The business unit manager for her department, David Shaw, stood up to speak next and boasted about the increase in his sections sales. “And, in particular, I’d like to mention the dessert section which has increased our sales this year by nearly 60% which is largely due to Katie Wilkinson and her team,” he said proudly smiling across at Katie.
Her heart soared with happiness and she could feel her cheeks flush as everyone turned to look at them and began to clap. Katie grinned back at everyone and then silently mouthed the words, ‘thank you’ at Francis, Harry, and Alice for all their hard work.
When the speeches were over she stood next to David, discussing some of his new ideas and while she was making sure he knew that she was one hundred per cent behind the campaign, the chief executive approached them with a young man she hadn’t seen before. He was tall and slim with a slick young Tom Cruise look about him and wore a ‘look at me I’m stinking rich and don’t I know it’, expression on his face.
“David!” the chief exec boomed in his loud penetrating voice and shook his hand vigorously, “I’d like to introduce my nephew, Alex.”
David’s face flushed with the recognition, and the friendly greeting - he shook Alex’s hand.
Katie gave the chief exec her warmest smile as David said in reply, “This is Katie Wilkinson, my product development team leader in the dessert section.”
Alex reached across his uncle to take her hand and grasped it so roughly that she almost squealed with shock. He was squeezing her hand so hard she felt her pearl ring digging into her little finger.
“Alexander Jennings,” he said staring intently at her and for one split-second Katie could see in his eyes that he knew just how much pain he was causing to her fingers. Defiantly she met his intense stare and without losing his eye contact she managed to slide her hand out of his vice-like grip. While David was talking to them both she put her hands behind her back and rubbed her stinging finger. Although she felt like wincing in pain, the smile she’d plastered to her face never flagged.
Alex asked. “So you must be the sweet stuff in the section, are you?”
Katie’s mind raced, who was this guy and what on earth was he doing here? She realised the chief exec was staring at her and David was staring at Alex with a mixture of puzzlement and apprehension.
“Sweet stuff. Dessert? Get it?” Alex asked and the three men laughed loudly at the pathetic pun. She could tell David’s laughter was mixed with relief that Katie hadn’t been affronted by the sexist connotations in the comment and that she hadn’t retaliated, and she knew the chef exec was probably too old and naïve to understand the hidden insult. As Alex bored them all with tales from his time at Cambridge University she wondered where he worked and why the chief exec had brought him - he looked more suited to posing in adverts for Calvin Klein boxer shorts than working in food retail. Maybe he worked for one of their competitors like Marks & Spencer or Waitrose she wondered, and found herself staring uncontrollably at him.
In between her and Alex a young waitress with trembling hands managed to topple two glasses of champagne on her tray, and while Katie smiled reassuringly at her and helped her upturn one of the glasses, she noticed Alex sneering arrogantly at the young girl as though she was a piece of dirt under his shoe.
Hmm, what an idiot he really was, she thought, and for the first time that night she was pleased Tim wasn’t with her because he wouldn’t have been able to hide his contempt for this guy. It wasn’t often she took an instant dislike to anyone but she had with Alex and was pleased when, with a joke from the chef exec about how he was trying to get Alex to join the company and make them all pots of lovely money, they said their farewells and moved away to talk to another group of managers. Katie and David were stunned into an uncomfortable silence with neither of them wanting to say exactly what was on their minds. So, mumbling about getting a proper drink of whisky, David headed off to the bar and she re-joined her friends at the table.
After dancing, drinking her fill of champagne, and smiling until her cheeks ached she said to Francis, “Gosh, it’s nearly midnight. I’m going to get a taxi and make a push for home. I don’t want too much of a hang-over in the morning. Can I drop you off first?”
Francis had just returned from the dance floor with Harry where she’d been trying to teach him a jive. Failing miserably they’d had everyone laughing hysterically. Her face was bright red with the exertion and she was sweating profusely, the sleeves on her flowing kaftan-style dress had ridden up exposing her fat puffy arms and Katie gently patted them back down into place.
Heaving in and out she tried to catch her breath. “No, Katie, I’m OK, thanks. Think I’ll cool down a little and have another drink,” she said gulping down a glass of water.
As Katie waited in the foyer overlooking the spectacular view of the Thames she felt her exuberant mood flatten, thinking about Tim, and when she climbed into the back of the taxi it dawned upon her that probably for the first time since they’d met she wasn’t actually looking forward to seeing him. She sank gratefully into the seat and rested her head back, silently groaning at the thought of the inevitable argument that would take place later where she’d accuse him of letting her down again and he’d chant out the same old excuses. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be and it certainly wasn’t like this in all the chick-lit novels she read. The heroines in the books were full of spirit and determination to fight for their men, and a couple of months ago she too had been like that. But now, after trying to hang-on in there, all she felt was bone-weary. Pep talks from Lisa and Sarah about how Bridget Jones wouldn’t roll over and accept Tim’s bad behaviour made her smile and when the taxi pulled up outside their apartment she took a deep breath to bolster herself for what lay ahead, paid the driver and entered their front door.
