24. Mabel

T his was not what I had planned for today, but still rattled by my encounter with Mark, I didn't have the brainpower to avoid being…kidnapped by a former Olympic gold medallist dressed in a pink ensemble that was giving me a fashion migraine.

I knew the trends in drag, the current scene meshing the over-the-top and ridiculous with understated elegance, usually stripped straight off the fashion pages in Vogue , and I could copy a frock. I could, at a push, design something, but I was no fashion expert, other than knowing that my mother wouldn't have been caught dead in anything like what Mrs Templar was wearing. Still, I was pretty sure I recognised the style.

Tread carefully, Mabel.

"Loewe?" I purred out. After all, this woman was not to be messed with, and I had a feeling it would be in my interests to have her on my side.

"Of course. My fashion tastes are wide, but I usually get my statement pieces curated by my stylist. I have a certain look I like to maintain."

"And what a look it is! Potential-terrifying-future-mother-in-law doesn't even start to describe it."

"Sharp." She smiled and winked. "Don't push me, Mabel Donovan. I'm not easily amused, and you and I need to have a good chat. Lay some ground rules on the table."

"Agreed." I nodded and looked out of the window in shame. Not the smartest or most brilliant move on my part, but I wasn't sure how to steer this conversation. I could deal with the Mrs Templars of the world when I was in my own environment. The name badge was like a solid iron shield, but I had no name badge here, no uniform illusion of protection. I was naked, added to which, I didn't know Jonny well enough to out him to his mother, or who I was supposed to be right now to avoid accidentally doing so. I was so out of my depth it wasn't funny.

"I look forward to getting to know you better, Mrs Templar," I buffered, hoping to get this little luncheon off to a civilised start. Keep things neutral. Me? I was Switzerland. All the way.

We could probably have walked, the time it took for Mrs Templar's impressive car to deposit us outside the entrance of a private members' club. The Hawthorne. I should have known. I was pretty sure some of our better waiting staff had defected here, one of the chefs too, and I was racking my brains, trying to think of the name of the bar manager here because I'd crossed paths with him somewhere at some point.

I wanted to do a quick Google on my phone, so I could at least get the name right, but no time for that as the driver was holding my door open, waiting for me to step out into the freezing breeze. What was it with London in winter? I wasn't dressed for this. My coat was old and worn, and while I'd been prepared to swan in at my now-former place of employment dressed like this, I was not prepared for a posh lunch with Jonny's mother, nor for her to offer me her arm and lead me gently up the stairs where the porter greeted her by her first name.

It was…lovely, actually. I liked it. A warmth spread through me as said porter took my coat with zero judgment at my high heels or attire. Still. Nerves.

I'd planned to go home, sit with my mother and sort out my father's weekly chores. Do some laundry. Pack a few of my belongings to take across to Jonny's flat.

Madness, even thinking about it, as I was seated at a table in the elegant conservatory, candles and silver everywhere, understated elegance in the Christmas decoration department. I was impressed. Sorely so, thinking about the garish glitter and loud decorations I usually put up at—

I had to stop thinking about my OLD JOB.

Forwards, Mabel. Forwards.

"So. I assume you will allow me to order," Mrs Templar said in a tone that told me she'd order whether I allowed it or not. "Not that I doubt you would make excellent choices here, but I have particular dishes in mind, and I want you to sample them. As you can probably tell, I don't take no for an answer. I expect things to go my way. I've been around far too long to negotiate with people, and things always run smoother when I'm pleased."

"Solid advice," I said, accepting the glass of Champagne that was thrust into my hand. The waiter disappeared back to where they'd come from, somewhere out of sight. Nice. Discreet.

"Mrs Templar…" I started, but she waved her hand at me dismissively.

"Emilija. Seriously, Mabel. None of this dancing around the inevitable. My son is my first priority here. My second one? I want to have a pleasant lunch with interesting conversation."

"That sounds like the perfect first date."

"Indeed." She smiled. "Now, how do we rate this Champagne?"

"Not the Noble," I pointed out. I may not have had the chops of a potential Master of Wine, but I did know my Champagnes, and I recognised this one on taste alone. "Veuve Clicquot. Easy on the palate."

"Very good. But I like a little bit more bite. Now. I have questions."

I was sure she did, but first, she waved over the waiter, an overly happy young man who swooned over Mrs Templar like she was some kind of major celebrity.

"Carlos," she told me as he finally took his leave with a long-winded order perfectly memorised. Again, impressive. Poor Milliee would have had a heart attack. The girl was a delight but couldn't even remember how to spell her own name.

"Charming," I said softly.

