Recipe for Disaster

by Miriam Morrison

  Chef who? Oh, Harry. What a prick that man was.

  'I don't know. He's not here. But if you can carry on without me . . .?'

  'We can't,' said Sally, her voice barely above a whisper.

  'Yeah. Didn't think so. Go and get me a menu so I can see what goes with this duck.'

  Then followed a mad hour during which he had to take charge of a strange kitchen and cook a completely unfamiliar menu with a crew who ran around more like startled deer than pros. This was what happened when you didn't train people to think for themselves. Some of the punters had been waiting to eat for over an hour now, and others had complained and sent food back. It was a nightmare. Also, ridiculously, he felt quite nervous, because he was half-expecting Harry to appear out of nowhere, like the Demon King in a panto, and stab him between the ribs.

  'Where did you say your boss was?' he asked someone rather nervously.

  'Paris, I think. He's definitely not back till tomorrow.'

  Jake entertained a brief vision of sliding notes under the steaks, advising the customers they would have a much nicer experience at Cuisine next time they wanted to go out and eat, and then found himself bawling at one of the waitresses for not wiping the plates properly before taking them out. The waitresses were efficient, but snooty. God, this was an awful place to work.

  He worked on, trying to restore order to chaos and hating the atmosphere in this kitchen. It was heavy with tension and stress. No wonder it had all got too much for Ronnie. Jake's own team certainly jumped when he barked at them, but they didn't get into a lather of fear over it, even when they cocked up. Then he was distracted into wondering where Harry got such fantastic pigeons.

  'He shoots them,' said the kitchen porter, when asked.

  'Oh, that figures,' said Jake.

  Eventually, it all came to an end. Everyone had enjoyed their meals, apparently, though Jake had had to practically force this information out of the waitresses. They were going to report absolutely everything he had done back to Harry, he could tell. There was going to be no way he could stop any of this getting out.

  'OK, everyone, you need to get cleared up and out of here as quickly as possible so I can try and persuade Ronnie out.'

  'I don't think you should be left here on your own,' said one of the waitresses.

  'Why? Are you worried I might steal the silver? Oh, all right, do what you like. Just stay out of here until I tell you otherwise.'

  He yawned and took a slug of coffee to keep alert. His eyes felt gritty with tiredness and he found himself obsessively picturing Kate, sitting somewhere expensive, having a drink with that guy. He didn't want to be here, trying to talk someone out of a drug-fuelled breakdown. But he felt desperately sorry for Ronnie, who had been driven to such desperate measures.

  He sat down with his back against the door, next to Hans, and said as much, in what he hoped was a calm and reassuring voice. He described one or two people he had known in similar situations and how they had got themselves sorted. He suggested tea and something to eat – a good meal was always the best way to help someone think more sensibly, he felt. He went on in this manner for about twenty minutes, when suddenly the door opened and he and Hans nearly fell backwards.

  Ronnie's hair was standing on end, his eyes were bloodshot and his face looked haggard. He had lost over a stone since coming to work here.

  'It all suddenly got out of hand,' he said later, after two cups of tea. 'I had a really strong joint in the afternoon to help me sleep before the shift, but then when I got to work everything went a bit weird. I couldn't seem to control the knives – it was a bit like they had a life of their own, you know. I was worried they might make me do something awful, so I decided to go somewhere dark and quiet and stay there until I felt better.'

  'In the circumstances, that was probably a wise move. Do you feel better?' asked Jake.

  'Yeah, sure. I'm fine now.'

  'Don't be stupid,' said Jake. 'You've got over tonight's crisis, but unless you really sort your head out, there will be others.'

  'What would you do if I was in your kitchen?' asked Ronnie.

  'I would sack you,' said Jake brutally. But then he explained, more gently: 'Listen, man, you are no use to yourself or anyone else in this state. You keep taking drugs and there will be a major accident in the kitchen, and then you will never forgive yourself. Look upon tonight as a warning and an opportunity to get out now, in one piece. Get the drugs out of your system and find someone nicer to work for – there are plenty of them around, you know.'

