Honey Trap

by JJ Marsh

  “Beatrice! How was your day?”

  “Tougher than I expected. I have two concerns. If I am going to be that busy and actually working as a chef, how on earth do I get to observe the rest of the team? Secondly, the personnel files you gave me only include kitchen staff. What about the front of house people? Surely they are aware of what they are serving? I know from personal experience your sommelier and maître d’ are highly knowledgeable about the contents of the food.”

  Isabella rolled her shoulders and yawned. “Timing is everything in this business. It is not so difficult. You prepare the desserts. Make everything ready, then you have time to watch the other chefs. Work only when dessert orders arrive. You can have the waiting staff files if you want, but they don’t really know what goes on in the kitchen. Maybe Alessandro and Maria have a better understanding, as you say. I will print their files for you. Are you in a bad mood?”

  Beatrice thought about the question. “Not a bad mood, exactly, just realising that this is a bigger job than I thought. Plus I am really worn out after today.”

  “Go home and rest. Is your driver here?”

  “He’s waiting outside. Did you call any of the copycat restaurants?”

  “Yes, and the reaction was very interesting. I called three and found some things in common. All the owners are new to the restaurant business, with almost zero experience. Very strange. They talked about their style, their chef, their branding and their location with passion and enthusiasm. Only when I asked about how they create their dishes, they avoided the question. One made an excuse, the other gave me nothing but bullshit and the last one hung up.” Isabella wrinkled her nose.

  “Hmm. OK, I need to think this over. Can you get me the personnel files on the waiting staff for tomorrow? I’ll be in early for my baptism of fire.”

  “No problem. How did you get on with Suhail?”

  “The man has the patience of a saint. I’m very glad he’s got my back. Have a good evening and see you tomorrow.”

  By the time she got back to the apartment after Ettore’s enthusiastic questions and erratic driving, she was so tired she could barely drag herself up the stairs. Only the thought of the new arrival spurred her on.

  She could hear his voice the minute she opened the door.

  “Which just goes to show how important it is to end a relationship on good terms. A mantra I live by whether it’s work or love.”

  Her breath caught and not just because of the stairs. He couldn’t have split up with Will already! Not after a marriage of only four months.

  He stood up as she came into the room. “Here she is! The Nigella Lawson of Upton St Nicholas! Give me a hug.”

  She held out her palms in rejection. “Just wait a minute. Have you left Will?”

  “What? My God, why on earth would I do that? No, we’re in this for at least as long as you and Matthew.”

  “Thank heavens for that. I could do with a bit less domestic drama.” She embraced Adrian warmly, kissed Matthew and planted a peck on Luke’s head, which was bent over his games console. She dumped her bag onto the coffee table and flung herself into an armchair.

  “Tired?” asked Matthew, with a sympathetic smile.

  “Shattered. And I have to do it all again tomorrow. What do you think of the apartment, Adrian?”

  “Utterly glorious. I’ve taken photos in every room but only sent about half to Will. I don’t want to make him jealous. Much. How was your day?”

  “Eye-opening. Turns out I know nothing about cooking and I am frankly terrified about learning how to be a five-star chef on Tuesday. What about you lot? Been exploring, Luke?”

  He looked up. “Yeah. It was good.” He returned his gaze to the screen.

  Matthew elaborated. “We walked around most of the historical centre and visited two museums. We lunched on pizza in Piazza Dante and Luke learned how to order for himself in Italian. He was quite the star attraction, I can tell you. Then Luke had a rest in his room and I had forty winks on the sofa. So we were fully restored by the time Adrian arrived. Tell Beatrice about your flight while I check on dinner.”

  Adrian sat up, looking stylish and well-groomed in a button-down blue shirt, cream trousers and deck shoes. “I was just telling them that the steward on my flight was an ex-boyfriend. Do you remember Giacomo? I’d completely forgotten he worked for British Airways until I boarded the plane. Not only did he get me upgraded, but kept me plied with wine the whole flight!”

  Beatrice laughed. “Trust you. How’s Will? Is he really all right about you coming away alone?”

  “He was till I told him about Giacomo. Ha! No, he’s fine. Really. It was the best solution as he has no distractions and can prepare for Monday’s interview. I am so excited to be here and I cannot believe we are actually going to dine at Ecco!”

