Her eyes filled with tears. 'Stop being horrible. I hate it when you get all cold and sarcastic! You know, since you moved up here you've become really nasty and boring.'
'I'm trying to run a business. It's actually rather tiring!'
'Oh, yes, and you'd much rather do that than spend some time with me.'
He was silent. She was right. Georgia wasn't too good with long words but, like any woman, she could read a silence. She gave a loud sob and ran out of the room.
'Where are you going?' he asked in exasperation.
'Anywhere! Away from you! You know I'm not supposed to have anyone shout at me – it's so bad for my nerves!'
This wasn't the first argument that had ended in her running out before they'd really got going, but suddenly he decided it was the last one when he would go after her. It was about time he stopped trying to help her see that people sometimes had differences of opinion and survived it.
Outside, Georgia was finding that it wasn't very easy to run in high heels and, anyway, no one was watching her, so she might as well walk and be comfortable. How dare Jake not follow her? How did he know she wasn't about to stumble into the path of an oncoming car? Her bosom heaved with the injustice of it all, though she had to admit she would certainly make an exceptionally good-looking corpse – lying down would really accentuate her long legs. She pictured herself, totally still, ghostly pale and Jake kneeling beside her, prone, a quivering heap of remorse and guilt.
She walked on, enjoying the thought of him suffering. He definitely would have to pay for making her feel so bad. Their relationship needed to get back on track – with him adoring and her in control. She walked on, hoping his anger had already dissolved into anxiety. That was good, but frantic anxiety would be better. But how could she make that happen? She stopped, because there was nowhere else to go but into the lake, and looked round.
There was nothing but trees, water and, a little further away, what looked like another restaurant, covered in fairy lights. The lights were tiny and white and very pretty but they only made her mood worse. She had wanted Jake to buy them for his restaurant, but he'd laughed and said he couldn't afford to switch them on, let alone pay for them. They were terribly expensive but very eye-catching. A taxi had pulled up outside to pick up some people who were spilling out onto the pavement. There was lots of laughter and air-kissing going on. Georgia sighed; it all looked like the most tremendous fun. Who was that man? Surely she had seen him before? She leaned forward, but remembered in time not to screw up her eyes in case of wrinkles. He had spotted her too and was turning round boldly to get a better look. There was something about the confident way he moved – of course! The man at the station – the one Jake didn't like! Huh! Well, that meant precisely nothing. Jake had already proved himself to be a man of very poor judgement.
Harry approached, a wide smile spread across his face. There was no way she could be rude to someone who was so well turned out and so gratifyingly pleased to see her.
'The beautiful stranger at the station! Let me say what an absolute pleasure it is simply to look at you, especially at the end of what has been rather a trying day.'
Now why couldn't Jake say things like that?
'I thought I would be doomed to only ever seeing you again on the cover of a magazine.'
Now this was rubbish because Harry only read the trade papers, and magazines with dead pheasants or deer on them, but she wouldn't know that. It always really annoyed him that Jake had ended up with someone so gorgeous. It was like seeing a scruffy tom cat with half an ear pairing up with a sleek pedigree Persian.
'Hello again. I've just been for a walk,' said Georgia, lamely.
If Harry thought it odd that someone was pounding the pavements of a little country town in four-inch heel Manolo Blahniks with little diamanté flowers round the toes, he didn't say so. But he instantly clocked the signs of a woman who had just had a row.
'I'd simply love to offer you a drink, but you know that Jake and I don't exactly get on. I'd hate to get you into trouble.'
'I'm in trouble already,' said Georgia gloomily.
'Well, you know what they say about champagne, don't you?'
'That it's expensive?'
'Well, yes, but what I meant was, it's good for you whatever mood you are in – happy or sad. I like to think of it as a delicious sort of medicine and I am prescribing some for you straight away.' Without looking to see if she was following, he turned and walked off.
Georgia did hesitate. Wasn't this flirting with the enemy? Then she recalled how vile and insensitive Jake had been. And hadn't Dr Ko Lon said she had to bask like a frolicking dolphin in other people's love and admiration? Or something like that, anyway. Certainly she didn't want to bask anywhere near Jake at the moment.
