Fran Varady 05 Watching Out by Ann Granger

Author:Ann Granger [Granger, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I discovered, when I went to work at eleven thirty on Tuesday, that my misgivings about the effect Susie would have on the male staff of the San Gennaro had been well founded. Clearly, she’d been a hit. Even Mario said, “That is one very attractive woman, that mate of yours, Fran.”

He went on to say that Pietro had fallen in love on sight and dedicated his music to her the previous evening, warbling sentimental ballads and looking like a sick spaniel.

Someone, no doubt Mario, had passed the word to Silvio that there was a new staff member. Our boss dropped by at six, as I was going off duty after a double shift and Susie had just arrived to take over. Silvio’s obvious intention was to assess the new employee for himself. His eyes sparkled on being introduced to her and he was flamboyantly gallant.

“Nice old gentleman,” said Susie to me in the restroom. She was buttoning her red waistcoat. It was on the tight side and she was wearing a low-necked white blouse underneath. On me the uniform looked as if I was dressed to go to a kid’s party. It made her look as if she was just about to walk on stage as Carmen. I commented as much.

“Get yourself a Wonderbra,” she advised.

“I haven’t got anything to put in it.”

I wondered if Silvio had left and hoped he had. He wasn’t a young man and the sight of Susie bursting from her ethnic kit might place a serious strain on his heart. I was seriously concerned that I’d done the wrong thing bringing her there. We could do without more complications caused by male hormones.

Even more worryingly, Jimmie drifted past me as I left and said, “Funny thing, I can’t help thinking I’ve seen that Susie around somewhere.”

“She’s sort of a local girl,” I said.

“I suppose that’s it. She’s a bonny lassie and the type you remember. She must’ve come in the old spud cafe a couple of times.”

“You miss the old spud cafe, don’t you, Jimmie?”

He sighed. “I feel a wee bit useless here. When I was running the spud place, it was my own, I made all the decisions, I made up the menu, I cooked the spuds. It was hard work and I didn’t make a lot of money. But I was He paused, flushed a salmony pink which clashed with his faded ginger hair, and said, “I felt I was somebody, you know, hen?”

I nodded. “I know, Jimmie.”

“Aye, well. All that glitters isn’t gold, they say.”

Impetuously I said, “Why don’t you get Silvio to buy you out? You could set up another spud cafe.”

“Maybe,” he said.

Poor Jimmie. Nothing to do but watch TV and read the tabloid press all day. New clothes, new shades, new job, more money. No independence, no satisfaction, no heart in it.

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