Cherringham - A Dinner to Die For

by Matthew Costello

  “And you there… the filet? Hint of cognac. Rainbow peppercorns, of course. Not too much cream.”

  She stopped and looked over the room.

  “Exactly how I used to prepare them, eh, Sam?”

  Sam – who had remained frozen, finally took a step closer to the woman in her chef’s outfit.

  Helen started to put the pieces together. She looked at Lady Repton, her face tight with concern.

  And Helen thought: this woman must be that new chef, at the Bayleaf.

  Helen saw Julie give her husband a look – a mix of concern and, what? Confusion?

  Sam kept his voice low.

  But in a restaurant so small, every word could be heard.

  “Anna… what the hell–?”

  Helen thought if the other chef had been male, Sam – with his fists clenched – might have thrown a punch.

  The other chef – this Anna – didn’t blink.

  Instead, she looked around the room again.

  “Bad enough you stole my recipes… after everything…” The woman made no effort to keep her voice low. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

  She now smiled. Like someone about to reveal a nasty surprise.

  “No. You, or one of your… underlings… had to do your best to make sure my restaurant fails. Is that it, hmm?”

  Sam shook his head.

  Lady Repton reached over and touched Helen’s wrist.

  “You think we should do something?”

  Good question, Helen thought.

  But what exactly would that something be?

  Sam – with his reputation and good name being challenged – raised his voice.

  “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Get the–”

  He caught himself.

  His patrons watching, none eating save a tall man who dined alone, open notepad beside him, who was able both to watch the spectacle and still tuck into the meal.

  “I’m talking about, of course, the steps you might resort to… to make sure there was only one real restaurant in Cherringham.”

  And slowly… the female chef opened the wooden box. The wood creaked.

  But with the box held flat by her outstretched arm, no one could see what it contained.

  Until…

  She reached in and pulled out – by its long, ropy tail – a massive grey rat.

  “Plant this in my restaurant, Sam? Are you that afraid? That desperate?”

  All eyes were on the – fortunately – dead rodent.

  “Nothing like vermin to shut a place down, isn’t that right?” she said.

  Now – for sure – no one, even if they still had cutlery in their hand, touched their rapidly cooling meals.

  For a different, and rather powerful aroma, had filled the small dining room.

  “You’re crazy,” Sam said.

  Another step, and Julie had to come forward and take his arm.

  Helen thought that, female intruder or not, Sam – whose muscular arms were well suited to breaking down a side of beef or a whole hog – might easily throw a punch anyway.

  But now the climax of this show was about to commence.

  “Here,” the woman said, making the rat swing by its tail. “A little side dish for your lovely diners.”

  And with another swing…

  … the rat went flying.

  Not towards Sam.

  Who, Helen guessed, could have easily dodged the rodent in mid-air.

  No.

  With a thump and wheeze, the rat landed in the middle of Helen’s table, right between her and Lady Repton.

  Dead eyes open, and surrounded by what had once been some fantastically appetising plates.

  Now – clearly – not to be eaten or touched at all.

  Helen sprang up from the table, as did Lady R.

  Then, like a storm passing, leaving so much destruction in its wake, the chef – Anna – violently yanked the heavy curtains aside.

  The outside door banged open.

  And she was gone.

  Show over.

  3. A Kitchen Confidential

  Jack pulled his Barbour jacket tight.

  It was sunny out, but the wind cutting across the meadow made it seem like winter was not at all ready to release its grip.

  Riley, for his part, didn’t seem to mind, as he raced back with the pink rubber ball – slimy in the dog’s mouth – eager to play fetch all morning.

  The springer pretended to want to keep the ball, biting down as Jack took hold. Then it popped out – game on. The dog raced back a few steps, eyes on Jack, ready to bolt for the throw.

  And Jack had to admit that this – cold or not – was great fun.

  Jack gave the ball his best overhand throw.

