'It's bloody wet out there,' remarked Godfrey, shaking himself like a dog.
Jake looked up. He hadn't been paying attention to the weather, but now he noticed that it wasn't just raining. Water was hammering against the windowpanes like a mob of angry creditors desperately trying to get in.
Kirsty came back from answering the phone. 'The Thomases, the table for six, have just cancelled. They got caught in this weather coming off a hill and they've decided to stay put in their hotel tonight.'
There were another three phone calls in quick succession, all with the same bad news. Great, thought Jake. Tonight of all nights he could have done with a really busy shift to keep his mind occupied. Also, his bank manager wasn't likely to be sympathetic to the fact that he couldn't make any money because the weather was bad. 'If it seems like it's too quiet out there, put some music on. Let's make sure that the people who do brave this weather have a great evening,' he told Kirsty.
He hoped there was enough rain to make the lake rise and flood Harry's restaurant. He was to regret this thought later on that evening.
Two or three couples did make their bookings, though Kirsty kept having to turn the music up to drown out the weather. As the evening wore on Jake noticed that Godfrey was getting increasingly twitchy.
'Ok, this check says two salads, so why have you made three?'
'Sorry, Chef. I'm just a bit worried. My dad will be out in this and he's all on his own because my brother's away.'
'I thought sheep liked the rain.'
'They might get waterlogged because they haven't been sheared yet.'
'Oh, for goodness' sake! Well, you are no use to me, and I suppose it's quiet enough – you'd better go home and make sure they are all wrung out.'
Godfrey must have been worried, because he didn't even stop to change out of his cooking gear. He had only been gone for a couple of minutes when all the lights went out. Jake swore freely but he had a good stock of candles and all his cookers were powered by gas. The hot water would run out but Godfrey could do all the washing up when he came in tomorrow. It would serve him right for opting to spend the night with a load of soggy sheep.
Candlelight worked very well in the restaurant, but it cast strange shadows in the kitchen. It made everyone clumsy, even Jake. Twice he dropped his knife and had to scrabble around the floor feeling for it and hoping he didn't put his hand round the sharp edge. Everyone was fed and happy, though Kate had a hard time explaining to an American couple why the espresso machine wasn't working.
'At home we have generators for this sort of eventuality.'
'Well, we don't. We have candles.'
'How quaint!'
Back in the kitchen Jake looked out of the window sombrely. 'I've never seen rain like this. In London it falls in a straight line and you just get very wet. But this stuff – it hits you in the face, like a fist. It's like the weather has a grudge against us.'
He was doing some desultory tidying up, trying and failing to summon his usual end of shift energy, when Hans rushed into the kitchen. One look at his face told Jake his barman was the bearer of some seriously shit tidings.
'Boss, there is water coming in through the door of the restaurant.'
Jake dropped his cloth and ran through, hoping Hans was having a drug-induced hallucination. But he wasn't. Water was indeed trickling slowly but steadily through the door. Peering through the wall of water that was still pouring down the windowpanes he could see that the drain outside was no longer taking the rain away. A small lake was forming in the road and it didn't look like it had anywhere to ebb away to except through his door.
'Fuck,' said Jake, forgetting his customers for the first time in his life, and shouted for somebody to get a brush.
'We need sandbags,' said Hans.
'Great idea, but who the hell do we get them from? I don't think the corner shop stocks them somehow! Kirsty, get Kate and start moving everything off the floor and then we'll try and pull the carpet back.'
