The Letter
The envelope had been sitting on his desk for a week already. It had been opened and read days ago, and though Colin had considered throwing it out, his dark mahogany desk in the study was where it remained. He had decided that he was not interested, so what more was left to be done?
He picked up the letter contained within, feeling the grey, matte material. It was Bernhard’s preferred paper. Used on name tags, menus, and apparently letters, even after all these years.
Maybe he kept it because it was a final memento of Bernhard. Or perhaps the simple act of discarding the letter was too definitive. Either way, the content was clear enough, today was the last day to respond.
They had ended on poor terms, Colin and Bernhard. Separated by the circumstances of war, and now it seemed destined to remain that way forever. Time had not always stood between them, though. If he looked back, recalling each and every encounter they ever had, he could pinpoint where it went wrong. A single evening nearly two decades past that had set them on this course.
“Another big night,” Bernhard said, grinning.
“Big, indeed,” Colin laughed. “More than three dozen soups du jour, over fifty cream of mushroom chickens, and it must have been a hundred of the special.” He sat back satisfied, and exhausted
“This week’s special, the Bratwurst shepherd’s pie, you’ve out done yourself.”
They chatted in the stuffy back room beside the walk-in freezer, their usual post-service refuge. The hum of the kitchen lingered in the background — dishes dripping, the soft hiss of ovens cooling. From their high-backed chairs they shared a tiny desk that could look out across the kitchen.
Colin poured two wine glasses and slid one across the table. “To our customers. May they keep coming back, and may we strive to impress them further each soirée.”
“May they keep coming back.” Bernhard echoed. He took a sip, then added, almost to himself, “At least for the next while.”
Colin sat up. “The next while?”
Bernhard waved his hand lazily. “You know, long enough. But then… Maybe give us some time to catch our breath. Time to take a proper holiday.”
“A holiday?” Colin chuckled. “You’d last a day before you reorganize someone’s spice rack.”
Bernhard smiled, but his eyes stayed distant. “Perhaps. But I’m starting to think otherwise.” He swirled his wine. “There’s more to life than the next service, Colin. I just forget that sometimes.”
The room went quiet save for the hum of the freezer.
Colin leaned back, agitated. “You’re thinking of slowing down?”
Bernhard nodded faintly.
“Now? When things are picking up?” Colin said. “When it depends on us?”
“Not tomorrow,” Bernhard said. “But someday soon, maybe. Tonight was grand, hugely successful! A few more good years like this, and then…” He shrugged. “Something a little easier. I’d like to rest. Travel. Cook for pleasure again, not for pace.”
Colin didn’t answer. The idea hung between them, unpleasantly close for his liking. They finished their wine in silence, thinking of past nights and evenings to come.
In the following weeks, as the two friends had their evening chats, thoughts of settling down plagued Colin. It would catch him mid-conversation turning his mood bitter. Abrupt ends to conversations became arguments and arguments became fights. Soon it wasn’t a secret anymore in the kitchens that the staff had to walk on egg shells around the once friendly pair that owned the restaurant.
Then came the second world war. Many of the staff fled Germany. Colin was forced to return to England and they sold the restaurant.
Sitting in his leather armchair, Colin turned from the desk to the small, silver mirror hanging on the wall to his left. The face that looked back at him was no stranger, though neither was it the bustling man of his youth. He saw an aging father, hair greying, with hands that quivered, and eyes rimmed with remorse. Bernhard had been having back pains, and mentioned wanting to move away from the labour intensive kitchen work towards something easier. Culinary school, or perhaps management.
Could he blame Bernhard? Even if his heart was still in it, Colin wasn’t sure he could keep up in a kitchen the way he had twenty five years ago either. Yet, seeing this letter out of the blue wrenched his heart back to trials long past. Bernhard had passed, and he was here, gripped in tension that refused to die. Why did he care so much about a restaurant? And why did he blame Bernhard? A fight over moving on with their lives? It would have happened regardless. Why did he hold on still, all these years later?
Despite the sour taste that was left, the restaurant had begun beautifully, as a labour of love. Colin remembered those early days, the beckoning pleasure of bringing joy through their creations, and the warmth of smiles over the counter. He and Bernhard operated as a bistro at the time, serving breakfasts, pastries, teas, and lattes.
The bell hanging above the front entrance chimed. It was early, this would be their first customer for the day. Colin was in the back, prepping ingredients, while Bernhard was arranging the machines behind the counter.
“Please, come in! I’ll be right with you.” He could hear Bernhard greeting them. “Goodness me, welcome back! And who have you brought with you? Colin come up here,” he called.
Colin made his way to the front, now recognizing one young face and one unknown.
“This is my mother. I’ve been telling her about the cafe all week long, and we decided to come.”
“Just wonderful,” said Bernhard.
“We’re so happy to see you again,” agreed Colin.
She pointed to the first item on the matte, grey menu. “We’ll have two full German breakfasts.”
Bernhard took note and seated them. Colin, not missing a beat, got to work on the dishes. Bacon and tomatoes sizzled over a flame, with a row of seasoned sausages at the ready. A couple other customers dribbled in as the pair chatted by the window. While Colin was quick to plate and serve their meal, it was devoured even faster. They waved thanks, left a tip, and headed on their way.
The moment they were out the door, Bernhard rushed to the back, out of sight from the tables. “Our first return customer!” he exclaimed.
“And she ordered our very own full German breakfast!”
“Did you see how fast they wolfed it down?”
“I saw the plates. Licked clean, without a single bean remaining.”
The memory blurred as Colin’s eyes welled. What had happened to those days? Before the rush, before the noise. He picked up the envelope, looking at it again. How had he strayed so far? It seemed obvious now, in retrospect. It was never about Bernhard. It was him. Somewhere along the way, he lost sight of why they started it.
As they became busier, and more people showed up, it was Colin that pushed to expand. It was Colin that wanted to pivot to brunches and stay open in the evenings. And in doing so, he lost what mattered: the people themselves. Not just the diners, but the kitchen staff, Bernhard.
He looked down, finding the ink on the letter smeared as tears trickled down his face. Bernhard had gone along with his pursuit the whole way. Yet, when the roles were reversed, when Bernhard had expressed his own wishes to slow down their pace, he blamed him for the aftermath.
Colin had called it betrayal, but Bernhard hadn’t betrayed the dream. It was him, chasing perfection in the kitchen without ever stopping to savour what they had made.
He placed the letter back on the desk. It was too late to make amends, but he would pay his respects.
1311 words
Oct 19, 2025
all-stories