The Cafe by the Sea

by Jenny Colgan

  He unwrapped it very carefully, as if undressing a baby. Inside was a huge, soft-looking cheese. Flora looked at him, her eyebrows raised, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her whatsoever. He took a tiny sharp knife and nicked a sliver off the wheel, proffering it to her.

  “Seriously?” said Flora. “You made this?”

  “Just try it.”

  “Just try it? You get cheese wrong, you could kill me.”

  “I’m not going to kill you.”

  “I’m not saying you’d do it on purpose.”

  “Look,” he said. “I’ve eaten loads. I’ve been working on this stuff for years.”

  “Years?”

  “Yes. It’s been . . . kind of a hobby.”

  “Years?”

  “Just try it, will you?”

  Flora took the knife, then, not entirely trusting herself, picked up the cheese with her fingers and popped it into her mouth.

  It was one of the most exquisite things she had ever tasted. It had the sharp bite of an aged Cheddar, but a softer creaminess, more like blue cheese, with a huge depth of flavor behind it.

  It was astonishing.

  She blinked.

  “Oh my God,” she said. Then she handed back the knife. “Give me some more.”

  Slowly, a huge grin crossed Fintan’s face.

  “Seriously? You like it.”

  “Seriously! It’s amazing.”

  Fintan shot a worried look at the door.

  “Don’t tell them,” he said. “I mean it. Please. Don’t.”

  “Why not?” She looked around. “There’s loads of it. How long exactly have you been doing this?”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh, you know. I just . . . I just needed to get away when . . . you know.”

  Flora did know. When their mother had gone into the hospital and, really, never come home again.

  “Well, are you going to do something with it?”

  “I don’t . . . All Innes cares about is money.”

  “Well, it’s his job to.”

  “And Dad complains that I’m work shy.”

  “Do they really not know what you’re doing?”

  “They don’t care, do they? It’s just Funny Fintan, doing his thing.”

  He sighed. Flora looked at him.

  “Families aren’t easy,” she said.

  “No,” said Fintan. “They fricking aren’t.”

  “You can swear in front of me,” said Flora, almost laughing.

  “Oh, is swearing cool in London, then?”

  Flora looked longingly at the cheese.

  “Let me have a little more?”

  Fintan half smiled.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah! I want Agot to try it. Does it melt?”

  “Should do, it’s a hard cheese that tastes soft.”

  Flora picked up a hunk.

  “I’ll say I bought it in London.”

  “Then they’ll never try it.”

  Flora turned on the grill and heated the cheese up on top of the bread until its edges had turned a delicious aromatic brown with a slight crust, and the pale yellow middle was bubbling. The bread was fresh and just a little scorched round the edges, and Flora ground some black pepper on the top and passed it to Agot, who wolfed down the whole thing as soon as it was cool enough to eat.

  “YUM!” she said, rubbing her tummy approvingly. “THA’S GOOD.”

  Flora smiled, pleased. It was fun, feeding other people. Everyone ate their fill, and she exchanged smiles with Fintan at how appreciative they all were, even for something as simple as toasted cheese, and for once, the evening was calm.

  Chapter Eighteen

  This is total and utter BS.” Joel was grouching around the office and Margo was trying to placate him again, without much success. “Why hasn’t he seen her already?”

  Margo shrugged. “Busy. Or just thinks she’s too junior.”

  “She’s not too junior to be kicking about there on holiday at his expense. This could be a big client for us and she’s listening to local gossip . . . doing God knows what.” He grimaced. “Oh God. I’m going to have to go. How the hell do I get to this godforsaken place anyway?”

  “You can take the train overnight, then a ferry . . .”

  “Screw that. Seriously. You can’t fly?”

  Which is how, furiously, Joel found himself on the tiny prop plane taking off from Inverness with a handful of bird-watchers and oilmen, staring out the window at a white sky and feeling entirely frustrated at the whole ridiculous business. He disliked the sucking-up-to-clients part of his job, especially for something so trivial. He liked the cut and thrust of the courtroom; he thrived on the tense all-nighters that made his staff miserable, the tough negotiating, and, above all, winning.

  He looked down. Whoever knew this tiny country could go on so long? They were flying over endless sea. It had been vastly colder than London as he’d walked across the tarmac and boarded the little twelve-seater Loganair plane. He was going to turn this around, do the charming thing, which he didn’t enjoy, set the girl in the right direction then get back to London as soon as he could. She’d sounded absolutely startled to hear from him that morning. Had probably forgotten how to work already.

  The sun broke through the clouds as they started to circle down toward Mure, the fishing trawlers plashing out across the wide blue waters; but Joel was deeply engrossed in briefs for other jobs, and saw nothing until they landed in front of the unprepossessing shed that passed for an airport, bumping and jolting along the ground.

  After the calm evening, Flora had been unutterably panicked by the phone call. She’d expected to hear from Colton’s office; she’d expected to hear from Margo, snootily asking her why the hell she wasn’t getting more work done. Kai had suggested it might happen, but when she’d seen the unfamiliar number come up on her handset, she hadn’t been thinking much at all.