What perfect timing, Harry thought. All his important guests had gone, Lisa could deal with the others, and there was always a chilled bottle or two in his fridge. He didn't quite know where this was leading, but he was sure it was somewhere to his advantage.
'What a gorgeous flat,' said Georgia when she saw the light airy rooms and deceptively simple furniture.
'It's pretty basic, but comfortable, I think,' said Harry, who thought nothing of the sort. 'How odd – I've had these walls painted exactly the same colour as your eyes,' he continued.
'These are tinted contact lenses,' said Georgia. He laughed as if she had made a good joke, and produced the most gorgeous bottle of bubbly, covered in little handpainted flowers.
She sat down and instantly sank back into the soft cushions of a sofa expressly designed to make one unwind, uncurl and chill out. This was more like how she should be treated. She took a delicate sip of champagne.
'There, I can tell by your face you've cheered up already. I won't ask why you've been crying – I wouldn't dream of prying.' There was no need: he was more than capable of softening a woman up and making her talk. 'I know it's tough living with a chef.' And Harry sighed, as if he was the innocent victim of many failed relationships.
'It's not that Jake is a chef; it's that he doesn't understand me,' wailed Georgia, who had never heard of holding back. Her eyes filled with tears, which only made her look more beautiful. 'I have tried and tried – you have absolutely no idea what he has put me through in the last few months. And do you know what? He just throws it all back at me!'
The next moment she found a crisp white handkerchief pressed into her hand, which Harry was now holding in a totally unthreatening, but sympathetic way. He said nothing, but his gentle smile simply begged for confidences.
'I shouldn't be sitting here,' said Georgia. 'Jake absolutely hates you.'
'I know, and I have tried on many occasions to rectify this situation. How ridiculous our petty quarrel seems now! I told him the last time we met that we were both now old enough and wise enough to put it behind us. But – and I am sorry to say this – he does find it rather hard to let go of a grudge.'
'Oh, you are so right! He just goes on and on!' said Georgia, thinking about their argument.
'That sort of attitude is very unhealthy,' said Harry sanctimoniously. 'I bet he told you I was a bit of a bastard, didn't he?' Harry shrugged, a picture of sincerity. 'Well, to be honest I am when I am working, but I am also a firm believer in not taking your job home with you.'
'Jake takes his to bed,' said Georgia bitterly. It was such a relief to talk to someone with such a high degree of empathy.
'Maybe he's bitten off more than he can chew.' With a bit of luck. 'There's a high burn-out rate in this business.'
'There is in mine too. Often I spend whole days under immense stress and anxiety, while all he does is potter round his little kitchen. Honestly, he's got such a simple, easy life. Gosh! Listen to me! I shouldn't be saying any of this and especially to you.'
'But you obviously need to get things off your chest,' said Harry, admiring it. He leaned forward, oozing empathy. 'That is a very profound thing you have just said.'
'Have I?'
'But that's exactly what Dr Ko Lon said!'
After three glasses of champagne on an empty stomach this made perfect sense. She carried on talking because Harry was really so nice and such a good listener. Honestly, she couldn't see why Jake disliked him so much. Then she realised she was having exactly the sort of evening she should have been having with Jake.
Always solicitous, Harry offered to drive her home, promising to park out of sight of Jake. He was so considerate.
The lovely warm feeling induced by the champagne and Harry himself wafted away as she walked up the stairs to Jake's flat. They had a distinct smell of damp about them. She felt like she had been evicted from heaven.
He was sitting on the sofa, gazing at the television screen, which wasn't even on, and jumped up when she came in.
'I was thinking about calling out mountain rescue,' he said, trying to smile.
'I needed time to think,' she said with dignity, hoping he wouldn't ask where she had been doing the thinking.
He walked over to her. 'I'm sorry I've been such a bear,' he said, wondering why she smelled of alcohol.
