The soup then had to be blended and cream and saffron added. Bloody hell, that actually tasted good! OK, the kitchen did look a bit of a mess because she had committed the cardinal sin of not tidying up as she went along, but at least she had produced something edible. One taste of Godfrey's soup and you lost the will to eat again.
She tried some more, shutting her eyes and enjoying the feeling of it moving silkily down her throat.
'If men could only make women look as happy as that.'
She jumped and dropped the spoon.
'Is this part of some cunning plot to take over my kitchen? Do your ambitions know no limits?' asked Jake, grinning.
She told him about the cream of pea débâcle, the urgent question of dozens of missing sheep and her own incredible good nature.
'Try this and tell me you don't like it.'
She couldn't understand why his lips were twitching but he took a taste and agreed, with some surprise, that it was a very good soup indeed. Then he looked round the kitchen.
'How long did it take you to do this?'
'Well, all afternoon, really. Reading the instructions was a bit like deciphering the Rosetta Stone. And I know I haven't been very neat, but I am only a novice and I can tell by the look on your face that it's a good soup, which is not what you would have said about Godfrey's. So why are you laughing? You should be bloody grateful,' she added, rather nettled.
Jake stopped pretending not to laugh and gave in. He leaned against a wall and laughed until his eyes watered. It was extremely annoying. She tapped her foot and advised him to let her in on the joke before she threw something at him. He wiped his eyes.
'OK, OK. Now, you are quite right. This is a perfectly lovely soup. I am full of admiration at the effort you have gone to, the evidence of which I can see all round my lovely kitchen. It is a magnificent soup and one which I would be proud to serve to my customers. The only question is, which one of them am I going to honour with this dish?'
He started laughing again at the puzzled look on her face. 'You have made enough soup for, well, about four people, if they are not very hungry. When we make soup we usually make enough to serve to a restaurant full of people, to avoid nasty quarrels between customers and – oh, yes – to avoid the small problem of us running out after five minutes.'
'You mean I have slaved away all afternoon just to provide soup for one small table? Oh fuck.' She was mortified.
Jake got out a pan big enough to bath a baby in and starting chopping potatoes and leeks with great speed. 'I shall make potage bonne femme in honour of you,' he said.
'And I shall wash up,' said Kate rather dolefully. There was an awful lot of it to do considering the very small snack she had prepared.
'I have to go and see some people tomorrow. They could be useful to me. I think, seeing as you are a writer and also keen on food, you will find them interesting. We needn't hurry back as we're closed tomorrow evening. Would you like to come?'
Kate was flattered.
'Of course, you've probably got something better to do,' he said hastily.
Well, she probably had, but the question was, did she want to do it? It was rather disturbing that the thought of spending the afternoon with Jake was what she wanted to do more than anything. No man had ever made her feel like that before.
'I would like to come, unless of course we have to trek for miles through bogs and up precipices to get there.'
'There is a road, of sorts,' he said, grinning.
Jake's car was even older and scruffier than Kate's, but immaculately tidy, apart from a king-size bag of jelly babies in the glove compartment.
'Georgia's. She swears they are a cure for car sickness.'
Kate bit the head off a red one thoughtfully. Here was a great opportunity. They were alone in the car; Jake was in a good mood – there would probably never be a better time for a confession. He could hardly take his hands off the wheel to throttle her, well, not without driving them both into a ditch. There would be plenty of time for him to shout and swear and get it all out of his system. This was it, then – this was the moment.
Oh, no, it so wasn't, she thought, a short while later.
'You know, Jake, you are not a bad driver.'
'Oh? Good.'
'No. You are an absolutely bloody AWFUL one. Please, watch out for that cyclist!'
'But I have. He's still on his bike, isn't he?'
'Yeah, but we were so close I could smell his aftershave!'
'Nonsense. You are just like all other drivers – you always think you can do it better!'