  'So, are you going to tell him what happened?'

  'I won't have to. The waiting staff are going to spill the beans as soon as they can.'

  'Oh shit, I'll get the sack!'

  'Not if you resign first, then go to your doctor and be honest with him so he can help you.'

  'I'm beyond help,' said Ronnie.

  'Don't talk bollocks – of course you're not! Look, do you still want to cook?'

  Ronnie was silent for a long time, thinking. Then: 'I remember what it was like when I was starting out. I wanted to learn to cook so I could have my own pub, somewhere in Yorkshire – I'm from there. I used to go to bed and plan what I was going to put on the menu.' He sighed.

  'You've still got that fire somewhere, even though it's burned pretty low. For God's sake – Harry could douse anyone's ambitions! You just got in with the wrong crowd, as my grandmother would say. Listen to me. I believe in you, but you have to get clean first.'

  Inwardly, Jake breathed a sigh of relief. Ronnie's eyes had brightened up, only very slightly, but it was enough. He even managed a faint grin.

  'This has been the worst job of my life. Now I know I can walk away it even seems a bit funny, but it wasn't then. He was always bawling me out. It didn't seem to matter how hard I tried – nothing pleased him. The coke made it all feel like it didn't matter and I could manage, you know.'

  'Well, if you find somewhere decent to work, all you will need in the future is commitment,' said Jake, and gave a huge yawn.

  'You can sleep on my floor tonight, and tomorrow morning, early, I will hand in your resignation for you and you can go home,' said Hans.

  'Fine. I'll just tell one of Harry's slaves next door that we are going,' said Jake.

  'I heard that!' said Annabelle, bouncing into the kitchen so smartly Jake knew she had been eavesdropping the whole time. 'I shall be ringing Harry the moment I've locked the door on you.'

  'Do what you like, I don't care.'

  But as he was driving the guys home he had a moment's unease, which was stupid, wasn't it? Of course he had the upper hand here. Harry wouldn't want any of this being broadcast, because it wouldn't do his reputation any good at all, and reputation was important in a small town like this. The only thing Harry could do now was grind his teeth down to the gums and thank Jake nicely. Right?

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was early morning by the time Jake got to bed and his whole body protested when the alarm rang, a ridiculously short time later. He had spent the night in fitful dreams, none of them very pleasant, and for a minute he just lay there, thinking longingly of holidays (when was the last time he had actually had one?), or even jobs where you got the weekend off. Then with a groan, he got up.

  With the Restaurant Club award looming, there was no time to lie in bed feeling faint-hearted. He was convinced, despite what his customers were saying, that there was a huge amount of work still to be done before his cooking skills were up to standard.

  Coming to the conclusion he would go mad if he thought about it any more, he decided to cheer himself up by putting sautéed veal kidneys with a puree of potato on the menu.

  Meanwhile, several thousand feet above him, a stewardess was jumping back in fright when she discovered that a croissant could be used as an offensive weapon. At least it could be in Harry's hands.

  'There is no need to wave your breakfast at me in a threatening manner, sir,' she said.

  'Well don't try and tell
me this crap is edible!' he roared.

  'Everyone else is eating it quite happily. Perhaps you just want coffee?'

  Harry subsided with ill grace. He was in a stormingly bad temper and there was no one to vent it on. He sipped coffee and brooded.

  Up until a few hours ago he had been having a wonderful time. It had been brilliant to see the look on Georgia's face when she strutted down the catwalk and realised he was sitting in the front row. A true professional, she didn't lose her stride, but her eyes had widened in surprise and unmistakable pleasure.

  After the show he had somehow managed to blag his way backstage. He cut a swathe through the giggling, naked models without even casting a glance in their direction. He walked straight up to her and held out his hand. In it was a single long-stemmed rose. It was corny but Harry could pull it off.

  'I have a table booked for two. I'd rather you came as you were,' he dropped his eyes to her bare breasts, 'but I guess people will stare.' He bent his head and lightly kissed one nipple. 'I'm saving the other for later.'

