“Got a bad rep.”
“Deserved?”
She laughed. “Oh yes – and some. When I started out – fifteen years back – I was going places. Le Bernardin. Babbo. Nobu. You name it.”
“Classy places.”
“I know! But I was good. I mean, I got a star, even. You know what that takes?”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. But it killed me. Got spread too thin, opening my own places. Quality starts to slip. And about three years ago I kinda blew up – had enough.”
She took a sip of her coffee.
“Thing is – whatever was going around in the kitchen I smoked it or snorted it. Drink – I could manage. But the drugs? I was over my head. Bad decisions all over the place, and I became seriously non-functional. All that stress, you know?”
“I’ve read Bourdain’s book. And others. Not an easy world.”
“Yeah. So, I started to get fired – a lot. Until one day – nobody wanted me – even as cover. I was bad news. I ended up flipping burgers. Organic burgers, but, let’s face it, burgers.”
“And then? I’m guessing… things got better?”
“Yes. Went into rehab. I’ve been clean for two years. And it’s working. I’m back on form.”
“Based on tonight’s meal, I can vouch for that.”
“Thank you again.”
“But why here? Why Cherringham?”
“This village? I don’t know – it’s just where the Desmonds lived. Mr Desmond said he wanted a real classy place with a name chef. Place he and his wife could be proud of. And he wanted to build slow… quiet. Wouldn’t suit some chefs but it suited me.”
“So you opened. Then what?”
“People came. They ate. They liked what they ate. But then after a few months, the bookings dried up. Bug in the booking software apparently. Showed us ’fully booked’ when we had tables. It was a mess.”
Anna looked away. Her waitress at the door, jacket on, ready to face the cold. A wave, and she slipped outside.
“Got that fixed. Only – it went wrong again. Got it fixed again. Get the story? Then a big wholesaler didn’t deliver – said we hadn’t paid the bills. Then another. And another. I leaned on Mr Desmond – he said he’d paid. They said he hadn’t. The argument lasted a month.”
“Not the way to run a restaurant.”
“Exactly. Then, a week before Christmas some people got sick. Seafood – they said. Health people came in, took the place apart. I said it had to be the supplier. Except that company has a perfect reputation. Supplies all the good restaurants in the area.”
“They didn’t find the source?”
“Kitchen got a clean bill of health. So did the supplier.”
“So, you think…?
“Like I said – my kitchen was clean.”
Jack saw her sit back.
“You still want to hear any of this?”
“As you said – it’s why I’m here.”
“You driving?”
“No.”
She went over to the bar, poured them both single malts neat, came back, handed a glass to him.
“Cheers.”
He tasted it. Lagavulin. His favourite.
Had she guessed that too?
“So. Now the numbers are seriously down. Four months in, I’m suddenly serving just ten covers a night. Max twenty. We need thirty – minimum. And then one day – I’m buying meat up at the organic place – and there’s Sam. I say hi. He says nothing. Course, by now I’d heard he was the chef at the Spotted Pig. But I’d stayed out of his way – and I guess he’d stayed out of mine.”
“You worked with him back in New York.”
“Correction – he worked on my team back in New York.”
“Anything else?”
“You mean were we a couple?”
Jack waited.
“Sure. For a while. When I got the star he had trouble with that. Also, like I said, it all became a bit much for me. So he walked out. Didn’t care about ’us’, our being together. I depended on him. Then – like that – he was gone.”
Jack could see the snappy answers covering up what he guessed were so many hurt and hard feelings. He nodded.
“But you suddenly turning up here in Cherringham… you think that was a big deal… for him?”
“You kidding? For sure. I think maybe I was a reminder of what he hadn’t achieved. I started to look at his menus, online. So many of them were my dishes – my creations – from way back. And his attitude? To me that’s pretty clear whenever our paths have crossed. This village – his turf. He wants me out.”
“So, you think–”
But Jack didn’t get the chance to ask the rest of that question. From the kitchen there came an almighty crash, then a scream.
Jack turned to see the kitchen door fly open – the sous chef there, shouting…
“Anna! Quick!”
“Paddy? What–?” said Anna – then she was off.
*
Jack followed Anna into the kitchen.
The place was in chaos. Clouds of hot steam billowed everywhere. Jack could see the young kitchen porter sitting on the floor of the kitchen in a mess of filthy water and broken plates.
He followed Anna towards the sink where the sous chef – Paddy, he guessed – was struggling to get close to a massive dishwasher that seemed to be out of control. The machine was spewing and spraying filthy water everywhere.
Already the floor was awash.
“Somebody bloody opened it,” said Paddy as he tried to reach through the steam to the controls. “I think – musta cut a pipe–”
Jack looked around.
Door? Where?
There! Half open!
He almost slid across the kitchen, pulled the door wide and rushed outside, to find himself in the side car park of the restaurant.
He looked across to the High Street and caught a fleeting glimpse of a movement.
Raced to the street, now empty. Nearly midnight.
But there – a hundred yards away, running fast – a figure.