'All? By that I expect you mean every other poor sod who has had the bloody bad luck to sit in this passenger seat, don't you? I know you can slice the thinnest cucumbers in the land, but really, there's no need to shave so close to the bloody verge!'
'Look, it's much safer to hug the left-hand side of the road. You know what tourists are like, always wanting to drive in the middle.'
'Yes, but . . .' she began weakly, but then got flung round another bend. She was having an unexpected spurt of sympathy for Georgia. No wonder she had been driven to extreme cures for car sickness.
'Actually, it's quite endearing, in an "ohmigod I'm going to die" sort of way.'
'You are babbling now, you know.'
'No, what I mean is, you are so perfectly balanced in the kitchen, you never put a foot wrong; even though every shift it's like a dance with different steps. It's kind of good to know you are a bit of a klutz behind the wheel. Oh, no! Please tell me we're not going over Hard Knot Pass.'
'Relax, it's a perfectly easy road and the only way to get to the Roman fort. I like your description of me, by the way. You really do have a way with words. I'd like to read that book of yours when it's finished.'
'Oh God, please give me a break!'
'Sorry – what?'
'Nothing.' Listen God, I can't tell him now, I think I am going to be sick and I have to concentrate on the road otherwise we will go over the edge of this precipice.
'I don't think there is a brake on your side of the car, Kate.'
'Ha ha – very funny.'
Hard Knot Pass lived up to its name. It was the sort of road that should really have belonged in a cartoon, with its hairpin bends and steep drops. It should also have been called Burned Clutch Pass, because that was what happened to a lot of the cars. Locals tended to avoid it like the plague during the tourist season, but for once Kate was grateful for their cautious driving. It might force Jake to drive more slowly.
They did, but not before she had to point out: 'If you are entertaining even a fleeting thought of overtaking that Range Rover I will force-feed you jelly babies until you overdose on sugar.'
The Roman fort was perched on the side of the fell in lonely, broken splendour. The sun was shining, a soft breeze was blowing and the only sign of life was a lone buzzard circling above them. It was the perfect place for telling secrets.
The trouble was, Jake couldn't have had enough school trips when he was young, because he insisted on taking her hand and leading her through each of the ruined buildings.
'I'd have had this for the kitchen,' he said eventually. 'What must it have been like standing here, cooking stew for a hundred hungry soldiers and looking down on that magnificent view? Imagine being sent here, so far from the heat and bustle of Rome. They must have been very homesick. And I bet those pubs down there in the valley weren't open for business two thousand years ago.'
'They weren't Romans, they were foreign mercenaries, and I think it was a punishment posting,' said Kate absently.
'I didn't know local history was another of your talents,' said Jake in surprise.
'I went out with an archaeologist for a while.' Well, it was sort of true. Was there a saying about getting in so deep you drowned? Quick, change the subject. 'Are you really having problems with the bank?'
Jake shrugged. 'Teetering on a knife edge, would just about cover it. You wouldn't believe how easy it is for a restaurant to fai
l and not just because the food is bad either. It is quite possible in this business to be superbly talented, work like a dog and still go under.'
'My archaeologist friend had the same problem with funding. He used to wait until everyone had gone home and shout his frustrations to the hills and the sheep.'
Jake stood up and put his arms in the air. 'Bloody bank managers! I'd like to stick your heads down the waste disposal unit – except, damn, Godfrey managed to block it this morning; I must remember to fix it when I get back. Anyway, I hate the lot of you! But you will not grind me down! And neither will that bastard Harry Hunter,' he added for good measure. He looked down. A carload of Japanese tourists was gazing up at them with astonishment and trepidation.
'It's all right, we'll tell them you were declaiming a Latin poem for the souls of dead centurions,' giggled Kate. 'We'll say it's a local custom and they might even pay you to do it again. You could supplement your income by becoming an aid to tourism.'
'Get back in the car, idiot. We have to see a woman about a cheese.'
Beck Farm was down a long, winding, rutted lane. It was the sort of road four-wheel drives were really made for, not half-mile school runs in the middle of Hackney.