"Hmm, and annoying as anything. Needs to be kept on a tight leash." She wriggled in her chair and then slowly changed her stance. "So Mabel. You are a homosexual, I assume?"

Great. We were going straight in at the deep end then.

I shrugged. "I'm the last person anyone would think was straight. You, on the other hand? You're like an iron rod. Unbreakable. A woman with a presence I admire."

"Don't flatter me, and don't change the subject."

"I'm attracted to men, yes. Very much so," I said before she put her fangs into me again.

"And you met my son because you served him dinner."

I had to laugh. Yes. True. I nodded.

"But now you don't have a job, and my son wants you to move in with him. I have obvious concerns because that whole scenario spells out like a badly written romance novel."

"Fully valid concerns, I agree. I have many concerns about the scenario myself."

"Good. So persuade me to change my perception of you as a gold digger and tramp. Tell me why I should be wining and dining a human being with no assets at my favourite private club."

"It is an incredible club. I am very honoured to be here."

"Oh, cut the bullshit, Mabel. What do you want from my son?"

Harsh, but a fair question.

"I like him. We connected over me trying to get him fed in the evenings, and we formed a friendship, one based on mutual attraction, even though I was unsure about his motives at first. Jonny is very sharp. He can be hard to read."

"Go on."

I liked his mother. I really did. It didn't make her any less terrifying.

"He is…" I was seriously trying to say the right words, but any attempt at being less than truthful would land me in even deeper water with Mrs Templar. "I'm not an easy person to get to know," I admitted. "Someone like me is… Well, I'm that person. The one who walks around like I have a giant tattoo on my forehead that invites people to judge, ask unsolicited questions. Am I a man? A woman? An…it? The questions are always there, they don't even have to be voiced out loud, which makes me incredibly guarded, and also…lonely. I gave up on finding a partner many years ago, and not just because I couldn't deal with myself, but also because I made excuses. I made myself believe that there were other options, thought if I just waited—"

"Please," Mrs Templar interrupted. "No excuses. We're all lonely. We all make choices. And we all have to just be who we are. Do you think I came to this country to be a poor Latvian girl with no future? No. I came here because I needed to succeed. I had this fire in my belly to do better. To win. At everything. Do I look like I didn't win?"

"You won," I agreed.

"So stop with the pity party. You are someone who doesn't identify as a single gender. Perfectly normal. Do you think I competed in women's athletics with a bow in my hair? No. I grew a dick. Some giant balls. And I played with men who were just as hardball as I was. Don't give excuses. I can't bear it. Not all of us are cut out to play. But those of us who do? We conform. We grow. And when needed, we show our claws. So show me your claws, Mabel. My son. What is your plan here?"

God. Help me.

Clearly, he heard me, as Carlos arrived with an elaborately garnished plate and served it to me with a full narrative—something I'd done myself plenty of times—but I didn't take in a single word, and Carlos was gone again far too soon.

"Eat," Mrs Templar instructed. "But keep talking. I don't have all day."

"Well…" I picked up a fork and poked it into one of the things on my plate. "I have no job. I don't have a place to live. But I have plenty of qualifications and skills, very supportive parents and an iron rod for a spine." I daintily shoved the food in my mouth. That was all I could muster.

"Very good." Mrs Templar still hadn't picked up her fork. She just sat there, her ice-blue eyes staring into my soul. Now I knew who Jonny got that move from.

"Your son is a complicated man with a lot of issues," I said.

"Men often are."

"But we work well together. We talk and laugh, and he calls me silly names and makes me feel good about myself. In return, I keep his fridge stocked and make him eat better meals—"

"Basics."

"And try to get him to sleep better."

"He never slept as a child." Finally, she picked up her fork, waving it at me as she added, "Almost killed me."

I grimaced in sympathy. "He does need to work on…quieting his mind in the evening." And controlling the panic and anxiety. I didn't mention that last bit because, again, it wasn't my place to out him to his mother.

"I would give advice on that, but I'm afraid my recipe for quieting my mind in the evenings consists of several glasses of fine wine."

"You can't go wrong with a glass of wine."

"Something we can agree on. However, the thing you need to know about my son, Mabel, is that while in business he's hardheaded, away from it, he's soft. One might say a pushover. He may have offered to fund your temporary lack of income, but if you think this will be a long-term solution, you are wrong."

"I don't intend to accept any money from him. I will find work."

"Yes, you will, and I'll be keeping my eye on you. As I said, I like to be in control of every aspect of my life and my son's, but before you conclude I'm some kind of overbearing monster of a mother, let me assure you, I've spent fifty years standing between him and people who wouldn't think twice about taking him for every penny he's worth. I keep my ears to the ground. I have people who report back to me. Apart from that dreadful Jenny he has working for him who refuses to take my calls."