  And it was one of those moments that took him back to stickball games on the streets of Flatbush, where the pink rubber ball would go flying.

  The distance it travelled measured in how many sewers it passed.

  Today – after each throw – Jack felt a bit of a pinch in his shoulder. After all these years, not as easy to send the ball careening into space.

  He watched Riley – who had no problems running at a crazed speed – the ball landing before the dog could get close.

  In seconds though, he recovered the ball, bolted back.

  Yeah, Jack thought, not a bad way to spend an English morning.

  When his phone chirped.

  Usually he’d leave it plugged in, charging, back at his boat.

  Sometimes it was good to be out without a phone.

  Out of touch…

  He slid it out, pressed “accept”, noting the name.

  Sarah Edwards.

  “Sarah. Morning. At your office already?”

  “Hi, Jack – no, um, not yet. Look, something happened last night. At the Spotted Pig. Bit of a scene, and my mum – she’s right here – saw it all.”

  “Scene? Something bad with Sam, Julie?”

  “Think it’s best if Mum tells you herself. Can you pop over?”

  Jack paused a second. He really liked Sarah’s parents, Helen and Michael. Two people who had welcomed him from the beginning.

  As had Sam and Julie at the restaurant.

  This sounded like they could use some help.

  “Absolutely. You get the kettle on. I’ll bring the cookies.”

  Sarah laughed. “You have the essentials covered. Jack – it may be nothing to worry about, no big deal, and all that. But, well… Mum’s worried.”

  “Hear you. There in twenty.”

  “Great. See you soon.”

  Riley finally arrived at Jack’s feet, gloopy ball in mouth. “Gotta go back, boy. Maybe more fun later?”

  Jack started back to his boat, The Grey Goose, Riley hesitated just a moment before, somewhat reluctantly, following his owner back.

  As they walked back, the breeze kicked in stronger.

  Bit more of a chill, he thought.

  Winter hanging on.

  *

  Jack parked his Austin-Healey Sprite in the lane outside Sarah’s cottage. No room in the little gravel drive. He could see Sarah’s Rav-4, and her mother’s little cherry-red Micra.

  And another car he didn’t recognise.

  Interesting, he thought, as he slipped through the gate, and rang the doorbell.

  Sarah – quick to open the door – dressed for the office.

  “Jack – great to see you.”

  A quick kiss to both cheeks. Jack was used to the European way now. He followed her down the hallway and through into the big kitchen, the warm heart of her old cottage, with its French windows looking down the garden to the river.

  He took in the guests sitting at the pine table: Helen, sipping coffee; and the surprise visitor, Julie from the Spotted Pig.

  “Helen!” Sam greeted her with a kiss. “And Julie – didn’t expect to see you,” he said, shaking her hand. He nodded at Julie’s round tummy. “You’re looking wonderful – how many months?”

&
nbsp; “Three more to go,” said Julie, patting the bump proudly.

  “You and Sam are going to make a great mum and dad,” said Jack. “Lucky kid sure is going to eat well!”

  He watched her smile. “You’re very sweet, Jack.”

  But Jack saw that smile fade quickly, as she turned and looked at Sarah.

  “Julie rang just after I called you,” said Sarah. “I said to come over.”

  “Wanted to apologise to Helen in person,” said Julie. “About last night. Such a terrible thing. Unforgiveable.”

  “Afraid I’m at a disadvantage,” said Jack, looking from Julie to Helen.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you up to speed,” said Sarah, gratefully accepting a packet of biscuits, and tipping Huffington’s best onto a plate. Three hands descended in unison on the treats, always delicious, baked that morning.

  “Lucky I brought a large pack,” said Jack, smiling.

  “Mum – why don’t you tell Jack exactly what happened, while I put a fresh pot of coffee on.”

  Jack listened while Helen told him the full story of her tasting menu at the Pig with Lady Repton, and the unexpected entrance of a rat in the middle act.