  All the girls and some of the men sighed with envy. It was just like a scene out of a really cool film, thought Georgia.

  They went to a little restaurant he knew that was discreet and served superb food and wine. He kept the conversation light and casual, though he insisted on serving her little morsels of his fillet steak to go with her salad. Then they walked back to her hotel, because it wasn't far and Paris at night was a lovers' dream. Outside the door to her room, they stopped, Georgia quivering with anticipation.

  'I've got unfinished business with your body,' said Harry.

  'Yes, yes,' breathed Georgia, who had completely forgotten that Jake even existed.

  'But not tonight.'

  'What?'

  'You think you know yourself, but I know you better. You think you're ready for this, but you aren't. Yet. I am sad, but I can wait.' He kissed her hand and turned.

  'Really – I am sooo ready,' wailed Georgia in frustration, but it was too late. He had gone. One of the secrets of Harry's success with women was that he always knew exactly the right moment to take them to bed, when they were panting with desire and would do anything he asked. He was grinning to himself at the thought of pleasure to come, when his mobile rang.

  He was very calm to begin with. There was no point in having a tantrum until you were in possession of all the facts and had assessed the situation coolly. That done, he swore quietly to himself to begin with, which then built up to a crescendo of oaths that culminated in him flinging the phone onto the pavement, where it bounced twice and broke into four pieces. The cab driver he had summoned took one look at this and sped off. Some fares just weren't worth it.

  'Pick up the pieces and put it back together,' he ordered the concierge, who was staring at him. And he went inside to book a flight home.

  He wanted to kill two people. Ronnie, for having fucked up in such a spectacular way and brought his restaurant into disrepute, and Jake, who had dared to play the white knight and would now be expecting Harry's gratitude. God! The thought of having to do that really hurt! Was it actually possible to say thank you to the man he hated more than anyone else? Sitting in the plane, he practised the smile he would have to give, which obviously needed some work, as it made a small child cry.

  You can do this, he told himself. You can do this because what that stupid prick doesn't know is that you are in the middle of a very successful campaign to seduce his girlfriend. Jake may have won a minor and insignificant skirmish, but he has no idea how to win a war. You will have the last laugh, Harry my boy.

  Everyone liked the kidneys, except Kirsty, who refused flatly even to try them, on the grounds that things like that were disgusting.

  'Things like what?' demanded Jake.

  'You know perfectly well what I mean.'

  'No I don't! If you will eat an animal's legs, or its breasts, you might as well eat everything else. It's dead anyway so it's not going to complain, is it?'

  'I don't care. I am quite capable of lying to the customers and telling them it's absolutely delicious, so it doesn't matter, does it?'

  'I just want to broaden your eating horizons.'

  'They don't need to be broadened. They are quite happy where they are, thank you,' she retorted and went off to answer the phone.

  'It's whatsername, that posh tart from Café Anglais,' she hissed, coming back. Jake took the phone. Annabelle said Harry would be delighted if Jake could come over for a coffee that afternoon. 'He would like to thank you for the very great kindness you did for poor Ronnie,' she said, almost managing to sound like she believed it.

  'It was nothing,' said Jake, and pretended to go off and look in his diary, which he knew was quite empty, apart from a blob of gravy.

  'Yes, I think I can manage half an hour,' he said, enjoying all this tremendously.

  Everyone was against him going, though.

  'I know you think you have all the power here –' began Kate.

  'I do. If I was a nasty sort, I could spread this story all round town. It wouldn't put him out of business, but it would do a lot of damage. Of course, I'm not going to do anything of the sort, though I must say, it is tempting. I just don't intend to use poor Ronnie to score a cheap trick. But Harry doesn't know that.'

  Kate sighed. 'Jake, you are just a novice in deviousness compared to people like Harry. He'll beat you hands down every time,' she said.

  'Well I don't see how he can, this time,' said Jake, and went off to get changed.