  Stuttering “good morning,” she’d caught sight of herself in the mirror above the old dressing table in her little room. Surrounding it were the rosettes from her Highland dancing. Her mother had carefully kept them all, them and the cups. She’d shaken her head, half embarrassed, half pleased.

  Her hair was sticking out at all angles. It was 8 A.M.; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late. It was all this fresh air; it was knocking her out. It was only since she’d gotten back that she’d realized how sleep-deprived she actually was. It felt like she was catching up on years of light London sleep, always half awake, waiting to hear burglars, or returning flatmates, or police helicopters, car chases, neighborhood parties.

  Here, apart from the occasional barking seal and scuttling wildlife, there was nothing, nothing at all, just fresh air and the distant lulling of the waves if you really listened hard, and she had been completely and utterly knocked out every night.

  “Did I wake you?” said the dry, laconic voice, and Flora had leaped up as if he could see her.

  “Um, hi, Mr. Binder.”

  “Joel is fine.”

  “Um, I’m just . . . I’m waiting. I’ve been making calls but I keep getting put off and I’m not sure whether I should stay here or . . . I mean, I’ve been keeping on top of my paperwork.”

  This was a stone-cold lie, and Flora wondered if he could tell over the phone line that she was blushing. She cursed herself. Bramble woofed encouragingly from next door and she could hear Hamish hollering and looking for his shoes. This place was a madhouse.

  “I’m arriving today.”

  At first Flora didn’t understand what he was saying. It was noisy and confused and seemed so very unlikely.

  “You’re what?”

  Joel sighed with frustration. “I’ll get Margo to send you the details. You haven’t seen him at all? I thought it was small where you are.”

  “No,” she said. “Nobody sees him, as far as I can tell.”

  “What else do you know about him? Have you spoken to everyone? Don’t tell them what you’re doin
g.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  There was a pause, and Flora swore to herself for saying something so stupid. He let out a weary sigh.

  “I’ll get Margo to send you the flight details.”

  There was only one flight a day, but Flora didn’t bother pointing that out. Nervously, she headed to the kitchen. Maybe she could dig out another recipe . . . make something to calm herself down.

  Flora made the five-minute drive to the airport in the farm Land Rover. She hadn’t driven in so long, she had to refamiliarize herself with the heavy gears. Also, policing was light on Mure, always had been. Nobody was ever terribly concerned about kids driving without a license at fourteen or so; they were needed to help out on the farms and that was that. As a result, Flora had more or less bumped through her driving test with a very distracted examiner in Fort William, and then proceeded not to drive at all for ten years. It was a challenge, to say the least.

  “Where’s he staying, this posh boss of yours?” Fintan had asked as she left, genuinely interested. “You’re not bringing him here, are you?”

  Flora spluttered.

  “Ha! No.”

  The idea of Joel walking through the door in his handmade suit and leather shoes was completely mad. She couldn’t even imagine it; it would be like two worlds colliding, then instantly vaporizing in a cloud of dust.

  “Is the Rock not finished?” she asked.

  Fintan frowned.

  “No. It’s been a disgrace. He’s used no local workers at all, everything flown in. It’s going to be an eyesore.”

  The Rock was the fabled Colton Rogers hotel that was meant to be bringing investment to the island and providing jobs, and so far had done neither of those things.

  “But he’s still building it? He says it’s nearly finished.”

  “Well, it’s been finished without us.”

  Fintan looked at her.

  “Are you defending a baddie, Flora?”

  “You don’t know much about the law,” said Flora.

  Fintan tutted.

  “Right, sorry, I forgot you London types know everything. Fuds.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Fintan shrugged.

  “I said we need more suds. Soap powder.”

  “FINTAN!”

  And their temporary truce was broken.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At least it was a day that showed Mure at its very best. Clouds raced across the sky as if in a sped-up film, and the wind blew fresh, but if you could find a calm corner, the sun popped in and out every two minutes so you could enjoy the changing light on the water and the streaks of gold across the hills. It was absolutely lovely, and still early enough in the season that they weren’t overrun by Lycra-clad climbers, or concerned naturalists, or lost tourists.

  Flora had put on one of her work suits, and the boys had teased and laughed at her. Sure enough, within ten seconds her tights were totally spattered with mud. She frowned.

  “This place is ridiculous.”

  “Dress properly,” said Fintan, who was wearing trousers that appeared to be tied with string.

  Flora looked at him.

  “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

  He sighed and sagged a little.

  “Yeah, yeah, all right.”

  He headed off.

  “AND STOP SAYING ‘FUDS’!” Flora yelled after him, but he didn’t turn around.

  Flora had noticed, once she’d done her hair in her old mirror—she’d tried to plug in her straightener but had blown all the fuses and had lots of people shouting at her—that her skin, normally a little sallow from late nights and long days under fluorescent lighting, was looking pink and healthy; she had some color in her cheeks where she was normally so pale. She added the mascara she used religiously—otherwise her eyelashes had no color in them at all—and rubbed some lip gloss on, her heart beating anxiously. Kai had called earlier that morning.