Kate jumped guiltily when Kirsty came into the kitchen. She had been listening to the local news on the radio. There was severe flooding everywhere; a man had nearly drowned trying to cross a stream (she hoped it wasn't Godfrey or his dad) and the local theatre, which was in a basement in town, was being evacuated. There was mass panic going on there, with tales of people being trampled in the rush to get out, explained the reporter, who was standing outside. A river had also risen and had found a new route down the motorway, causing a mass pile-up. It was all very dreadful, but Kate's nose was twitching at the thought of several good stories going to waste while she was here. She was just wondering if she could escape when Kirsty came in, told her to come and help, and rushed out again. Kate was completely torn. She needed to find out what was happening out on the streets. This was a compulsion as strong as Jake's urge to cook. But she couldn't go, could she? He was down one member of staff already. Damn Godfrey! He was probably sitting at home now, drinking Horlicks and watching his bloody sheep dry out on the Aga.
Hans was standing by the door, frantically trying to sweep the water back faster than it was coming in, like a crazed Canute. The last few customers had already rushed off to higher ground. She and Kirsty scrambled to lift tables and chairs onto any surface more than three feet high. They were working like mad when they heard a cry from the kitchen.
'It's coming in through the back door now!' called Tess, despair in her voice.
Jake called a halt when he realised that water was now sloshing round his ankles. 'We've done all we can; go home now while you still can. Angelica is bound to be awake and she might be worried, and so might your parents,' he said to Tess.
'My room is on a ground floor. I need to inspect the damage,' said Hans mournfully.
'My flat is on the first floor, so I am fine,' said Kate. She was resigned to staying now. Jake would need help moving all the things that were piled up on his stairs. His eyes were like black holes in his white face. He looked done in. Having worked faster and more efficiently than anyone else, he looked like he might just lie down and let the water lap over him if he was left on his own.
Between them they grimly and silently unblocked the stairs, passing things to each other and occasionally grunting with the effort. As soon as their access was clear Jake made her go and wash her hands.
'We've no way of knowing what's in that water, but I doubt they will be bottling it for the tourists,' he said.
When Kate came back into the sitting room he was peering out of the window. 'It's still coming down. I hope we don't have to be rescued by boat. I get terribly seasick.' His tone was light, but Kate knew it was gallows humour.
'Remember, you are insured.'
'Oh, yes. But there's going to be a lot of claims. Who knows how long it will take them to get round to me? We certainly can't cook and serve food to customers who might have to paddle through sewage to get to it. What are you doing?'
Kate was groping around in cupboards. 'You must have some alcohol up here.'
'Only a horrible bottle of whisky a supplier gave me as a bribe. It didn't work.'
'It'll be fine. This is emergency drinking.'
'It might not be a good idea to get drunk, though I am tempted. We might need to keep our wits about us.'
'No, apparently that's just what we shouldn't do. The man on the Titanic didn't.'
'What?'
'Well, I can't remember all the details, but when he saw the boat was going down he got pissed, fell overboard and paddled about quite happily until he spotted a lifeboat. Or something like that. If we have to swim for it, I'd rather you were singing rugby songs than clutching me and looking green.'
'I'd clutch you and sing, though I admit it wouldn't be easy listening. Even when sober, I tend to sing off key. To tell the truth, I don't think my heart can go on much longer. It feels like it's been through the dishwasher several times today.'
'All the more need for alcohol-induced fortitude, then. Cheers, anyway. To the end of a really bad d
ay.'
'You could say that. I've been dumped, had a character assassination and everything I own is soaking wet.'
'I'm sorry. Georgia has really bad timing.'
'She certainly has.'
'I wouldn't take anything to heart that she said during the dumping. People will say anything so they can go off and screw someone else,' she said awkwardly. She wanted to comfort him, but she wasn't really sorry at all.
'Especially when the someone else is Harry Hunter.'
'Ah.' She looked at him more closely. 'I don't know what was said, but you look as if she really stuck the knife in. I bet it was something to do with your cooking.'
Jake grinned slightly. 'I don't give a shit about the personal stuff,' he agreed.