  “Are we?” Luke’s head shot up. “Again?”

  “Yes. They have fixed it so that the four of us can eat there on Saturday night. Though to be honest, I’ve already had enough of haute cuisine.”

  “Yay! That place is wicked!” Luke grinned.

  “That’s exactly what the Michelin reviewer said.” Beatrice accepted a cup of tea from Matthew.

  “We thought you’d probably be worn out after a full day in the kitchen and perhaps not keen on going out to a restaurant, so I’m making ribollita. Cannellini bean and vegetable soup. Comfort food which is full of flavour, yet not too heavy and classically Italian. I’ll serve it with toasted ciabatta, parmesan and lemon oil.”

  “Matthew Bailey, I adore you. Even when you talk like a menu.”

  Luke put down his console and looked at Beatrice. “Are you hungry?”

  “Oddly enough, after craving over a hot stove for hours on end, I actually am. Now tell me how to order my pizza in Italian.”

  The party moved up to the roof terrace, Adrian carrying wine, Matthew heaving the huge tureen, and Beatrice managed the bread. They ate and drank and exclaimed over the sky, which changed tone from golden through burnt orange to streaks of silver and black, as if they were watching the embers of a bonfire.

  Beatrice went downstairs to tuck Luke in at ten, fully intending to return and finish her glass of wine and voice her opinions on European politics. But the door to their room was ajar, the bedside lamps on and her willpower ran out. She brushed her teeth, washed her face and was asleep by twenty past ten.

  Chapter 11

  In an honourable attempt to repay his hosts’ hospitality, Adrian rose early and did the dishes from the night before. He popped out to the nearby bakery, wrinkling his nose at the overflowing bins, and stopped for a moment to enjoy a glimpse of the seafront. When he let himself into the apartment, Beatrice was sitting at the kitchen table, reading some paperwork. She was still in her dressing-gown, her hair wild.

  She eyed the paper bag in his hand. “Good morning, Mr Fresh-as-a-Daisy. Are those pastries?”

  “Yes, but I will also make a fruit salad with yoghurt for anyone sick of baked goods. When do you have to leave?”

  “In about an hour. I’ll jump in the shower and join you in a bit. Matthew’s having a lie-in. Yesterday just about wore him out. And he wasn’t even being a pretend chef.” She shuffled off down the corridor humming ‘At the End of the Day’ from Les Misérables.

  Adrian snorted with laughter, opened the windows and listened to the bustle of a Neapolitan Monday morning as he chopped apples, oranges, kiwis and grapes, brewed coffee and warmed the pastries in the oven. He was just putting a milk pan on the hob when PI Beatrice Stubbs came in and sat down. She wore a long-sleeved T-shirt, loose trousers and a pair of trainers.

  “You look more like a jogger than a chef,” he said, pulling out a tray of sfogliatelle with an oven glove.

  “That’s because it’s bloody hard work. Honestly, I ache all over from yesterday and that was just three of us in the kitchen. I am dreading Tuesday. Why on earth would I put myself into one of the most stressful, overheated and pressured environments in the world to do som
eone a favour?”

  “Don’t tell me they’re not paying you! I’d never have encouraged you to do this if I thought it was a freebie.” He poured the coffee.

  “Of course I’m being paid. I’m not completely mad. But the effort this job requires is a bit more than poking around on the Internet. Listen, I can’t face those fiddle-arse croissanty-things but I know Luke will love them. Give me unadulterated fruit as Nature intended. Then I must haul my sorry self to Ecco and endure another day of feeling inadequate.”

  Her pout made Adrian laugh aloud. “Drink your coffee and eat your fruit. I am even happier to be here now I know how busy you’re going to be. I can support Matthew, entertain Luke, cook, clean and ensure our hard worker returns home to a decent meal every evening. All you need to do is concentrate on the job. Aha! The boys are up.”

  Washed and dressed, Matthew looked ready to take on the day, albeit with a few more wrinkles under the eyes. Luke was still in his pyjamas, hair awry and face puffy. Beatrice hugged and kissed them all, took two mouthfuls of fruit, drained her coffee and left for the restaurant.