  *

  Sarah sat at the table, sipping her coffee, and watching Jack as her mother finished the tale. He’d listened carefully, nodding, not asking questions.

  Julie had chipped in a couple of times with her view of events.

  “Obviously, after that, neither of us really felt like staying for pudding,” said Helen, “so we went home.”

  “Nobody paid a penny – we made sure of that,” said Julie. “People were very understanding, but we couldn’t possibly charge them.”

  “Must have cost you quite a sum,” said Jack.

  “Twenty covers,” said Julie.

  Yikes, Sarah thought. She did the maths quickly. That had to be at least a thousand pounds. Maybe more…

  “But the reputational damage?” said Julie. “Well – can’t put a price on that.”

  “So, Jack,” said Helen. “I had the thought. I mean, what can we do to help? What can you do?”

  “Me?”

  “You and Sarah, of course!” said Helen. “You investigate things, don’t you? Solve murders and whatnot. Surely you two can bring this dreadful woman to justice!”

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye and tried not to smile.

  In her mother’s world, the righteous always won the battle and a few good men (and one woman) were all it took to restore peace and the natural order to Cherringham.

  “Well,” said Jack, “um, I guess first of all I should be asking Julie, do you also want us to do something?”

  Sarah saw Julie shrug. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean… I don’t think I want anyone to do anything. I just want this to stop. It’s driving me crazy.”

  She took a breath.

  “And with the baby coming… Sam is so stressed.” She took a breath. “He can have a temper, you know.”

  Jack laughed. “I have heard him deliver some, er, rather sharp instructions to kitchen staff from time to time.”

  Sarah leaned forward. “So, Julie, last night wasn’t the first time something like this has happened?”

  Julie seemed suddenly hesitant.

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you about it. This is Sam’s thing. He wants to handle it. In fact – he said I mustn’t even think about it. Got to just carry on, keep going, think of the baby, family first, all that stuff. You know?”

  Sarah nodded, then looked to Jack again.

  This doesn’t sound good, she thought. Maybe we really should be helping.

  “Well,” said Jack. “That’s Sam’s prerogative, of course. Yours too. But you know, Julie, I don’t see any harm in you telling us what’s been going on. Know what I mean? Just the bare facts. Me and Sarah – we can then drop by the Pig, have a chat with Sam, see if he feels he could do with a little help.”

  Jack looked around at everyone. “Maybe it can all be easily sorted?”

  The way Jack said those words… Sarah almost thought that was possible.

  Maybe it could all calm down.

  But her instincts pointed in a different direction.

  Sarah saw her mother reach across, put her hand on Julie’s.

  “What’s the harm in that, Julie? I know Sarah and Jack won’t do anything that you or Sam wouldn’t be happy with.”

  Julie seemed to think about this, then took a deep breath.

  “Okay, well,” she said. “The bare facts, as you say. It all started back in September. You know that’s when the Bayleaf opened?”

  “I do,” said Jack. “Saw the ad in the local paper.

  “At first I thought it would be good for everybody,” said Julie. “Another restaurant serving good food – has to put you on your mettle. I said as much to Sam.”

  “But?” said Sarah, seeing Julie pause.

  “But Sam – well – he was a bit funny about it. Not what I expected.”

  “How do you mean?” said Jack.

  “Well, he got quite… emotional. Said I should ignore the place. Told me to forget about it. Said it wouldn’t last. Said he knew the chef from way back – and she wouldn’t cut it. Didn’t have a kind word for her.”

  “Doesn’t sound like the Sam I know,” said Jack.

  “Exactly,” said Julie. “I thought maybe with the baby coming – us needing a new house, more stress, you know – I thought he was just overreacting. We’ve also got a new girl in the kitchen and he’s not finding that easy either. But then… after a few months, stuff started to happen.”

  “Stuff?” said Jack.

  “The woman, this Anna Garcia, the chef, she started having a go at us.”

  “How?” said Sarah.