They always kept their keys in the glass bowl on the small hall table and because it was empty she knew he wasn’t home from the restaurant. She decided to go straight to bed and try to fall asleep before he got back. This way, she decided, they wouldn’t continue the argument where they’d left off earlier. Then, remembering his words about keeping the dress on, she slipped it over her head and chucked it rebelliously into the laundry basket before climbing under the soft white duvet.
Closing her eyes, she tried to empty her mind, hoping sleep would take over but thoughts about Tim and their relationship tumbled around mercilessly. How could things have gone so badly wrong in a couple of months? And, although he was making it damned hard for her with his dreadful behaviour, compared to when they’d first moved in together, she still loved him to bits. Or did she? And, was it just the memory of the former Tim that she was still in love with?
Knowing it wasn’t just her that he was being horrible to helped a little as his family were also complaining about his attitude. She remembered last week when his sister, Jenny, had called him an arrogant, selfish prat, and his father, who was a man of few words, had sadly shook his head in disappointment at him. But when they’d got home and she’d wanted to talk about it, because secretly she agreed with Jenny, he’d simply shrugged his shoulders and denied any wrong doing. At the moment it seemed to be everyone else’s fault in Tim’s eyes.
Turning onto her side, and in an attempt to pin-point exactly when it had started she thought over the last few months week by week and decided the changes had begun more or less from the first week in his new job as head chef at the restaurant, and although she knew how hard he’d worked for the promotion and certainly deserved it, she hated the way the pressure of work seemed to be changing his personality. And he’d had such a lovely personality when they’d first met she thought dreamily, sinking her cheek further into the duck-down, soft pillow.
She let her mind wander through the first week they’d got together, remembering how lovely, kind, and down to earth he’d been. They’d met through Frances at work and it had been, if not love, then lust at first sight, and by the end of their first date when he’d stared at her with those penetratin
g green eyes and devoured her mouth with the most passionate snog she’d ever had, she’d known he was going to be very special. She’d never kissed anyone like that before and remembered how her lips had felt on fire, and how she’d wanted to go on kissing him forever. In fact, she’d been so engrossed in the kiss that without realising it she’d started to slide from the edge of the leather settee and he’d caught her just in time to stop her falling. Afterwards, she couldn’t remember how or when she’d wrapped her legs around his body, because her mind had stopped thinking altogether and she’d been so completely caught up in the exquisite pleasure of feeling that she was part of him and he was part of her.
But now, although the sex was still fantastic, it was the loving tenderness that seemed to be missing. Was this what happened to couples when they’d lived together for a while? Maybe it was a classic case of the honeymoon period being well and truly over. Deciding this was definitely a question for Sarah and Lisa on Saturday, she heard his key in the door.
“Hey, gorgeous, thought you’d be wearing your little black dress for me,” he whispered into her ear while she felt him cradle her back with his body. His feet were cold when he selfishly wrapped them around hers, and she could smell red wine on his breath, so she lay very still, breathing deeply and hoped he would think she was asleep. It worked and she felt him pull her further into his body and start to lightly snore. Christ, if anyone would have told her six months ago that she’d be doing this she’d have laughed in their faces. But she wasn’t laughing now; she moaned softly and felt a tear leak out of the side of her eye.
Chapter Two
Sunday had always been their special time together because it was Tim’s only free day from the restaurant and they usually had breakfast in bed, read the Sunday papers, and enjoyed making love at least once, sometimes twice. But when she woke, realised what day it was and felt him stirring beside her she wished it was Monday morning and she could run out to work. She didn’t feel like being romantic and sexy because she was still too hurt and annoyed and knew there was bound to be a quarrel about last night. A slight headache and dry mouth reminded her how much champagne she’d drunk and she tried to ease herself out of bed quietly to get a glass of water.
“And where do you think you’re going?” he drawled seductively, wrapping his legs around her.
She wriggled herself free. “Tim, I’ve a mouth like a sand pit and need the loo.”
“OK, but hurry back, I need you desperately.”
“Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath going into the bathroom. Filling the tumbler with water she gulped greedily. You would think his first words would be an apology about missing the party but this had happened so many times lately she knew exactly what was coming next. He would make love to her and promise faithfully not to let her down again. He would apologise that his job was taking up all of his time but that as soon as the restaurant was running smoothly things would get back to normal.
God, how many times had she heard that speech, she wondered, pulling a long T-shirt over her head, then collecting the newspapers at the front door. Heading into the kitchen she decided with a lonely social life like this she might as well be single again and then opened a text on her mobile from Sarah. Sarah had heard from Lisa that Tim didn’t go to the Savoy and there were words of consolation and support with a suggestion of meeting on Tuesday night for dinner.
She quickly agreed via text and then heard Tim calling again from the bedroom. “I’m coming,” she yelled back, putting coffee and toast onto a tray and then tucking the papers under her arm. But this time, she thought, heading back to the bedroom they were going to talk properly and it wouldn’t include love making instead of a proper apology and explanation. If she didn’t make some kind of stand with him now this was never going to stop.
