'You are. We always know when you've called because the atmosphere goes from frosty to glacial, which you'd think was impossible in a bloody kitchen,' said Tess.
'When does this story of yours come out?'
'Soon,' said Kate, getting anxious again but she had to be honest with them now. 'The story is going to be great – you will love it. But . . .'
'But?'
'But the paper wants a load of pictures of you all, and Jake especially, of course, to go with it.'
Hans started to laugh, a trifle hysterically. 'Oh wunderbar! I hope the cameraman can take a picture with a flash shoved up his . . . what do you call it?'
'And we'd probably be serving up deep-fried camera for dinner. Oh shit.'
'Look, I think you should write the story, while we all pray it's as nice as you say it is –'
'It is, it is! You are all heroes, even Godfrey –'
'Well, we're not expecting you to perform miracles, Kate. Personally I think you are as daft as Jake if you think you can pull that off – no, shut up, everyone, we need to focus here. Right. This is what we will do. You, Kate, will write the story and I will smuggle it into the restaurant, tie Jake up, if necessary, but somehow make him read it,' said Tess. 'It is, I admit, a pretty weak plan but it's all we've got. Blimey, is that the time? We'd better get back – it's nearly time for service.'
They all stood up, wiping grass and daisies off their clothes.
Kirsty gave Kate a quick, shy hug. 'Don't worry, we'll get you two back together somehow. We've got to – you are so right for each other.'
Kate felt tears welling up in her eyes. She must really be losing it, but this was much more than she deserved.
'Oh, well, it's worth a try. I mean, things can't possibly get any worse, can they?' said Godfrey.
'I hate it when people say that. It means they always do,' said Kirsty.
Chapter Twenty-five
While Jake was suffering emotional turmoil in his debt ridden restaurant, Georgia was having a little crisis of her own, but in the far more comfortable surroundings of a first-class flight from Rome. And on the surface, at least, she had nothing to complain about. She had just finished shooting the cover of Marie Claire magazine. Beside her being cosseted in a five-star hotel, her every need instantly gratified, this two-day job had netted her a cool twenty thousand quid. When she landed at Heathrow, Harry would be waiting for her, or, if he was still stuck in that meeting, a limousine, which would whisk her off to another posh hotel. If Harry was still late, she had no doubt that champagne and flowers and very expensive bath oils would smooth the interval until he arrived. She had nothing to complain about. But still dissatisfaction and confusion nagged away at her, like toothache. It was very upsetting and would do nothing for her looks.
It was this that was sending her slightly crazy. She remembered a time when Jake had promised to meet her at Gatwick and then forgot all about it. She'd ended up having to get a bus, for God's sake, and then when she got to his flat, in the middle of January the heating wasn't working; hadn't been for days judging by the frost on the inside of the windows. His mobile was switched off and he hadn't come home until three in the morning, having had to cook dinner for three very drunk junior Cabinet ministers. He had been very, very sorry, but it really wasn't good enough.
She couldn't argue with a limousine, however. Or a bunch of red roses with a sexy note attached to them. She couldn't argue with Harry either, even if he was late, because he would storm in, throw her onto the bed and cover her with kisses before she even had time to open her mouth. This was everything she had ever wanted in a relationship, so why the turmoil? Georgia frowned, then remembered she didn't want wrinkles, or to be spotted by a photographer going for botox.
'Oh God, she's flicking her finger again,' said one of the three cabin crew. They were taking it in turns to serve her. It got very wearing after a while to wait on someone who apparently didn't know the words 'please' and 'thank you' and didn't even look at you when they talked and then claimed she didn't want the things she had asked for when they were brought to her.
Georgia called for – and got – paper and a pen, a bottle of Evian with ice and lemon and a Mars bar to snack on, while she worked. She was going to make a list of pros and cons.
Harry was obviously the pro. Underneath his name she wrote: 'Handsome, wealthy, charming, attentive, sexy, generous.'