As they pulled up, a pack of collies with slavering fangs came bouncing up, looking for some soft flesh to sink their teeth into. They were followed by a woman with a truly dreadful perm, wearing a flowery dress, a red and white striped apron and ancient gumboots. She looked at them with deep suspicion and called the dogs off grudgingly, obviously quite prepared to unleash them again if she didn't like what they had to say.
Jake advanced bravely, hand outstretched. 'Hello, my name is Jake Goldman; I spoke to you on the phone last week.'
'Aye, you did. You wanted to see my cheese.' She said this with disbelief and disapproval, as if Jake was a man with a strange fetish. 'You'd better come in, I suppose. Don't mind the dogs; they'll do as they are told.'
She led the way into a large kitchen where a small wiry man in shirtsleeves, and with a heavily weather-beaten face, was eating his dinner.
'Geoff, this is the man about the cheese.'
Geoff shook his head as if he could never come to terms with the peculiarity of foreigners, which probably included anyone who lived further away than the lane end. Both of them completely ignored Kate, as if she didn't exist.
Jake and Kate followed the woman outside to the dairy, passing a huge Alsatian busily chewing what looked a bit like someone's thigh bone.
'This is our cheese – it's nowt special.'
Jake tried a sliver. 'Oh, no, Mrs Tomlinson, you are so wrong. It is very special.' He broke off a bit and gave some to Kate. It was cool and creamy and intense in flavour.
'This is fantastic. I haven't tasted English cheese like this since . . .' It wasn't the right time to mention she bought all her cheese, if she bought any, ready packed from a supermarket. That might be a bad word round here.
'If you can provide me with one of these a week to start off with I would be delighted,' said Jake. 'I've been searching for a good local product like this for some time now and I'm certain this is going to prove very popular.'
Mrs Tomlinson unbent a little in the face of this praise. 'We do our own hams as well,' she said.
'Please, lead the way.'
'This is as good as Parma ham, in its own way,' Jake said later, with his mouth full. After that, there was no stopping Mrs Tomlinson. They returned to the kitchen, followed by the Alsatian, which seemed to be taking too much interest in Kate's legs and were urged to try Mrs T's eggs, homemade chutney, Cumberland sauce, damson jam and rum butter, though – thankfully – not all at once.
'If you opened a shop selling this in a town, there would be queues outside the door,' said Kate, a long time later, wiping cream off her nose.
'Why would anyone want to do that?' asked Geoff. 'A town is no place for sensible people.'
It was early evening now and the Tomlinsons' two sons came in after a hard day chasing sheep. More food appeared; what had gone before was evidently just a snack and Kate and Jake were obviously expected to stay. Although the Tomlinson sons were about six and a half feet tall and built like steel girders, they were too shy to say much in front of visitors.
'We don't get many people calling in round here, apart from the wife's sister, and she's daft,' said Geoff.
'You look like you need a good meal. You're not much of an advert for your own restaurant,' said Mrs Tomlinson, producing an enormous casserole that had been simmering in the Aga and what looked like a field full of potatoes, smothered in butter. They all guffawed with laughter at her wit and helped themselves to an appalling quantity of cholesterol, which, despite what the doctors would say, didn't seem to be doing them any harm.
As the entire family had scant respect for Jake's career – 'A man cooking?' said one of the sons in disbelief – the conversation turned naturally to sheep.
'Let me get this right – you spend all day taking the sheep to one bit of hill; then get up at a ridiculously early hour to take them to another?'
'Aye, that's about it. I went to the city once,' said Geoff, leaning back and lighting a disgustingly smelly old pipe. 'It seemed to me all anyone ever did was scurry around them underground tunnels like lunatic ants.'
'Well, you've got a point,' admitted Jake.
'This is a great life. You can spend all day on the fell and never see another living soul,' said one of the brothers, pausing to consider whether he could manage another morsel of ham, deciding that he probably could and cutting himself a slice about three inches thick.