  Harry's flat was also above the shop, as it were, but there any resemblance to Jake's flat ended. Like Georgia had, before him, he couldn't help but compare their horribly different lifestyles. The two flats looked like the before and after on a television makeover show, he thought, as Annabelle showed him in, saying Harry wouldn't be a minute.

  Jake sank down onto a sofa so soft and comfortable it practically begged him to put his feet up and doze off. There was a huge, plasma-screen television in the corner, antique ornaments on the shelves and some rather nice watercolours on the walls. Jake wanted to hate it all, but he couldn't. It was the sort of flat he would love to have for himself.

  Harry made him wait ten minutes and, despite his earlier comments, Jake started to get nervous. He now couldn't make up his mind whether Harry would be furious with him for interfering or grateful for his help. He got up and stood nearer the door. That way he could just walk out if he had to.

  But when Harry entered, he was exuding friendliness and bonhomie.

  'Sorry to keep you. I've been on the phone to the agency, getting another chef,' he said, smiling and looking over at Jake in what he hoped was a 'gosh, this is a bit of a pickle but we are all going to get through it like gentlemen' sort of a way.

  Jake smiled back, but warily. 'Have you heard from Ronnie?' he asked carefully.

  'Nothing, apart from the letter of resignation that was waiting for me when I got back. I don't expect to hear any more and I don't care, frankly.'

  'Well, he has certainly got a lot of work to do before he can return to cooking,' said Jake.

  Harry gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. 'Yes, he has. Thank you for coming in and helping out. I am extremely grateful.' There, it was over.

  But Jake wasn't looking entirely convinced. 'I got involved only to help a fellow chef in trouble and I am sure you know I don't mean you. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see you in deep shit but, unlike you, I have standards.'

  How dare he look so contemptuously at me? thought Harry, furiously, and a plan that had been half-forming in his mind crystallised.

  'Yes, I appreciate that. There is a lot of bad blood between us, isn't there?'

  'Yeah, a whole river full, Harry. Do I look stupid enough to want to jump across?'

  This was going to be harder than Harry had anticipated. 'Look, let's sit down, shall we?' He rested his chin on his hands and took his time before speaking. Jake had to believe this was coming from the heart. 'I can't go back
and change the past but I can help to change how we behave in the future. Like it or not, we are both running businesses in a town so small we are bound to bump into each other. Now, I am a realist – we are not going to be friends. But maybe we need to learn how to behave in a civilised manner towards each other. I would really like to do that, Jake, because I can only benefit in the long run.' This was perfectly true. Harry was going to take Georgia from Jake and he was going to do it right under Jake's nose – not because it was better that way, but because he could. The only thing Harry liked better than winning was winning with style. He put on a slightly awkward, self-conscious grin. 'I know it's up to me to set the ball rolling and so I would like to invite you and your staff to a little party I'm throwing next week at the family home. And no, I don't envisage us ending up with our arms round each other's shoulders, but if we could drink a glass of wine together, it might be a start.' Harry sat back and looked down at his knees modestly. He was fairly sure his eyes had radiated sincerity, but it wouldn't do to be too cocky.

  As Harry had hoped, Jake was completely taken aback by this. He had expected a number of things, but not this calm reasonableness. But after all, at some point everyone had to grow up, even Harry. Maybe the realities of running his own business had brought him maturity. No, they certainly wouldn't ever become friends, but how pleasant life would be if they could learn to deal with each other amicably. He took a deep breath. He had to respond properly to this overture because it might not happen again.

  'OK, let's give it a go.'

  Harry nodded soberly, the picture of a man who was ready for some serious fence-mending. God, he was good at this!

  Later, back in his own kitchen, Jake said: 'I thought about it and I really can't come up with any reason why Harry would be saying these things if he wasn't genuine.'

  Tess looked at him. She couldn't either, but she would bet next week's wages that there was one.

  'Look, we are adults now – we've got more important things to do than fight!'

  Yeah, you have, thought Tess. That's because you're a decent guy. But Harry isn't and I would love to know what he's playing at. 'Well, OK, we'll go to this bloody party, if we have to.' That way, at least we can watch your back for you.