Male. Tall. Dark hair. Jeans. Leather jacket over a flash of white shirt.
Recognisable – certainly to Jack.
Wishing it wasn’t true.
But it was.
Running away as fast as he could.
Sam Walters.
6. Tea Break
Sarah flicked through the website that she had just transformed from ancient to modern – everything now clear, bold and mobile-friendly.
It was for a nearby funeral home, Stoneleigh & Sons, and as she reviewed the copy, the images, the way one section flowed to another, she had the thought: If I was ever dealing with that kind of loss, this site, made this way, well, I’d find it soothing.
She and Grace, her junior partner, had done a good job in spite of the fact that this winter they’d been busier than ever. People in the area had learned that if they wanted Sarah’s company to work on their project, they had to book early.
After a lot of work, and a lot of years, she was finally beginning to think they’d made the company a success.
One more check, then time to send Stoneleigh & Sons an email for them to approve the new site.
She heard the door below open, then steps coming up.
She well knew the sound.
Jack.
Not one for impromptu drop-ins, so he must have learned something from his dinner at the Bayleaf.
That will be interesting to hear.
She popped over to the little kitchen and put the kettle on.
*
Jack sat down, so comfortable in this place, though his tall frame always made her compact office seem even smaller.
“And where is Grace?”
Sarah knew that Jack liked her assistant as much as she did. How could you not when someone was so dedicated and positive?
The fact that she was deeply in love probably helped both those attributes.
“She and Nick have a me
eting with the vicar!”
“Meeting? Something official, as in wedding planning?”
Sarah smiled. “Yes. Talk of possible dates. Those two. Taking their time.”
Sarah had a sudden thought. How she wished she had taken her time before jumping into marriage, with all the surprises – and pain – that can bring.
“But also, the vicar gets to play his pastoral role. You know the thing: faith, children, building a life together…”
Jack nodded, as he sipped his tea. “Could do with a bit of life advice myself. Long as I don’t have to sign up to the whole deal, of course.”
“So, how was your top-secret dinner at the Bayleaf?” said Sarah, sitting back at her desk. “Details please?”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I came over.” She saw him smile. “Need some counsel from you.”
“You found out something? Something important?”
He looked away, nodded. “And I also…”
He turned to look at Sarah, and she was suddenly concerned about what Jack was about to say.
“…saw something, Sarah.”
Another sip.
“And it’s not good.”
*
Jack put his empty cup down. He could see that his news – catching Sam running away from the Bayleaf last night, and Sam’s secret romantic history with Anna – worried Sarah.
Hell, it worries me.
The first real “villager” that Jack ever spoke to was Sam. Ate his fabulous food, drank his martini, in peace.
Back then, Jack had been a different person. Wanting to stay by himself. Sure, he wanted to live on the river, on The Grey Goose, but to be part of village life…?
Zero interest.
That is, until Sarah rather forcibly entered his life with – of all things – a murder case.
And now Jack felt like this was really his village.
Could he – would he – live anywhere else?
They’d have to drag me, he thought.
He watched Sarah stand up and walk to the windows.
“God. You think Julie knows about Sam’s time with Anna in New York?”
Jack hesitated. He always liked to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Especially a friend.
But he slowly shook his head.
“Seems to me she knew nothing about Sam and Anna being together.”
Sarah nodded, clearly troubled.
“Hmm. What do we do? Do we tell her? And what about Sam?”
“I think…” he hesitated.
Unlike a lot of times when the way forward seemed pretty clear – talk to the relevant people, do some digging, even break into a place or two if need be – this was complicated.
People’s lives were involved. Their history.
“Don’t think we spring it on Julie. Least not till we give Sam a chance to explain it all.”
“Maybe he’s got nothing to do with this. I mean – there’s no actual evidence he’s done anything, is there?”
“True,” said Jack. “Though I would like to hear what he was doing outside the Bayleaf at midnight.”
“Might be a totally innocent explanation,” said Sarah.
Jack nodded. He could see that Sarah wanted to believe the best about Sam, and this was clearly tough news to absorb.
“There might, indeed.”
“Just because Anna and Sam have history, we shouldn’t jump to the same conclusion she has.”
“Agree.”
“But we should take a closer look at the Bayleaf. What do we know about the staff? Could be an employee with a grudge. Or maybe Anna has other enemies? You said yourself she has a drug history. Maybe she’s still got problems? Some kind of debt? Somebody from that world putting the frighteners on her?”
“Yep, maybe,” said Jack.
Sarah had good questions there, Jack thought. Still, somehow he felt that Anna hadn’t lied about being clean.
“Something that still doesn’t make sense to me,” said Sarah, “Why bring a chef like Anna – with all that history – all the way from New York to Cherringham?”
“You think we can find answers to those questions?” said Jack.
“I think we can at least take a look.”
Sarah walked over to her desk, quickly hit some keys, swapping out the funeral home website for something completely different.
*
Sarah angled the screen towards him. “Meet Karl Desmond – the owner of the Bayleaf – and his wife.”