Jake managed to regain some lost ground by declaring a passion for Herdwick mutton stew, but no one seemed to want to say much to Kate – though they all enjoyed looking at her legs. She wished she had worn her baggy jeans.
Regretfully, she refused a second helping of apple pie. Another mouthful and buttons would start pinging.
By the time she stood up to go, a sliver of a moon was hanging in an inky blue sky. They were urged to take home presents of food, which Jake refused. 'You've been kind enough already and your produce is so good it deserves to be bought, not given away.'
They drove off to a chorus of barking, which Mrs T assured them was just the dogs' way of saying goodbye.
'Any time you need a decent meal, you're welcome to pop in,' said Geoff.
'That was totally brilliant,' said Kate. She was full of admiration for Jake, for finding this cornucopia of gluttony in the middle of nowhere. He had a journalist's ability when it came to ferreting out anything worth knowing about.
'I think restaurateurs have an absolute duty to support local suppliers. We still don't do anything like enough of it in this country, though I suppose things are slowly improving.'
They drove back over Burned Clutch Pass, which was free of traffic but full of sheep. 'The road is warmer than the grass – they like to sleep there,' said Jake.
When they were at the top, Kate said: 'Stop the car for a minute.'
'Why? Have you left something behind? Because if you have, it will have to stay there. It's nine o'clock and the Tomlinsons will be tucked up in bed by now.'
'It's my turn to show you something,' said Kate.
'What? Where?' There's nothing to see – it's too dark.'
'Look up,' she said simply.
Jake looked. The night sky was empty of clouds, but jam packed full of stars, more than he had ever seen in his life. There were no other lights for miles around to hinder their brilliance. 'I didn't know there were that many stars!'
'You don't, when you live in a built-up area. Look, there's the Plough.'
'Where?'
'That group over there, shaped like, well, a plough. The Americans call it the Big Dipper.'
'Oh, yes, I can see it!'
'And over there is Orion the Hunter – that's his tunic and his sword hanging from his belt. And over there is Cassiopeia – she was a fabulously beautiful queen, oh, thousands of years ago.'
&nbs
p; 'Now that's what I call having your name in lights.' He looked down at her. 'Thank you,' he said softly. 'I think that is the nicest thing anyone has ever shown me.'
Although it was dark, she could see his eyes, glittering with a light reflected off the stars. His face was very close to hers. She wanted it to be closer. Then they both moved together as if they were a pair of magnets. The touch of his mouth on hers made a fire rise deep in her spine. Things must have started happening in slow motion because she could distinctly feel herself thinking – we shouldn't be doing this because we will start something we can't stop and there will be very complicated consequences, but, oh hell, I really don't care; I just want this to go on and on. I want to touch his mouth, his hair; I want to feel his heart juddering against mine and I want to do things to him that will make his eyes close in ecstasy.
For one wild moment she thought he would pull her down with him into the bracken and she would get her wish, but then they were both blinded by the lights of, unbelievably, a motorbike, which pulled up with a roar behind them.
'Broken down, have you?' said the rider, looking at them with interest.
The moment had gone. Maybe it was better that way.
'Er, no . . . we were just looking at the stars,' said Jake feebly.
The rider grinned at them. 'I'll leave you to it, then. They are up there, by the way.' He pointed upwards again, winked at Jake and roared off. The darkness swallowed him up and they were alone, but the moment had passed, for Jake, anyway.
'It's late – we'd better get back,' he said curtly, getting back into the car.
Damn, damn, damn, thought Kate, following him reluctantly.
Chapter Seventeen
Kate felt so rigid with sexual tension she thought she would snap. In her head she had replayed their kiss under the starlight so many times and with much more satisfactory endings that she could probably give up journalism and take up writing Mills and Boon novels instead. To get her mind out of this loop, she went out and bought herself a frighteningly large amount of chocolate to give her strength while she worked.
She unwrapped her third chocolate bar of the morning and was thinking so hard she didn't hear the doorbell ring. It was Lydia.
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