Kate was silent and longed to tell him that she knew just how he felt. Her writing was the one area of her life where she could feel very vulnerable. Her stories were her children; she loved them dearly, would protect them fiercely and felt acute anxiety when they came under other people's scrutiny. Jake gave the same passion and dedication to his cooking. Then she thought, why not tell him? He wasn't likely to cast her out into tonight's storm. She would tell him, she decided. It would be good to get everything out in the open and she wanted a relationship with him that was based on honesty. It had to be; it would not work any other way.
She took a deep breath, leaned forward – and kissed him. Hang on! This wasn't supposed to happen. But she was glad it had, because it felt so good and he obviously thought the same way, because he was kissing her back.
'Jake – I've got something to tell you.'
'Mmm . . . OK, but first I've got things to do to you, like this . . . and this . . .'
'No, listen –'
'Are you telling me you want me to stop?'
'Oh, certainly not.'
'Was this what you had to say – that your bra fastens at the front instead of at the back?'
'Yeah . . . I guess so . . .'
Georgia was quite wrong about this sofa, Jake thought, hazily, some time later. It was a brilliant sofa. It was perfectly comfortable. It accommodated two people very well indeed and allowed them to do all sorts of things. To be sure, it may have creaked a little, but only in a gentle, friendly way. It shut out the wind and rain, the devastation to his business downstairs, and it blew away the bitterness which had permeated the room only a few hours before.
It was cold in this room, but their skin gleamed with sweat as they explored each other's bodies with great delight. Although Jake's touch was soft and sure, she could feel the muscles rippling under his skin. And he discovered once more, with pleased astonishment, how much more interesting a woman's body was when there were flesh and curves to sink into.
It was as if their bodies were having a most satisfying conversation. Like compatriots meeting in a foreign land, they shared the same language. It was a long time since his skin had talked like this to a woman, and there was so much else he wanted to say, when the phone rang.
They listened to it for a few minutes, wondering whether to push the world away and then realised in perfect accord that they couldn't, and shouldn't. Jake got up and answered it.
'Man, it's wild out there,' said Godfrey. 'One of our trees fell down and missed the house by inches half the roof of the barn blew off but luckily there are no animals in it I got soaked to the skin twice and then Tess rang and she told me what happened is everything in a real mess?'
Jake mentally added some punctuation to this breathless speech, extracted the sense and replied happily that, yes, it was a complete disaster downstairs.
'Er, you sound a bit light-headed, Boss; are you sure you haven't had a bang on the head?'
'Never felt better.'
'It's been a hell of a night.'
'It certainly has,' said Jake happily, then pulled himself together and told Godfrey to get his butt into work early tomorrow. Reassured by this return to normality, Godfrey rang off.
Jake looked at Kate. It had been a long night but he was still buzzing with energy. The wind and rain had died down at last.
'Do you fancy a walk?'
'That's exactly what I want to do,' said Kate. How wonderful that they were in such perfect agreement about everything! Tonight was a time for kissing, not confession. But tomorrow, when they had sobered up slightly from each other – but not too much, she hoped – then she would talk.
They found their clothes, got dressed and went out by the back door because Jake couldn't face the chaos within just yet. Outside, in the now serene sky, it was as if the storm had never happened. Underfoot, it was a different matter. The rain was at last draining away but there were still huge puddles swamping the pavements and they had to negotiate an obstacle course of broken roof tiles and litter. In the end they gave up and decided it was safer to walk in the road. Kate was wearing an old coat of Jake's, which was extremely shabby but smelled deliciously of him. She tucked her arm into his, where it fitted perfectly. They walked down to the lake, which was now lapping peacefully across the road. It had come close to the row of buildings that housed Harry's restaurant, but not near enough to do any damage. It was typical; Harry had the luck of the devil, thought Jake, but he didn't care – he had his own luck tonight. One or two ducks were swimming about quite happily in the road. Kate pointed them out and they both laughed. The wind had finally blown all the clouds away and a huge moon was skirting the tops of the trees.
'What a perfect night,' she said.
'I feel exactly the same. Though you do realise that makes us both completely mad?'