Jake next. She sucked the end of the pen, then wrote firmly: 'Scruffy, poor, absent-minded, stingy, selfish, sexy.'
Then she realised she had also written 'sexy' under his name as well. Furiously she scribbled that last bit out so hard she wore a hole in the paper and got ink on her new dress. It was absurd to think she still found him attractive. She remembered the last time she had seen him at the studios for that stupid cookery programme that had sent Harry into such a temper. He had looked a complete mess, as usual, with dark shadows under his eyes, though his eyes had still crinkled attractively when he smiled at that Kate, who worked at the restaurant.
Irritably, Georgia waved away the attendant who had been summoned to provide a wet wipe to try to get rid of the ink stain. She was having a moment of deep psychological revelation and she needed to be left in peace to do it. It was that smile that had sparked off this gnawing dissatisfaction. Did this mean she was still hankering after him? She remembered his obsession with cooking and shuddered. No, she couldn't go back to that. But he should have been suffering after she had left him, not smiling like that at someone else. It was right and proper that she had left him but he shouldn't have looked so damn pleased about it.
Georgia had packed and left Jake's flat in rather a hurry. Now she remembered a very expensive scarf that had been left behind. There was nothing strange about wanting to pop back to retrieve it. Obviously she would be looking at her stunning best when she did this and, just as obviously, Jake would be extremely upset to see her and be reminded of everything he had lost. With this picture in her mind, Georgia became cheerful again. She decided she had plumbed the depths of psychological revelations for today, so she went off to the loo to vomit up the Mars bar instead.
'Hello, Jake,' said Georgia softly.
He looked up, stared blankly at her for a second, said: 'Oh God!' and dropped the carving knife. She was gratified by this response but would have been less pleased to know the reason for it.
It was mid-afternoon, two days later, and he had come down to the empty kitchen, having come to the conclusion that part of the reason why he was feeling like shit might be due to the fact that he hadn't eaten a decent meal for days. He didn't feel even the slightest bit inclined to eat, but it was something that everyone seemed to do so it was worth a go.
The reason he had looked blank on seeing Georgia was that for a second he didn't know who she was. He had simply forgotten about her. He felt quite bad about this. He bent down to pick up the knife and compose his face into something more friendly and realised how bad things had got. He must really be losing the plot. He had come down to cook in his stockinged feet, for God's sake! A real chef only enters a kitchen when properly attired. If Louis could see him now he would get a real bollocking, and he deserved it.
He waved the carving knife in what he thought was a friendly manner but Georgia flinched and stepped back. Jake put the knife down hastily and tried to pull himself together.
'Sorry. Hello. How are you?'
'I'm fine. You look terrible.'
'Thank you. It's good to know we haven't changed much, then,' he said wryly.
'I'm sorry to barge in like this, but I think I must have left a scarf behind and I really need it.'
'It could be anywhere. Go up and have a look.'
Excellent, she thought as she went up the stairs. He wasn't following her so she could snoop around to her heart's content.
It was a small shock to open the door onto the still shabby, but now tidy flat and her first thought was that he had a new woman and that she must have cleaned up. Jake was positively a
nal about a stray crumb in his kitchen but as far as she knew hadn't got the vacuum cleaner out of the cupboard since he'd moved in. But this was no longer true. He'd had a manic cleaning session the night before, but only because it was three o'clock in the morning, he couldn't sleep and anything was better than lying in bed thinking the same dreary thoughts over and over.
She investigated further. The bathroom was empty of anything female – tampons, tweezers or face creams – and there was only one toothbrush lying on the basin, obviously his. She went into the bedroom. Only his clothes were in the wardrobe; there was nothing on the bedside table on her side of the bed, but on his – a pair of frilly knickers. Surely they didn't belong to anyone round here? Despite herself she had to pick them up and then she realised they were hers. There was no doubt. They were La Perla panties, made specially for her. They even had a tiny G embroidered on the crotch. He hadn't got over her or why were they by his bed? Oh my God! What had he been doing with them during the long, lonely hours of the night? It hardly bore thinking about, but Georgia did, with a certain amount of satisfaction.