  After her departure, the three males ate in silence, each absorbed in iPad, guidebook or games console. Finally Matthew set down his cup.

  “The weather looks pleasant, so how would you feel about a boat trip? Over to Capri to potter around the island, grab a spot of lunch, then back across the bay to buy something scintillating for Beatrice’s dinner. Can I get a show of hands?”

  Adrian and Luke both shot their right hands in the air.

  “Good choice. So it seems only one of our party is yet to get dressed. Luke, off you trot while Adrian and I clear the kitchen. Please apply Factor 50 everywhere and bring your hat.”

  The speedboat bounced across the waves, jolting the passengers perched on the plastic benches. Adrian found the spray and speed exhilarating, as did Luke, but Matthew’s posture remained stiff, as did his smile. The leathery boatman reached out a muscular forearm to assist them as they clambered onto the quay.

  Adrian spotted the subtle transfer of Euros as Matthew shook their pilot’s hand. They all waved goodbye and gazed up at the colourful peak of Capri. The weather was warm enough to turn pale British skin pink, clusters of purple heather and yellow broom seemed to erupt from each corner and the cheerful chatter of the quayside lifted everyone’s spirits. Too romantic for words. Adrian was glad he’d re-watched The Talented Mr Ripley before leaving London. Now he knew exactly what to expect.

  Luke ran ahead up the steep narrow street, pointing out ice-cream shops, souvenirs and on every other doorstep, reclining cats. Basil, oregano, thyme and marjoram grew on most windowsills, adding a herbal note to the lemon-scented air. They strolled uphill, snapping pictures of one photogenic panorama after another: small coves changing colour with each wave and cascading terraced gardens. On the winding streets, tiny one-person utility vehicles carried suitcases, their drivers hooting to clear a path between the tourists. Of those there were plenty. Adrian guessed the nationality by dress sense before he could even hear the accents. He took a decision to stop being judgemental and admire the beauty of this little island with its celebrated history.

  Luke’s energy took him further ahead than Adrian deemed comfortable, while Matthew’s slow progress stretched the distance between them to a worrying degree. Adrian caught Matthew’s eye, indicated Luke and made the motion of a grabbing claw to indicate he’d catch the boy. The ex-professor rested against a wall and nodded his permission. Ducking groups of tourists dawdling up the congested little street and taking selfies, Adrian loped after the six-year-old, scanning both sides for a small blond head. With a surprising sense of relief, he spotted Luke watching a street vendor waving beribboned sticks to attract young eyes. Right behind him stood an older man in a black beret, equally absorbed in the display.

  Adrian drew Luke away with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Let’s stick together. Your granddad isn’t as fast as you and we shouldn’t spilt up. Now I’m not sure what you think, but I wonder if it’s too early for an ice-cream?”

  After much deliberation, Luke chose a double scoop of stracciatella and chocolate, Adrian tried the lime sorbet and Matthew chose to drink a glass of mineral water in the shade of an umbrella. His face was grey and weary. Adrian put it down to seasickness. Not everyone liked speedboats as much as a six-year-old boy and an excitable wine merchant. Perhaps by the time they had reached the summit, Matthew would have regained his appetite.

  The island charmed them all, despite the throngs of equally charmed day-trippers, so that photo opportunities were a question of queues or jostling for prime position. The steep cliffs cascaded into the Mediterranean Sea, every single house, shop or hotel seemed freshly painted and the pragmatic chaos of Capri seemed to embrace the visitors with such warmth, one would always yearn to return.

  After many delays, mostly instigated by Adrian in order to allow Matthew rest stops, the trio arrived at Casa D’Anna, with its terraces overlooking the Bay of Naples. Adrian tried out his perfectly accented Italian and was mildly irritated when the waiter answered in English.

  “Yes, we have a table for three. Inside or out?”

  With a longing glance at the divine balcony, Adrian considered Matthew’s sweaty brow and Luke’s damp shirt. “Inside please.”

  Two hours later, they boarded the ferry back across the bay. Filled with good food and delightful views, all three were in great spirits. The steadier, slower trundle of the ferry suited Matthew, who gazed out at the afternoon sunshine with a peaceful expression.

  Adrian helped Luke assemble a photo-montage for Tanya, so she could experience their day virtually. They added a selfie at the end, both pulling faces with Matthew’s half-smile in the background.

