Minding Frankie - Maeve Binchy [89]
Chastened, Frank rang the restaurant.
“Can I speak to Anton Moran, please? … Mr. Moran? I have never begged before and I never will again, Mr. Moran, but today I arranged to meet for the first time a son I never knew I had and I picked your restaurant. Now I am hoping you will be able to find me a table. I don’t know where to contact the young man … my son.… It will be such a messy start to our relationship if I have to tell him we couldn’t get a booking.”
The man at the other end was courteous. “This is far too important a matter to mess up,” he said gracefully. “Of course you can have a table. Service today isn’t full,” he added, “but your story sounds so dramatic and so obviously true that I would have found a table for you even if I had to kneel down on all fours and pretend to be one.”
Frank smiled, and suddenly he remembered Clara saying that he should be more immediate, more up-front with people. Nothing worked as well as the truth, she had advised him.
Another round to Clara. Was the woman going to be right about everything?
· · ·
Frank was in the restaurant early. He looked around at the other diners, not a man without a collar, tie and smart jacket. Why had he chosen this place? But then again, if he had brought them to a burger place, it would hardly look festive. Or celebratory. It would look as if he were hiding this new member of his family. He watched the door and every time some man came in who might be about twenty-five his heart gave a lurch.
Then he saw him. He was so like Rita Raven that it almost hurt. Same little freckles on the nose, same thick, fair hair and same huge, dark eyes. Frank swallowed. The boy was talking to the maître d’ at the door and making signs around his neck. Seamlessly, Teddy produced a necktie, and Des tied it quickly. Then Teddy was leading him over to the table.
“Your guest, Mr. Ennis,” he said and slipped away.
Frank thought this man should have been an ambassador somewhere rather than working in what he realized was an outrageously expensive restaurant.
“Des!” he said and held out his hand.
The boy looked at him appraisingly.
“Well, well, well …,” he said. He ignored the hand that had been offered to him.
Frank wondered should he attempt the kind of bear hug men did nowadays.
He was bound to get it wrong, of course, and knock half the things off the table. And maybe the boy, used to more rugged Australian ways, might pull away, revolted.
“You found the place,” Frank said foolishly.
He shrugged and looked so dismissive.
“I didn’t know where you were, you see. Where you would be starting out from …” Frank’s voice trailed away. This was going to be much harder than he had thought.
· · ·
Near the kitchen door Teddy spoke to Anton.
“I’ve had Lisa on the phone.”
“Not again,” he sighed.
“She wants to come in for a meal sometime when we are not too busy.”
“Try to head her off, will you, Teddy?”
“Not easy …,” Teddy said.
“Just buy me a week, then. Tell her Wednesday of next week.”
“Lunch or dinner?”
“Oh, God, lunch.”
“She has her eyes on dinner,” Teddy said.
“An early-bird dinner, then.” Anton was resigned.
“She does work her butt off for this place. I don’t think we ever pay her anything.”
“Nobody asked her to slave.” Anton strained to hear what the newly united father and son were saying to each other. The conversation seemed to be limping along.
“Wouldn’t families make you sick, Teddy?” Anton said unexpectedly.
Teddy paused before answering. Anton’s family had not troubled him very much. Teddy didn’t understand what was wrong with families from Anton’s viewpoint, but he knew enough to agree with him.
“You’re so right, Anton, but think of all the business we get out of the guilt that families create! Half the people here today are here from some kind of family guilt. Anniversaries, birthdays, engagements, graduations. We’d be bankrupt without it.” Teddy always saw the bright side.
“Good man, Teddy.” Anton was slightly distracted. That man, Mr. Ennis, was making heavy weather over his meeting