  “Phone calls – in the middle of the night. Waking us up. Accusing us of things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “First – she said we were posting bad reviews on social media. Trashing her food, the new restaurant, her staff. Said she had proof it was us.”

  “And did she?” said Jack.

  “No, of course not. We challenged her but she just said we were clever, hiding our tracks. Then she said we were hacking into her online bookings.”

  “Changing them, you mean?”

  “Cancelling reservations. Making false ones. Giving the impression she was fully booked when she wasn’t.

  “And did she say why she thought you and Sam were doing this?”

  “She said we wanted to destroy her. Close the Bayleaf. But that’s not true! I want her to succeed – that has to be good for us too!”

  Sarah saw Jack lean in closer across the table.

  Something’s bothering him, she thought.

  “Did she say anything else, Julie?” said Jack. “Anything that might explain why she’s doing this?”

  Julie seemed to weigh up her answer.

  “One time – when I answered the phone – she said she couldn’t understand why I was with Sam. Why I trusted him. I asked her what the hell she meant, but she just ended the call.”

  Jack nodded. “So, she and Sam know each other?”

  “Sam said he worked in the same kitchen as her, years ago, in New York.”

  “Sam worked in the States? Manhattan?” said Jack.

  Julie nodded. “He doesn’t talk about it,” said Julie. “I think… it wasn’t a very good time for him.”

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye again, then turned back to Julie.

  “But he says he hardly knew her – even then.”

  “She asked why you trust Sam,” said Sarah, wondering if her next question might be going too far. “Did you ask Sam what she might have meant?”

  Another nod. This was hard for Julie.

  We’re getting into some dark areas here, Sarah thought. Julie – clearly uncomfortable. “He said he had no idea.”

  Sarah, though, did have a pretty good idea – but not one she was going to share with Julie.

  Instinct again. Were Sam and
this Anna Garcia once an item?

  “So why does he think she’s doing this?” she said.

  “He says she’s got issues. Always did. Even back then. He says she had a reputation for losing it. Going crazy. And he thinks the Pig just happens to be the nearest target.”

  “Hmm,” said Jack. “That could very well be true. But I guess we won’t ever know, unless…”

  Sarah watched him sit back, his face giving nothing away.

  “What are you thinking, Jack?”

  “Look. I don’t want to go messing in your or Sam’s business, Julie,” he said. “But if there’s a misunderstanding here, Sarah and I could have a chat with this… Anna Garcia… listen to her, maybe put her mind at rest. What do you think?”

  Sarah saw Julie nod slowly. Her mother looked relieved.

  “Excellent idea, Jack,” said Helen. “I mean – what harm can it do?”

  “Anything to stop the damned calls,” said Julie. “Course – I’ll have to tell Sam.”

  “Of course,” said Sarah. “We don’t want to do anything that both of you wouldn’t want.”

  “It’s clearly some sort of terrible misunderstanding,” said Helen. “But I just know Jack and Sarah will be able to sort it all out in no time.”

  Sarah looked across at Jack then back at her mother.

  “No pressure then, Mum,” she said, smiling.

  “Only the teeniest bit of pressure, darling,” said Helen, grinning back. “We want all this nastiness out of the way before the big Charity Dinner – don’t we, Julie?”

  “God! Tell me about it,” said Julie, rolling her eyes, then laughing.

  “Remind me,” said Jack, “just when is that dinner?”

  “Next week, Jack,” said Sarah.

  “Terrific,” he said. “Opera and food from the Spotted Pig, all in one go. Does it get any better?”

  But as soon as Jack said those words, Sarah wondered…

  Could there be more storm clouds ahead before that great event?

  4. Table for One

  Jack pulled his coat tight against the bitter wind and walked up Cherringham Bridge Road into the centre of the village.

  This time of year – on a dark January evening – few tourists visited Cherringham and most locals with any sense were tucked up at home in front of the wood-burner, or supping ale in one of the village pubs.