  By the time they reached the apartment, Adrian could see his companions were in need of some quiet time alone. He offered to go shopping for ingredients and cook for them all after they had rested. The suggestion was well received, and both wandered off to their rooms. Adrian sprang down the stairwell, planning roasted Mediterranean vegetables with a parmesan crumb and tomato-basil sauce. His mind was on wine when he opened the door and noticed a figure on the opposite side of the street, wearing a black beret.

  The man was absorbed in his phone and only when he looked up did he realise Adrian was staring at him. He swivelled on his heel and paced away into an alley.

  “Hello, love of my life, star in my firmament!”

  Will’s laugh filled Adrian with a bubbly joy no Prosecco could match. “Hello, you. I’ve been waiting for your call. How’s it going in Naples?”

  “Marvellously! We went to Capri today and I cooked the most divine vegetarian dinner with a Sangiovese. Beatrice is all ready for her big debut tomorrow and the rest of us are going up the volcano. But that is not why I called. How did your appraisal go?”

  Will paused and Adrian’s stomach clenched in anticipation. He could hear ice tinkling against glass. Celebrations? Or drowning his sorrows?

  “The feedback was 99 per cent positive, but I’m not going to make DI this time. They’re promoting someone else. Apparently I lack experience in management roles.”

  “That’s such crap! How can you get experience unless they give you a management role?”

  “Yep, I know.”

  Adrian could hear the defeat in his husband’s voice. “Can you appeal or something?”

  “Nah. The only thing I can do is work harder, get my face seen, attract more approval and put the effort into being Mr Popularity. In other words, more crap.”

  “Will, I’m sorry. I know how important this was to you. I wish I hadn’t come to Italy. I should be there with you right now.”

  There was another silence. Adrian waited, trying to gauge Will’s mood.

  “I admit I wish I had your shoulder to cry on or swear at. On the other hand, that’s the end of the process. I have no further interviews, so why should I volunteer for extra shifts over Easter? They can stuff it. Tonight, I’m drinking whisky and
getting shitfaced. Then I have to work till Thursday evening but I could take next week off and join you all in Italy.”

  Adrian took an intake of breath so sharp it made him cough. “Really? I would love that so much and we have a gorgeous apartment with a roof garden and views and we could be together and I miss you more than I thought I would.” Emotion welled in his throat and prevented further speech.

  “I miss you too. Let’s do it. I’ll book a flight tomorrow and we can spend Easter together. See, I feel better already.” He paused and Adrian could hear him take a drink. “Hey, listen, after I left work, I was pissed off and in need of a friendly face, so I stopped off at the Emporium to say hello. Let me tell you, Catinca has excelled herself.”

  Adrian’s pulse raced. “What does that mean?”

  “Full-on Evita. Argentinean wines, soundtrack from the musical, dress code for all staff and snack samples of chocolate insects and mini-empadillas. The place was packed.”

  “Did you take pictures?”

  “No, sorry, I was having too much fun. Just relax and appreciate your assistant is kicking wine-selling ass. I love you.”

  Adrian sighed. “I love you too. See you next week.”

  “I can’t wait. And that is no exaggeration.”

  Chapter 12

  Eight years earlier, Beatrice had been in charge of a Police Support Unit during the 2011 London riots. It had been the most exhausting and stressful night of her life. Wave after wave of emergencies shredded her nerves and just when she thought the pressure would crush her, it increased yet further.

  The closest thing she had experienced since was the Tuesday lunchtime slot backstage at Ecco. Had she been in the main kitchen, with Agusto’s constant shouting, orders flying about in all languages, the intense heat and clattering of cookware and crockery, she would have buckled.

  Her saving grace was the fact she and calm, unflappable, efficient Suhail had an alcove to themselves to prepare the desserts. Their service was slow, although Suhail produced three times as much as Beatrice. Agusto came round the fridge twice, chivvying them to speed up. She did try to go faster and he sent back two dishes immediately, as her presentation was sub-par. Suhail binned them and started again, with a patient smile at Beatrice’s apology. As diners approached the end of their meals, dessert orders rang through on the computer display at such a pace, Beatrice began to panic.