Chapter 3: Paris In The Rain

The Ambassador discussed the details of the Emir's requirements for the dinner at La Potinière with the Surété and they agreed to relay the arrangements to the restaurant. A security meeting was arranged for late afternoon when Maktum and the French VIP Protection Squad would arrange the seating. Finally it was agreed with the Maître d' that the Emir would sit alone at an excellent table, normally for four, close to, but not actually on, the edge of the dance floor. At the table next to it would be the Ambassador and his party. Four tables round those would be Kobekistani and French bodyguards. The Maître d' wanted to have his most senior Chef de Station serve the Emir, but Maktum was insistent that His Magnificence had specified that, "Paulette, who had previously served His Magnificence on table 67" was to serve him, and nobody else, save the sommelier, was to approach his table.

"The sommelier?" queried the Maître d', "The Emir will take wine?"

Maktum broke in again before the Surété man could answer, "His Magnificence, may he live for ever, eats and drinks whatever he wishes."

The tone of voice brooked no argument. The Maître d' had not reached that exalted rank by being stupid and he immediately connected the €1000 tip which was rumoured among the staff with the incognito visit of the Emir. What he could not understand was how he could have been so blind as to put a rich Arab on table 67.

«Merde alors, » he said under his breath, «The girl must serve him if that is his wish. He could have me sacked for putting him on 67 if I annoy him further. He could even buy the restaurant just to sack me personally.»

What the Maître d' did not know is that Maktum would have unhesitatingly strangled him in the middle of his own restaurant had the Emir expressed the slightest wish for such a service, and it would have cost the Emir, may he live for ever, nothing whatever.

When Paulette arrived at work she was immediately called before the Maître d' and asked about the €1,000 tip from a rich Arab on Table 67.

"He wasn't an..." she broke off when she realised what she had admitted.

"Cheating the tronc is an immediate dismissal offence," said her boss, and then continued, to her utter amazement, "But I'll overlook it this time."

She stared at him, wondering if this was a ploy to seduce her.

"He seems to have enjoyed his meal, so much so that he is returning this evening for dinner and has asked that you serve him again. The only table you will serve tonight is table 24 and it, together with tables 13, 16, 25, 33, and 36 have been formed into station A which is where you will work. The rest of station A's usual tables will be served from other stations. You will dress as Chef de Station and will work, for tonight only, as an independent Chef de Station. You will have no commis but with only one customer that should not matter. You will address the customer as 'Your Magnificence'. Is all that quite clear?"

"Who is he?" asked Paulette.

"That does not concern you. What concerns you is serving him to perfection. If you succeed then we will consider moving you to that station as an Assistant to learn the real art of serving discerning customers."

The royal party were ushered to their tables with due ceremony and all settled down. The Ambassador and his family soon realised that the Emir had no intention of talking to them and had selected a seat at his table which actually faced away from them. It was not the place laid up, but he simply moved the chair to where he wished to sit, facing the sideboard from which Paulette would be serving him, and she moved the mise en place accordingly.

During the meal she knew that the Maître d' was watching her like a hawk, and it disconcerted her that 'His Magnificence' was also watching her every move. Worse than that every time she came near him he tried to chat to her, and he kept on calling her over for trivial reasons. It all made her more and more nervous.

"Please, Your Magnificence. I am extremely nervous and everyone is watching. Please let me concentrate on serving you," Paulette begged, and he decided to ease off.

The rest of the dinner passed off uneventfully. Again he left a separate tip on the table, and the Ambassador tipped the Maître d' when he paid the bill for whole party. Paulette was told that she could keep anything he had left on her table.

"Anything?" she asked.

"Even the €1000 note," she was assured, "And the telephone number written on it."

She hadn't noticed that anything was written on the note, but when she checked, it was there. She had no intention of telephoning an important customer, but she wrote it down anyway.