Jack looked at the photo. Guy looked like an accountant. The wife looked like the classic wealthy and well-heeled partner.
“This is from his wife’s Facebook feed,” said Sarah.
“He’s local? I don’t recall seeing either of them around.”
“Lives over towards Hook Norton. But from his background I think – no.”
“Newcomer?”
“Like you, Jack?” said Sarah, smiling.
“Hang on. You mean I’m not a local yet?”
“Think you have to die first to join that club.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll pass then.”
“So, you think you can get to see him?”
“Got a meeting in exactly one hour.”
“Wow. Quick work,” said Jack.
“I want to get this case sorted,” said Sarah, serious again. “How about you? What’s the plan?”
“Right now, got to head back to the Goose; take Riley for a quick walk. Then I think I’ll drop in on Sam.”
“You going to talk to him about last night?”
“Don’t think we can avoid it – do you?”
“No. We need to know why he was up at the Bayleaf last night.”
“And – if Julie’s not around – I’m going to talk New York with him.”
“Good. I think you need to see Anna again too. Proper follow-up. Find out about the other guys in the kitchen. They do a lunch service?”
“Yeah, think so,” said Jack. “She’s struggling to make a go of the place.”
“See if they found out exactly what happened to that dishwasher. Maybe see if anything else has surfaced after last night, and–”
Sarah paused.
“What is it?” said Jack, seeing Sarah looking at him.
“Hang on. What you said about last night. So, Anna sat down with you. Coffees, whisky. All nice and cosy. Is it possible,” and now Sarah laughed, “that you were quite taken with our new chef?”
Didn’t see that coming, Jack thought.
But he also realised that he did find the idea of heading back to the Bayleaf appealing, despite the circumstances.
“It was a great meal. That’s all.”
“Sure.” Sarah turned away, “Your honour, the witness is–” a look away from the invisible jury to Jack, “what’s the word? Dissembling?”
“If you say so,” he said, laughing.
“By the way – you mentioned there was a food poisoning incident – before Christmas? Seafood, yes?”
“That’s what Anna said.”
“I’ll see what I can dig up online about that. Oh – and I put a call in to one of my tech pals, see how easy it is to hack into a booking system.”
“Maybe find out if those reviews are genuine too. Can you do that?”
“Not sure – but might be possible.”
“Sounds good. Glad we’re doing this. For Sam, Julie. Think we’ll get there. How about we reconvene on the Goose, round cocktail time?”
“Perfect. I’m on my own tonight. Chloe’s still away and Daniel is round at a friend’s, staying for dinner. He’s gone off me, anyway these days.”
“Trouble in Tahiti?”
“Hmm?”
“Bernstein opera. About squabbles!”
“Something like that. He’s got big exams coming, A-levels – and I’m afraid he’s doing the opposite of buckling down.”
“Gotcha.” Jack took a second. “Think it will solve itself?”
Sarah smiled. “These things usually do. Funny, he’s so different
from Chloe. His own person.”
“Kids always are.”
“And if push comes to shove, Mr Brennan, maybe you can have a little chat with him? He adores you. Some words of wisdom, getting through exams, and all that?”
Jack stood up. “Never actually excelled in that department myself. Exams, or advice. But sure, if needed, always there to help.”
He turned and headed towards the narrow stairway down.
“See you on the boat. I’ll get the stove nice and hot, and the shaker cold. Hey – if Daniel’s out – why don’t you stay for dinner?”
“Sounds great.”
“Cool. Have something… I want to try cooking.”
“What? Not rib-eyes?”
“Sea scallops, actually.”
“Nice! Can’t get my kids to go anywhere near seafood. Adore scallops.”
And halfway down Jack laughed.
“They never would have made it in Sheepshead Bay. All we do there is eat fluke, and blues, and clams, and oysters… see you later!”
And then he pushed open the door.
Out to the midwinter morning, so chilly but with all that blue sky above, beautiful as well.
As Jack started walking up the High Street, to the other end of the village, and the Spotted Pig.
7. The Happy Couple
Sarah drove through Hook Norton and out the other side of the village, then took a turning just by the Gate Hangs High pub, following the lane as it headed through open fields
Ah, the Gate… she thought as she passed the old pub. Memories…
In her early twenties – before she’d upped sticks and sought her fortune in London – she and her pals used to love driving out this way.
Long summer evenings in the garden at the back, drinking pints of Hooky, not a care in the world.
Bliss.
“At the junction, turn left.”
Now she followed her satnav – along another lane, narrower and narrower – until up ahead she saw what must be the Desmonds’ house.
An old farm – standing alone on a rise with a converted barn and a paddock to one side. In front, a perfect meadow, cut back for the winter, ready for a glorious spring; a winding open drive girded it.
She turned in, drove up to the house and parked. A big royal-blue BMW SUV stood on one side, a smart green Mini next to it.
But no sign of anyone about.
She rang the doorbell. Waited. The faint sound of music from deep in the house somewhere – but nobody came to the door.
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