Chapter Two, in which Nathalie is confronted with unpleasant news
For the umpteenth time, Nathalie looked at her watch and scowled.
“Still no word from Glenn?” Louise asked, leaning through the hatch to glance into the busy pub.
“No, and I thought he wanted to leave early so we could still get something out of the day,” she murmured.
“If something had come up, I’m sure he would have contacted us by now,” the cook said soothingly. “Perhaps he wants to surprise you with something?”
“Yes, maybe,” Nathalie said, even though she didn’t really believe it.
If Glenn did have a surprise for her, she wasn’t so sure it would be a nice one. Too much had happened between them in the last few weeks for that. She sighed and reached for the next glass on the counter that needed polishing.
She started to daydream about the possibilities. What if he announced he was being transferred to his bank’s headquarters in New York next week? She wouldn’t have to make a decision about their relationship then. And she wouldn’t have to reproach herself later for perhaps having taken the wrong path — either clinging to the relationship, or not making enough effort to save it.
Fate, if you could intervene here, it would really be helpful. Ta.
However, she feared that fate would not intervene. Well, not in the way she wanted. Payback for being too cowardly to draw a line when it was needed.
She put the polished glass on the shelf behind the counter.
“How does it work exactly with the dog show?” she asked Louise, to take her mind off it.
“You want to go to the dog show?” said Harold Dean, the bartender at the Black Feather, who had just joined her from the other side of the bar. “It’s too late to sign up now. You should have done it at least six months ago, and … oh, wait … you weren’t here six months ago, and … um … you don’t have a dog either. Or have I missed something?”
“Then I guess you haven’t noticed my imaginary Saint Bernard yet,” Nathalie returned with a smile.
“Ah, of course,” the man said, deadpan. “That explains why the shrinkage of our imaginary brandy has increased so much.”
Nathalie laughed.
“Nathalie is on the jury,” Louise explained to the bartender. “She’s taken the place of her late aunt.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Congratulations.” He nodded to Nathalie as he transferred a drink from the mixer into a cocktail glass, which he then decorated with cherries. “May I then hope that you will give my Richard Stenson III full marks?”
“Richard who?” she returned.
“Richard Stenson III is a Chihuahua,” Harold explained.
“So, not a real dog,” Louise interjected with a twinkle in her eye.
“He is very much a real dog!”
“If the tag on the dog’s collar’s bigger than the dog itself, it can’t be a real dog,” she said.
“Louise, I’m shocked that you’d be so size-ist,” he said, with feigned hurt.
“What did I say?”
“If we could get back to my original question, please,” said Nathalie, with a grin. “How does this show work?”
“So, the dogs are divided into different categories based on shoulder height. Within each category, two dogs and their owners compete against each other. The winner goes on to the next round,” Harold explained. “In the second round …”
“Here I am!”
Nathalie winced when she heard the loud, boisterous voice echoing through the pub, causing all the patrons to turn around.
“Glenn,” she said, after checking to see who was drawing attention to himself so loudly. This over-excited tone was not at all like Glenn. The “Glenn” that had crossed her lips at the sight of him hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic — more as if she’d said “Oh, it’s the postman”.
Glenn didn’t seem to notice, as he gleefully shot towards his girlfriend, leaned over the counter and gave Nathalie a kiss that, despite all his exuberance, seemed more like a sibling kiss to her.
“Hello, Lisa,” he said happily, taking no notice of the corrective “Louise” that came from Nathalie and the cook at the same time. “All right?” he said to Harold