Setting the tray down next to the bed he dived for The Sunday Times supplement and began scouring the food articles and recipes. While sipping her coffee she looked at his sleepy face and tousled hair and how he chewed on his bottom lip with concentration while he read. She’d grown to love the familiar sight of him and his little quirks but because there was still no apology forthcoming she began to munch her way through slices of hot buttered toast.
Suddenly he threw the magazine aside as though he’d just remembered she was there. “Hungry?” he mused, roaming his hand languidly up the side of her thigh.
She tried to pull her shirt down hoping he’d take the hint that she wasn’t interested and opened the first page of the newspaper. “Tim, my head’s thumping,” she lied, and then, probably for the first time ever, she could feel her insides flinch at the touch of his hand - she actually felt quite turned off by him.
His dark thick hair flopped over his eyebrow. He ran his hand through it then pulled himself up onto his elbow, resting his head on his hand, looking down at her. “You’ve had hangovers before and it’s never stopped you?” he appealed.
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to this morning, OK?”
He sat up further, grunted and raised an eyebrow then glared at her. “I suppose this is because of last night?”
She shrugged her shoulders in reply and shook the paper irritably. She was being childish and she knew it but suddenly she felt weary of the same situation. And so very tired of always being the one to give in and make things better.
“Look, it’s like I told you,” he said munching into a piece of toast. “I just couldn’t walk away and leave them to it now, could I?”
Oh here we go, she thought, he sounded so blasé as though it meant absolutely nothing to him. Wearily she said, “Not now, Tim. I can’t face another argument. I just want to have breakfast in peace.”
He wrapped one leg over her and ran a hand lightly over her breast. “But there’s no need to argue,” he crooned. “And we can talk at the same time.”
Tweaking her nipple between his fingers, he said, “Sure I can’t tempt you?” Involuntarily she recoiled and stiffened at his touch. His eyes widened with surprise and she could tell by his slight gasp of breath that it had shocked him. The cocky, self-assured smile left his face and was replaced by a deep scowl. He stared hard and questioningly at her while she could tell he was trying to digest what had just happened.
At last, she thought avoiding his probing eyes and feeling pleased that her refusal had eventually had some kind of reaction. Turning away from him she spread the newspaper out on the bed.
“OK. Please your bloody self,” he uttered angrily and chucking back the duvet he climbed out of bed and strode into the bathroom.
Since the day she’d met him they’d only ever had a couple of what she’d call tiffs, not arguments, and he’d been huffy for a few minutes and then got over himself but this time she wasn’t too sure what would happen. His mum had told her how he’d always been huffy when he was a little boy if he didn’t get his own way and Katie had avoided situations since then that would allow him to stop speaking.
But, she thought truculently, he wasn’t a little boy now and she had to stop giving in to him just to keep the peace. Huffiness however, wasn’t in her nature and she remembered during her childhood how her father had decreed he wouldn’t tolerate her or her two brothers not speaking to each other. If there was an argument it was sorted out and forgiven and forgotten.
She heard the shower burst into life in the bathroom and she snuggled further under the quilt wondering how to turn the situation around so they could talk in a calm and rational manner about last night. Maybe she should start by asking him exactly what had happened in the restaurant and why he couldn’t have put her first for once. But suddenly he came back into the bedroom and pulled on jogger bottoms and tugged his running vest out of the drawer.
“Tim…” she said quietly, but he didn’t answer and left the room. The only sound she heard was the slam of the front door.
Oh well, maybe a good run will help his mood she thought looking around the room and smiling with pleasure at the sun shining through the white voile drapes
– it seemed to dance off the lime green duvet. The walls were painted in soft pastel colours and with a thick white carpet it was both relaxing and, as her mum had put it, very easy on the eye. She knew she would never tire of the colour scheme they’d chosen.
The telephone ringing interrupted her thoughts and she smiled as she heard Tim’s mum, Lynne, on the line. Quickly, Lynne told her their friends had cancelled at the last minute for Sunday lunch and she wondered if they wanted to come and help eat the massive beef joint she’d cooked. Katie explained that Tim was out for a run but as they didn’t have any plans for the day she was sure it would be fine.
She was just getting out of the shower when Tim returned and wrapping a towel around herself she caught up with him in the hall. He was leaning forward with his hands on his knees taking huge deep breaths with beads of sweat running down his forehead.
Making a conscious effort to be pleasant, she asked, “Good run?”
He nodded his head and looked up at her with a sideways glance.
“Your mum called and asked us over for Sunday lunch,” she said. “Apparently she has enough beef to feed an army.”
Straightening up he wiped his face with the bottom of his vest. “That figures. Do you want to go?”
She smiled. “Well, we don’t have much food in the kitchen…”
“Fine, I’ll ring her back,” he mumbled.
Feeling much brighter now that they were at least speaking to each other she hoped that with a few lunch-time drinks inside him he would put this morning behind him. The best time to talk would be when they got home early evening she decided and she was determined this time to get everything sorted out properly. Tugging 60 denier black tights up her legs she frowned - this plan however, did have its own draw-backs because she knew the minute they got home he’d be opening a bottle of wine. And, as she hurried out into the hall, where he was waiting for her, another thought struck her – was his regular drinking becoming a problem?
Yes Chef, No Chef Page 2