The silence that followed was so dense Margot felt its weight from the other side of the door. Tristan blinked twice in rapid succession. “The waitress,” he repeated, and for the first time his voice lost its professional smoothness. “Yes,” said Declan. “The one who poured the wine.” Tristan let out a short laugh, the kind people use when they do not understand the joke but know they need to react. “With all respect, Mr. Thornycroft, we’re in the middle of an international negotiation. I don’t think a waitress—” “I didn’t ask what you think,” Declan interrupted, and the six words fell on the table like stones.
Tristan’s laugh died. Conrad Weiss watched the scene without understanding the words, but reading the body language perfectly. The sudden tension between the two Australians. The shift in tone. The silence that now pressed down on the table like a cloud before a storm. Declan made a discreet gesture to the nearest waiter. “Call the woman who was serving this table. Margot, I believe.”
Margot heard her name from the other side of the door, and her stomach plummeted. He remembered her name. She did not recall telling him. Perhaps it was on the badge. Perhaps he was the kind of man who read waitresses’ badges. Whatever the reason, she was now being summoned to a table where a man she had just exposed was waiting with eyes that could hold either gratitude or destruction.
She pushed through the dining-room door, crossed the burgundy carpet with steps that looked normal but carried the weight of an irreversible decision, and stopped beside table twelve. “Sir,” she said, and her voice came out steady, despite everything. Declan looked at her, then at Conrad, then at Tristan, and then he said something Margot did not expect.
“Margot, I’m going to ask you to do something unusual. I’m going to say a sentence in English, and I want you to translate it directly into German for Mr. Weiss. Can you do that?” The entire restaurant seemed to shrink. Margot felt the eyes of every passing staff member, felt the weight of the apron on her shoulders as though it were made of lead, felt the smell of red wine and warm bread and the expensive cologne of the men at that table. And beneath all of it, she felt something she had not felt in years. A spark. Small, fragile, but unmistakable. Pride. “I can,” she answered.
Tristan Vickers shifted in his chair. “Mr. Thornycroft, this is completely unnecessary. I’m your official translator, and I can assure you—” “The sentence is this,” Declan continued, ignoring Tristan as though he had ceased to exist. He looked directly at Margot and spoke slowly, with absolute clarity. “Mr. Weiss, I apologize. I believe there have been serious problems with the translation tonight. I would like to ask you directly, what is your real position on the profit split and the jurisdiction clause of the contract?”