  “The big man’s flying in!”

  “I know!”

  “The two of you. By yourselves.”

  “Shut up.”

  Flora was already quite nervous enough. Kai paused and lowered his voice.

  “Look,” he said, even though he knew it was completely futile. “Don’t lose your head, okay? He’s still your boss. He’s not allowed to sleep with you. And if he did, it would only be because he was waiting for room service or something, okay?”

  “Kai!”

  “What? Come on, I’m just saying. He only dates really really hungry-looking women with spiky heels and yellow hair. They could all be the same woman, except he gets older and they stay twenty-two. I’m just saying, because you’re away together . . . don’t do anything daft you’ll hate yourself for. And if Human Resources get to hear about it . . . I mean, you know what pricks they are.”

  “That’s because you slept with two people in HR.”

  “And they were pricks about it!”

  Flora sighed.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe that would be okay, and if we had a one-night stand I’d get him out of my system and that would be fine.”

  “Flors! How is that you? You don’t do one-night stands! You don’t do anything spontaneously! You’ve been considering dyeing your hair since I knew you. And I’ve known you for three years! Just dye your hair!”

  “It could work!”

  “The silver, probably not. Some marine blue, maybe . . .”

  “No, I mean me and Joel.”

  “Listen to yourself!”

  “What’s stupid about it? I really fancy him, we sleep together, then I never think about it again.”

  “That’s not you.”

  “Well, maybe you’re very wrong about me.”

  Kai paused, then sighed.

  “Yeah. Maybe. How’s everything else? Still awful?”

  Flora was about to agree vociferously. Then she glanced up.

  “Actually,” she said, looking out of the window as the sun caught on the fells. Bramble had limped over to the sunniest patch on the floor and was following it around the room.

  She smiled.

  “Ah, you know. What’s it like down there?”

  “Scorching. Everything smells of barbecues and garbage.”

  “That sounds great,” said Flora, glancing around. There was a windsurfer in the harbor, whipping across the waves, bouncing up and down, racing with the wind.

  “Also,” said Kai triumphantly, “how would you buy condoms? If Mure is as teeny-tiny as they say, it’d be all round the village in five seconds.”

  “I think Joel probably carries them,” said Flora, feeling herself blush bright pink at the very idea.

  Kai sighed.

  “He probably does too. He probably gets a massive discount for bulk-buying them. To hold in all his skanky diseases!”

  They both laughed.

  “Honestly, nothing is going to happen,” said Flora. “He has no idea who I am. He’ll probably only stay half a day. And now I have to go and fetch him.”

  “Good,” said Kai. “Good. Flora, I know we joke about it, but . . . it’s not just that he’s your boss. He’s a wonderful lawyer. But I think he’s cruel. I’ve seen him with clients. And you don’t deserve that.”

  But Flora was temporarily lost in a vision of his cruel lips crushed up against hers, and could only nod as she hung up.

  She’d set off from the farm when she saw the little prop plane begin its descent, knowing that that would take exactly the right amount of time. It was making a bumpy landing as she jolted over the potholes on the old road. She imagined him walking off the plane, stopping short, realizing he’d never really noticed the admin girl in the acquisitions department before, coming to a whole new conclusion about her as the scales fell from his eyes . . .

  “Right, there you are.”

  He was staring at his phone rather than her, trying to connect to something.

  Even in a ridiculous tin shed at the end of th
e world, he looked like he’d just stepped off a private jet. It was hard to imagine him out of a suit, really; she’d never seen him dressed casually, not at the firm’s Christmas party (which she hated; she’d spend hours getting ready, then hover near him as he socialized with the partners and flashed brief smiles at the crowd of support staff also all done up to the nines and also all trying to hover close to him, before he left after an hour or so to go somewhere more glamorous), not on Friday afternoons in the summer, never. She couldn’t even imagine what he looked like with his tie loosened, although she wanted to, very much.

  “The car’s just there,” she said, hoping that she hadn’t gone too pink.

  Joel strode toward the Land Rover, the wind catching him slightly off guard as they left the airport building.

  “Is it always this cold?” he said.

  Flora hadn’t thought it was the least bit cold. She must be adjusting, she realized. She shook her head.

  “Oh no. It gets much much worse than this.”

  Joel half nodded, then opened the door of the Land Rover and got in.

  They both paused for a second. He’d gotten in on the driver’s side.

  Flora decided that the best thing under the circumstances, the circumstances being that he was her boss, was simply to go along with it, so she got in on the other side.

  It was very rare to see Joel flustered about anything.

  “Um . . . I got in the wrong side,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Flora.

  “In the States . . . this is the passenger side.”

  “Yes, but you live in the UK, don’t you?”

  There was a pause as Flora realized what they both already knew: he never sat in the front seat of a car. It was only because the Land Rover didn’t have a backseat.

  “You can drive if you like,” she said, smiling. Joel didn’t smile; he clearly felt on the wrong foot.

  “No, no,” he said.

  “You can if you like,” said Flora, wondering how on earth they’d gotten themselves into this awkward situation.