I could suddenly see why Jonny liked his PA. I was feeling quite fond of her myself just now. Knowing Jonny as I did, I could also understand why his mother was so protective of him, but there was only so much I could take, and I swiftly excused myself to try to find a restroom, which presented yet another challenge, and for half a minute or so, I stood outside the two doors, panic-stricken. I always used the men's room, out of habit, but it wasn't always a safe place, especially in an establishment I didn't know, and I was wearing a skirt, for God's sake.

"Excuse me?"

I startled and turned to find a member of staff, a smartly dressed gentleman, smiling at me.

"Sorry," I said, stepping out of the way. I wished I'd brought a handbag. No make-up, no cologne, unprepared… And I knew what was coming.

Or, at least, I thought I did, until he said, "You're Mabel Donovan."

O…kay? I looked at the man's chest. No name badge. Now I thought about it, none of the staff here had them.

"James Christos, manager," he provided and offered his hand, which I shook. Firmly. For fuck's sake, Mabel. What now?

"Apologies for intercepting you, but I wanted to introduce myself and mention how impressed I am with the wine cellar you curated at the Clouds, in particular that crate of my coveted 2019 Sancerre, since you outbid me for it."

I felt my shoulders drop as the tension fled me. This was…

As always, I'd been prepared for abuse, and it had to stop. I had to get my mojo back. Be proud. Stand tall.

"I was lucky," I said with a smile. "And fast."

"Faster than me—and not for the first time, I might add. I'm wildly jealous. Anyway, I just wanted to say I'm a big fan of what you do."

"Thank you." I had no idea what that was. But still.

"I heard whispers," he continued, throwing in a small wink.

No surprise there. We all talked. There was nothing about the London restaurant scene that was kept quiet, especially since most of us regularly crossed paths, one way or the other.

"Of course you did." I smiled, turning up the charm.

"If you're interested in discussing…any future projects, I'm all ears," he added quietly, and there it was, the business card being thrust into my hand.

"I have…no plans," I said.

"Best way. Keep an open mind. Call me. I have someone I want you to connect with." He began to walk away, then turned to me again. "Use any of them. We have no rules here, apart from that we want our guests to feel at home. Good to meet you, Mabel Donovan."

This time, he did leave, so I quickly dashed into the ladies', freshened up as best I could and returned to the table.

I had barely sat down before another plate was placed in front of me. The main course. More Champagne. I couldn't remember having even touched my starter, too wound up to function.

"Eat," Mrs Templar demanded. "And as you do, I'm going to tell you what I think is happening here."

"Okay," was all I could say.

"My son is besotted with you. I can see that. Contrary to how he presents himself, the lack of trousers, those dreary grey suits—I do hope you can guide him in that department, his clothing choices do him no favours—he's a man in his best years. It's about time he started to live."

I nodded, letting a spoonful of something delightful fill my mouth. It still made me feel nauseous.

"And before you carry on covering for him, I'm aware my son is as gay as they come. A mother knows these things, but he's never been the kind of man to talk about his feelings. He bottles everything up. His hearing has been declining for years, and he refuses to acknowledge it. He has hearing aids that he refuses to wear. He says they make him look weak. Jonathan is soft-hearted, but he's not weak. He's strong and proud and intensely private, but when he loves someone, he does so with his entire being. His core staff understand that and are as protective of him as he is of them. So know this, Mabel. If you and Jonathan keep this up, you're going to have to get past Jenny first, and if you hurt him, she will destroy you. Is that clear?"

"And you? Will you destroy me too?" I had to ask, and I wasn't being flippant. I was genuinely scared.

"Believe me, you won't even know what hit you."

She was serious, and formidable, but her threat actually made me smile.

"Well then, Emilija," I said, my smile becoming a grin. "I think you and I will become great friends, because Jonathan is my partner, and I love him. I'm not saying this is a done deal, or that there is any kind of happily ever after here, but I will try. I want to try. Because—"

"It would be beautiful," she interrupted. "Almost as good as this Champagne. Now, tell me what's in your glass. I'm intrigued if you can correctly identify this one. And don't for a minute believe that I am finished testing you. I'm about to make your life hell, because I only want the best for my son."

It may have sounded like another threat, but I could read something else on her face as she lifted her glass and gently clinked it against mine. Acceptance. Kindness. An agreement of sorts. There was lots to work on here, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I was incredibly hopeful as I took a sip from my glass and gently swirled the liquid around my mouth.

"English sparkling wine. Awful. I can't believe you even attempted to trick me with that one."

Mrs Emilija Templar laughed. And I laughed too.