She went back downstairs. Jake was still in the kitchen staring at the sandwich he'd just made like he had never seen one before.
'Did you find the scarf?'
Shit! She had completely forgotten to look for it and she was still clutching her knickers.
Jake saw them and looked embarrassed. As well he might, she thought.
Jake was embarrassed, but not for the reasons Georgia thought. During his desperate cleaning session last night they had got sucked up from somewhere underneath his bed and then snarled up in the vacuum cleaner. This put him in such a bad temper he had ripped them while pulling them out. Of course he had instantly forgotten about them and only realised now that Georgia would be furious to find them in bits.
'Oh, sorry, I should never have –'
'No you shouldn't, but it's all right. I understand.'
What was there to understand, and did he care? Jake was so tired and undernourished he didn't have the strength to work this out or try to put on a brave face. What was the point? It was probably all round town that he had been duped by a journalist. He probably had a big sign on his back saying 'Cook, Pauper, Laughing Stock'. But Georgia was looking friendly and sympathetic. He bore her no grudges. It would be nice if they could remain friends.
'I'm sorry you are taking this so badly,' she said, thinking about their break-up.
'Well, I thought it was the real thing,' he said, thinking about Kate.
Georgia sighed happily. 'Maybe it was, for a while, but it could never have lasted.'
'Sooner or later the shit was bound to hit the fan,' he agreed.
This was better than she had hoped for. He was obviously far more cut up than she thought.
'In the end I suppose it was just about two people with deep feelings who needed to walk different roads.'
'You can say that again.'
'I am sure that one day you will be able to look back and take comfort from your happy memories.'
His face cracked up. 'But that's the worst bit, looking back and knowing that I've lost it. And I can't get away from them; they're everywhere, where I work, where I sleep . . .'
Well, obviously, if you spent last night burying your head in my knickers, she thought. 'I should go. I'm probably only making things worse.'
'No, it was nice to see you,' he said politely.
Poor man! He was obviously desperate for every tiny crumb of comfort he could get. Would it be cruel to kiss him goodbye? Well, yes, but he would be able to live on the memory of it for weeks. She leaned over, brushed his cheek with her lips and looked at him tenderly. 'Let the memories heal you, work with them. One day you will be able to move on,' she said, and left.
Blimey, she didn't half talk crappy glossy magazine nonsense, he thought irritably when she'd gone.
When Tess came in for work later, she found him sitting on the steps outside, smoking. 'Er, Jake, you don't actually approve of cigarettes, or had you forgotten?'
'I know. I thought I would give them a try. Actually, they are quite revolting.' He couldn't tell her that they reminded him of Kate, outside, furtively smoking someone else's and swearing this was her last.
She had brought a plate out with her and now thrust it under his nose. 'This, on the other hand, is food, essential sustenance but you actually have to eat it for it to do you any good.'
They both looked at the sandwich. Two pieces of stale bread that Tess had actually left out for feeding the birds, surrounding a chunk of dry cheese. It was unadorned by mayo, relish or even butter.
'We'll chuck this, shall we? I'll get out some of that nice carrot and coriander soup,' said Tess kindly.
'I'm not an invalid,' said Jake crossly and got up, galvanised into action by the sight of the disgusting sandwich. 'Come on, let's get to work, there's loads to do; we haven't got time to stand around chatting.'
He burst into the kitchen, frightening the life out of Godfrey, who was leaning on a worktop and gazing vacantly into space.
The next morning, upstairs at Café Anglais, Georgia was being grilled by Harry, who had seen her coming out of Jake's restaurant.
'Have you been spying on me?' demanded Georgia. But she was secretly thrilled.
'No, but one of the staff has. Well, he wasn't spying, but he did see you. What the hell were you doing there?'
'Nothing,' said Georgia, securely innocent. She loved Harry for being so jealous and passionate. There was nothing more boring than someone who trusted you. 'I merely went to pick up a scarf I'd left behind and we had a quick chat.'
