

Daisy looked her up and down.

“You think you’re capable of holding a plate without spilling it?”

“I had to play a waitress once, and I’ll have you know I trained for the role.”

Daisy hesitated. She heard her assistant ringing the bell. The customers were getting restless. They were going to need reinforcements.

“Fine. Take off those ridiculous glasses and follow me.”

Daisy led Mia into the kitchen, handed her an apron, and pointed to six plates waiting under heat lamps.

“Take those to table eight.”

“Table eight?”

“To the right of the entrance. Table with the loud guy. Be nice to him, though—he’s a regular.”

“A regular,” Mia repeated, picking up the plates. “Got it.”

“Keep it to four at a time till you get the hang of it, please.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Mia replied, balancing the plates on her arms.

Her mission accomplished, she came back straightaway, ready for the next round.

Freed of waitressing duties, Daisy took control of her kitchen again. As soon as each meal was ready, the bell rang and Mia rushed over. When she wasn’t serving, she was clearing tables, picking up bills, and coming back for more instructions. Daisy watched her, amused.

Around eleven p.m., the restaurant started to empty.

“One euro and fifty cents. That’s the whopping tip your ‘regular’ left me.”

“I didn’t say he was generous.” Daisy smiled.

“Then he just sat there . . . like he was waiting for a ‘thank you’!”

“You did thank him, didn’t you?”

“You’ve got to be joking!”

“Maybe it’s your brand-new look. What in the world possessed you to do something so strange?”

“Are you saying you don’t like it? It’s quite handy for remaining incognito.”

“It just doesn’t look like . . . you. Give me some time to get used to it.”

“It must have been a long time since you watched any of my films. Believe me, I’ve looked worse.”

“Don’t hold it against me. I’m too busy with the restaurant to go to the movies. Do you mind serving these desserts? I want to close ASAP so we can get home and crash.”

Mia played her role to perfection until the end of the evening. Daisy was impressed: she would never have believed her friend capable of such a feat.

At midnight, the last customers left the restaurant. Daisy and her chef cleaned up the kitchen while Mia tidied the dining room.