He looked terribly tired and there were huge shadows under his eyes. She wondered if Harry was right and he really was burning out. 'I accept your apology. Let's go to bed – I'll give you a massage, that will make you feel better.'
Jake tried not to wince. Georgia's massages were not for the faint-hearted.
In the bedroom she fussed over him, picking up the shirt he had dropped on the floor. A piece of paper fell out of the pocket as she was putting it away. It was a receipt for an order for some awesomely expensive chef's knives. Even by her standards, this was a lot of money. She stood staring at it.
'Leave that and come to bed,' yawned Jake.
'You spent all this money just on knives,' she said slowly.
Jake sighed. His head was throbbing violently, probably because, apart from tasting, he couldn't remember having eaten all day.
'When were you going to tell me?'
'I wasn't. I didn't think you'd understand why I needed them.'
'I don't!' Georgia's voice rose to a shriek, which went through his head like a knife.
'I cannot work without decent knives and Godfrey mangled my best one in the dishwasher last week. It won't cut through a banana now, let alone fillet a steak,' he said, trying to make a joke of it.
But Georgia wasn't laughing. 'All you do is work and when you aren't working you think it's all right for us to spend time in this . . . dump! But I'm not allowed to spend a few pounds on trying to make it look just a bit better! But when you want to buy something? What does this knife look like, Jake? Is it gold-plated and diamond-encrusted?'
'Don't be silly! Look, you don't understand –'
'Oh, I understand you perfectly well! It's one rule for you and another for me, obviously!'
'I'm sorry,' he said tiredly. Why did it feel as if someone was playing a set of drums inside his head? 'I know you think that I'm being hypocritical, but I'm not. Come here, Georgy, and stop glaring at me. I will make this up to you.'
'I don't see how.' She left the bedroom but came back a minute later. 'When you buy stuff for your horrible restaurant – it's like it's your mistress!'
She was right. He was more concerned about what the restaurant needed than he was about her. He would nurture it with every ounce of energy that he had. With a surge of shame he realised he couldn't be bothered about nurturing Georgia. He just wanted her to exist on her own, without any help from him, and that was never going to happen because she was very high-maintenance.
'What are you doing?' he asked, as she opened the wardrobe door and pulled a bag out.
'Packing. I'm going back to London.'
'Don't be silly. How will you get there at this time of night?'
'By taxi. I've just rung up for one. I can't bear to stay a minute longer with someone who can't put me first.' She was sobbing now and couldn't see that she was stuffing his boxer shorts instead of her knickers in the bag.
'Er, you're in the wrong drawer, Georgy.'
'Oh! I hate you!' She picked up the bedside lamp and threw it at him. It missed and went straight through the window. Christ, all the neighbours would be awake now.
'There! You can stay in the bloody dark from now on. It will be cheaper for you!' she added viciously, and clattered downstairs.
Chapter Fourteen
Godfrey came out to greet Kate the next morning, waving his arms as if there was danger ahead. 'There's a lunatic in the kitchen – very scary – wish I was on holiday, in gaol or anywhere else but here,' he hissed, and scuttled off to hide in the fridge.
She poked her head warily round the door and stepped nervously inside.
Silence, apart from the sound of Jake, chopping. He looked deathly pale and was blasting peppers into shreds.
What was Godfrey on about? It was all quite normal so far. She ventured further in for a closer look and saw that Jake was shaking so hard it was a miracle he hadn't chopped a hand off. He wasn't prone to Sally-like bouts of nerves so he must be ill, she thought.
Jake had eventually fallen into an uneasy sleep last night, but when he woke up, his head and throat were on fire. It had taken him fifteen minutes just to get dressed. Now he felt as if he was floating about six inches off the kitchen floor. It was strange, but not unpleasant. He carried on working, deliriously unaware of the effect he was having on the rest of the kitchen.
'Um, would you like a cup of coffee?' asked kate, thinking he might be better off sitting down.
Jake shook his head and winced. 'Water, please, with lots of ice,' he said hoarsely.