'Are you sure that's all you did?'
'There isn't anything else I want to do with him,' she lied.
'He's still a loser, even if he did win a crappy local telly show,' murmured Harry into her ear. He blew gently and she squealed with pleasure.
'Really we should feel sorry for him,' she continued virtuously. 'He's in a really bad way, completely lost the plot.'
'Excellent,' he said, nuzzling her neck.
'It was a bit kinky, actually.'
'What was? I thought you just went in for your scarf?'
'I did. But then I found something else –'
'And it was where –'
'And it looked like he had been –'
'Well, what else could he have been doing?'
Harry ceased nuzzling and started roaring. 'That fucking pervert! He's disgusting!'
'Well, it's quite sad really. Like I said, we should feel sorry for him.'
'Like hell we should!' Harry started to laugh. He had never felt sorry for anyone in his life and it was inconceivable that he would start by pitying Jake, of all men.
Later, after sex, he was downstairs tying on a crisp new apron, when there was a knock on the door. It was Hans.
'I am just delivering a message from my friend Ronnie.'
'I couldn't care less what that loser has to say!'
Hans shrugged. 'Suit yourself. Tear it up if you like,' he said and went off to work.
Harry wanted to chuck the letter in the bin, but curiosity won. Maybe it contained a desperate plea for his old job. It would give Harry a great deal of pleasure to ignore that.
But Ronnie had written:
I am getting better, slowly. I think if I had had a good boss and friend like Jake to start with, it would never have got that bad. I am really pleased that the only place the Restaurant Club are visiting in Cumbria is his, not yours. With that sort of recognition, his restaurant will eclipse yours. Frankly that's only half of what you deserve.
Harry cursed, fluently and imaginatively. He didn't know how Ronnie had come by this information but he didn't doubt it was true and it made him feel quite sick with fury. He felt so bad he wanted to hurt someone so they felt bad too. Actually, only hurting Jake would do, but he couldn't go over there like a spoiled child having a tantrum because Jake had got something he wanted. He didn't want to see Jake's look of satisfaction. Then he reme
mbered that ridiculous story about Georgia's knickers. It was the perfect excuse to go and beat the hell out of Jake.
*
When Harry stormed in, Jake looked up, wearily. This wasn't fair. First Georgia and now Harry. What had he done to deserve this?
'Fuck off, Harry, I don't want to see you in here,' he said automatically.
Harry just stood there, arms akimbo, exuding menace. But Jake just felt pissed off.
'You look like you've got a bad attack of constipation, but you've come to the wrong place – the chemist is round the corner, mate.' He knew he shouldn't be winding Harry up more than he obviously was already, but just now he didn't care.
'You really are a pathetic waste of oxygen, you bastard!'
'Well, never mind. I really couldn't even begin to care.'
The staff hovered uneasily. Someone had to be pulled away or things would get broken. They could all smell a fight brewing. It was then that a strange man in glasses popped his head round the door but no one noticed him.
Harry looked at Jake with contempt, but a small smile was playing round the corners of his mouth. His staff weren't going to look at their boss with the same respect in a minute. 'I'll go when you apologise for spending your spare time sniffing Georgia's old knickers, you sad pervert!'
There was a deathly silence as everyone tried to make sense of this and failed. The silence was broken by an embarrassed cough from the man in the glasses.
'Er, this seems to be a bad time. The name's Blair. I'll come back later,' and he backed hurriedly out of the restaurant.
Jake was finding it difficult to process all the information that had come his way in the last few seconds but basically it meant that the man for whom he was going to produce the most important meal of his career had witnessed a crazy scene and might not want to come back. Briefly, he pondered the wisdom of chasing Mr Blair at full pelt through the restaurant but the man was probably already a few yards' sprint ahead of him. He would have to wrestle him to the ground in the car park in order to explain that this was all a hideous misunderstanding and then the restaurant critic would think he was possibly psychotic as well as a pervert.
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