John met Winston at Le Sel, a small boutique restaurant he’d heard of, but never had the chance to go to.
A hostess led him to a small table in the corner. Winston was sipping a martini and rose when John arrived.
“Jonathan,” he said, extending his hand. John shook it and pulled out the other chair and sat. A server materialised at Winston’s elbow.
“Bourbon?” Winston asked.
“Please.”
Winston nodded to the server, who disappeared. “Have you been to Le Sel before?”
“Uh, no. I’ve walked past it. It’s always full. The food must be good.”
“It’s stunning.”
The bourbon arrived and John sipped it, before opening the menu. Concise, with a French influence, dishes such as seared scallops and a rack of lamb caught his eye. He nodded his approval.
“We’ll order first,” Winston said, sipping his drink. “Then we’ll talk.”
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John finished the last bite of lamb and sighed contentedly. Winston looked amused. “How was the lamb?”
“You didn’t lie. The food really is incredible. I should have come here earlier.”
A woman wearing a form fitting blue silk dress and simple diamond earrings stopped at their table. She lightly touched Winston’s arm. “Winston, how lovely to see you again.” He stood to kiss her cheek. Her glossy chestnut hair was twisted into an elegant knot, and she had high cheekbones and large brown eyes. “How was everything?”
“Delicious as always, my darling. May I introduce Jonathan Wick? This is Helen, the owner of Le Sel.”
John felt his mouth dry as he stood to shake her hand. Her palm was cool, and he got a tantalising whiff of her perfume. Jasmine. Her handshake was firm and confident, not insipid, and she looked him boldly in the eye.
“Mr Wick, good to meet you. First time at Le Sel? How was the food?”
John cleared his throat and held her hand for a second longer before reluctantly letting it go. “Uh, yes, it was delicious.”
“I see you had the lamb? One of my favourites.”
“Helen used to be the head chef at Cloche before opening Le Sel,” Winston said.
“Now my former sous chef at Cloche is my head chef here,” Helen smiled, her eyes sparkling. “But he still lets me co-create every dish.”
“How long have you owned the restaurant?” John asked.
“Two years,” Helen replied, casting an eye over the room. “From chef to owner, it has been a steep learning curve. But,” she paused and gave a small wave to another customer. “I think it’s going well.”
“Darling, you’re too modest,” Winston chuckled. “Jonathan said earlier the reason he hadn’t been in was that it was full every night.”
“Oh, well Mr Wick, don’t let that stop you. Any friend of Winston’s, just tell the maître d’ and we can accommodate you. Now, gentlemen,” she said, switching to business. “Have you ordered dessert? The chocolate souffle is our speciality.”
Winston pantomimed rubbing his stomach. “Not for me, I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Coffee for me,” John said, his eyes having not left Helen’s face.
“Wonderful. Winston, a pleasure.” She offered her cheek for him to kiss. “Mr Wick,” she held out her hand again and John clasped it. “Visit us again, won’t you?”
“Yeah,” John said softly, holding her hand and looking once more into her burnt honey-coloured eyes. “I will.”
Helen glided away from the table, signalling their server to put in John’s coffee order. John watched her go, then sat back down with a small sigh.
Winston watched, amused, from across him. “Well then,” he rumbled. “You don’t see that every day.”
YOU ARE READING
John Wick Origins: Helen
Short Story"It's okay," he said, eyes remaining on the road. "If you want to ask, I'll be honest. I owe you that." "Only one thing. Is that...one of the reasons I've only seen you a few times? You want to make sure those are healed before...?" "Yes," he said w...