After she'd brought him some she said: 'Are you sure you're feeling all right? You look, well, you look bloody terrible.' She reached across and put her hand on his forehead. He was burning up and had the glassy-eyed look of someone with a high fever.
Jake wished people wouldn't keep asking him questions and making him shake his head because it hurt. His throat now felt like someone was attacking it with a rusty knife. 'I'll be fine,' he said irritably, then admitted: 'Could do with a couple of aspirin, though.'
The next few hours were hell. He absolutely refused to give up and go to bed, which meant they all had to spend the morning making sure he didn't hurt himself. Kirsty supplied glasses of water to cool him down, and Godfrey pretended total incompetence, so that Jake had to keep stopping his own work to tell him what to do, which he did in a husky, cracked voice. The incompetence bit was never difficult and it kept Jake away from sharp knives, which you should never use when your hands are shaking.
At first Kate was touched by his evident suffering. The last time Jonathan had flu, he seemed to expect her to instantly metamorphose into a qualified staff nurse in order to provide an endless supply of tissues, sympathy and disgusting paracetamol drinks flavoured with artificial lemon. Jake was different – he suffered in silence, adopting a stoical air – but he was still a complete pain in the arse.
An hour later, when he suddenly stopped what he was doing to rest his burning forehead on the cool surface of the work bench, Kate decided to cease pussyfooting around. 'Jake, you are behaving like a complete prick. You are absolutely no use here. In fact you are a liability. For goodness' sake, fuck off to bed before you do any real damage.'
Then, when he didn't move, because he didn't think he could, she took him firmly by the arm and steered him upstairs to the flat. He sank like a stone onto the unmade bed and only protested weakly as she undid the buttons of his chef's jacket.
'But I'm so cold.'
'That's because you've got a temperature of about 110 degrees. You'll feel better when you cool down,' she said briskly.
He tried to pull the duvet over his head but she whipped it off smar
tly. He curled up into the foetal position and groaned quietly. Kate covered him with a sheet, opened the windows, closed the curtains and brought him a glass of water. Beyond that, unfortunately, her medical knowledge ran dry.
The place looked like a shabby bedroom in a seedy hotel, from which the occupants had departed in a hurry. The wardrobe door was hanging open and looked empty; there were dirty tissues on the floor and nothing on the dressing table, apart from a dried-up bottle of nail varnish. The mirror was old and cracked and crooked.
Jake opened one eye and squinted at her. 'Georgia and I had a bit of a row.'
Kate sat down and mopped his brow with a damp cloth. 'I'm sorry,' she said awkwardly. Maybe he was sick with heartbreak, not the flu.
'I've got more fences to mend than after the Grand National. I'll manage somehow, I expect. Can't think properly, though. Must concentrate on work.'
'You're delirious. Shut up and get some sleep.' She stood up to go, but he grabbed her hand.
'Talk to me.'
'Well, I'm not going to talk about work. It will only make you want to get up and go back there.'
'Tell me about the novel you are writing. It will be like listening to Book at Bedtime on Radio Four.'
Shit. Oh well, he probably wouldn't remember anything anyway so she could say what she liked. 'It's about a man who comes home from a long voyage to find his younger brother has taken over the estate and married his fiancée.' Wasn't that the plot of Poldark? She hoped Jake didn't read a lot.
'He murders his brother, his fiancée goes mad and has to be locked up' – seem to have strayed into Jane Eyre here, oh well – 'the house burns down and he becomes a smuggler.' She hoped she would never have to make a living writing fiction.
'You might be waitressing for me for quite a long time,' croaked Jake, with just a suspicion of a laugh in his voice.
'It's a first draft and it's going to be very poetic,' she said crossly.
'What's the hero like?'
'He's called Edward and he's tall and dark. His face is brown and rugged from weeks spent at sea. His younger brother was always the favourite so he has grown up bitter and tormented. His fiancée was always a bit of a flighty piece and never really loved him but the sea captain's daughter is a feisty woman who understands him and helps him rebuild his life.'
Recipe for Disaster Page 15