'Well, in that case, insanity is a good place to be. It feels just right.'
'Get used to it. I seem to spend most of my time there.'
Kate hugged to herself the implied acceptance that they had a future together. Then she shivered. She needed to tell him now while they were still silly with love and sex.
But before she could open her mouth, Jake said: 'Are you cold? You mustn't get cold. I have a bed as well as a sofa, you know. The duvet, I admit, does have a very old cover, which will tell you that I used to have a slight obsession with Star Wars. But it is clean and warm and we can pretend we are hurtling through space under it.'
What was the matter with him? He was talking absolute drivel. He never talked like this. How wonderful that he had found someone who didn't seem to mind what nonsense came out of his mouth. Indeed, she seemed to encourage it.
'I don't mind at all if you want me to pretend I'm Princess Leia.'
'Actually, I would prefer it if you stayed yourself. Race you back!'
When they got to the door, he hesitated for a moment.
There! Now, just say it! urged Kate's conscience. But again he spoke first.
'I think, just for a few more hours, we will forget about the rest of the world.'
'Absolutely, Chef,' said Kate.
Chapter Twenty-two
'"If you can meet with triumph and disaster / And treat those two impostors just the same," ' said Kirsty, adding, when they all stared at her: 'I had to do Kipling for GCSE.'
'Oh, I'm on first-name terms with disaster,' said Jake.
The team were all standing in the restaurant, trying not to breathe in too deeply. The carpet was completely ruined; the whole place would need repainting and it stank of stagnant water.
Jake had been on the phone to the insurance people that morning. They would certainly pay up, but that wasn't the problem, as he explained to Godfrey, who was unable to see that there was any sort of problem at all.
'Even if the cheque arrives tomorrow it will be at least two weeks before we can open again. If there are no customers, there's no money coming in. No money at all.'
A few people went pale as they thought about overdrafts and no wages.
'Don't panic. The bank has agreed to loan me enough to pay you all.'
That was typical of Jake, thought Kate. He took care of his people before himself.
'I've got cash. You don't need to pay me,' she said, feeling h
orribly guilty and making frantic calculations about how much she could lend him. Not enough, probably.
'My dad will bail me out for a couple of weeks,' Godfrey offered.
'And I have finally got a huge maintenance cheque, so I'm rich, rich!' said Tess.
Jake swallowed. They were all being so nice. He couldn't bring himself to tell them that their wages were but a drop in the ocean of debt that he was swimming in. 'Oh, well, let's go and clean the kitchen, again. Maybe one of us will come up with a cunning plan.'
They had already cleaned the kitchen twice but he still wasn't satisfied. If he was going down, it would be immaculately.
All the way down his street people were stopping their mopping-up operations to share similar tales of woe. The delicatessen two doors down had lost nearly all of its stock. 'We've only just clawed back what we lost during foot and mouth,' said the owner tearfully, when Jake met her on his way to buy coffee and doughnuts.
Jake had no appetite. The elation he had felt the previous night was being sucked away by the spectre of financial ruin. What would happen to him and Kate if he had to close? He knew he could always find work with Louis down in London, but she might not want to follow him there.
Back in front of his computer screen the figures danced in front of him, mockingly. He could swear they were talking to him. 'You arrogant fool,' they whispered. 'Better Recipe for Disaster chefs than you have run aground on these very rocks. Why did you think you were any different?'
'Aargh!' he shouted, picked up all the bills, which had been carefully stacked in order of importance, and flung them across the room. It didn't matter if they were all messed up – he couldn't pay any of them.
When Jake was unhappy he conjured up an image of his grandmother. She had survived far worse than he had ever faced. 'You can mope all you like. You still have to get on with things. And tidy up that dreadful mess you've just made,' she would have added briskly.
'OK, Oma,' he said, and bent down to pick up the papers. 'I might as well burn them,' he grumbled, and then noticed the letter from the television company.
Recipe for Disaster Page 25