Yes Chef, No Chef

by Willis, Susan

  God, what on earth was she doing? she thought, feeling her stomach churn when she saw him striding down the street towards her.

  He arrived slightly out of breath and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Not late, am I?” he asked anxiously.

  “Not at all,” she said, “I'm a couple of minutes early.”

  He took hold of her hand and hurried her through the doors. Her hand felt tiny inside one of his which made her acutely aware of her short height and small frame, they certainly were a strange match, she decided, as the waiter settled them at a table and she began to relax in his company.

  “Well, my delectable lady in red, what do you fancy?” he asked. “I'm going to have a sirloin steak.”

  She giggled. “That’s a bit of a busman's holiday, isn't it?”

  “Maybe,” he said, beaming in pleasure at her. “But this place does cook the best steak in town and even though I spend all day cutting meat I still love eating it.”

  He ordered a bottle of Australian red wine, to which she nodded her agreement and then told the waiter he'd like his steak to be cooked rare. She watched his hands tear a hunk of bread into pieces and dreamily told the waiter she’d have the same.

  Smiling at the proud and happy grin on his face she chatted about the benefits of self-employment, and told him briefly about Tim. And just when he was explaining how his wife was away for the week their food arrived.

  Heavens, she thought, she’d certainly read this situation wrong and how stupid of her not to even wonder if he was married.

  He must have noticed her hesitancy because he touched the side of her arm. “She’ll be gone for good shortly because we are in the process of splitting up,” he said and frowned.

  She couldn’t think of anything to say back without being intrusive and looked down at their food. On his plate was a large, thick steak which was grilled and browned to perfection on the outside and when he cut into it the bloody juices ran out and onto the plate.

  He brightened and smiled at her. “Fabulous!” he declared chewing his first mouthful. “Juicy and tender - just as it should be and the flavour, mmm...”

  She took his lead and relaxed her shoulders determined to enjoy the meal. Her steak was so tender her knife sliced through easily and she agreed enthusiastically with him about the fantastic flavour.

  “You see, the sirloin is cut from the top blade of the cow and has a more intense taste,” he explained swirling the wine in his glass. “And of course, this wine is superb with it.”

  She agreed that the richness of the red wine complimented the steak and knew he was enjoying it as much as she was. He was the perfect dinner guest, his stories were funny and his manners were impeccable, and the sight of the small cheese knife held gracefully in his hand brought a lump to her throat. Why on earth did she feel so emotional about this man?

  “Coffee at mine?” he asked.

  She agreed and although she knew she'd had too much to drink and a tiny voice in the back of her mind urged caution because he was a married man, she climbed into the back of the taxi with him promising herself she’d leave after a quick coffee.

  They crept in the dark along the path to his back door and giggled like naughty schoolchildren while he struggled with the key in the lock. She walked into the lounge behind him and after switching on a small lamp he turned and kissed her deeply. His lips tasted of the steak and red wine and she moaned in delight when his big hands began to roam her body. Clinging to him in unashamed desperation with her heart thumping and desire flooding through her from head to toe, he picked her up in his arms and carried her like a little girl upstairs to his bed. He began peeling her clothes off and groaned in pleasure as he undid her bra.

  “They're really too big for the rest of my body,” she said shyly. “I'm sort of top heavy.

  “They're unbelievable, just like the rest of you,” he murmured, and cupped one each into his massive hands. He squeezed and caressed them until she thought she'd cry with pleasure and ecstasy of his touch.

  From somewhere in her drunken haze an image of Tim’s face came to her and suddenly she felt anxious and full of doubt. Was she ready to do this with another man? And yes, she had physical needs the same as everyone else, but maybe if she needed time to think whether it was right or wrong, then...

  Doug sensed her hesitation and pulled back. "You, OK?" he asked running his hand through her soft hair.

  "I'm not sure,” she said miserably. “You’ll think I’m stupid but suddenly I thought of Tim and well..."

  He pulled her closer into his broad strong chest. "No, I don't think you're stupid. I feel a bit like that myself," he explained, and told her how his wife had long since stopped any physical contact with him and had been sleeping in their spare bedroom. “And although I know my marriage is basically on its last legs this is the first time I’ve even considered being unfaithful.”

  She nuzzled into him relishing the safe and secure intimacy of his big body. "It's hard, isn't it?" she asked, "I mean, trying to move forward when there’s still a part of you stuck in the past, and even though I know Tim isn’t living like a monk it doesn't mean to say it's right for me, I suppose?"

  One of his huge hands slid down the length of her back and massaged her until she could feel her eyelids drooping. She was completely and utterly relaxed. "It's just all so confusing, because I really do fancy you, but..."

  She heard his breathing become shallow and all his chest muscles relax, and deciding he must be dozing off to sleep she closed her eyes, let the alcohol effects take over and surrendered herself into darkness.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Who the bloody hell did she think she was? Tim raged jumping into the Chevrolet and saw flour from the dough on the side of his jeans. He brushed it off tutting with irritation and swung the car away from the outside of her flat to head down Grafton Road at great speed.

  Her accusation about Julie had hit a raw nerve and was still ringing in his ears when he got back to the restaurant. Breathing deeply to calm himself down he wondered exactly where Sarah had seen him. But there again, he’d been so drunk that night she could have been in the restaurant when they were eating, or even outside where he’d been kissing Miss Cupcake.

  The smell of cooked turkey wafted from the kitchen and Simon stood at the bench when he walked up to him clapping him on the back.

  They examined the turkey together and Simon grinned enthusiastically. “It looks great, chef.”

  Jessie stepped up to the bench and admired their handy work and Tim caught their excitement. “Well, as they say the proof is in the pudding,” he said. “Knife, please, Jessie.”

  Tim carved the front of the bird cleanly and swiftly into thick slices and they all took a chunk to taste. The texture was moist, the traditional turkey flavour was excellent, and to make sure the duck and goose meat ran from one end to the other he carved right through the centre of the turkey. Simon wrapped some of the slices in pastry, brushed them with egg wash, and Jessie put them straight into the pre-heated oven.

  “Oh Tim,” she said eagerly, “It’s going to make a great centrepiece for the royal banquet.”

  Tim was back to his general good humour and agreed with her while making notes with Simon about the merits of duchess potatoes verses roast potatoes. Tim’s mobile rang and he walked away from them back to his office.

  The call was from Luke who briefly told him because the Yorkshire company didn’t want to lose him they were arranging a transfer to a small branch near Notting Hill and, because he had holiday to take he’d be coming in less than a week. Tim was overjoyed that Luke had agreed to stay with him in the apartment, and not just for his company, because it meant that with a small amount of rent from him he could, for the foreseeable future, stay in the apartment. He made a mental note to ask his mum to send her cleaner across to spruce up the single bedroom.

  When he lay in bed that night he thought about kneading the dough with Kate and how fantastic it had been to be so cl
ose to her gorgeous body again. It had felt familiar, yet at the same time still made him feel randy as hell, and from what he could remember from his drunken escapade with Miss Cupcake he knew she didn’t come anywhere close to what he’d had with Kate. Unable to sleep he turned onto his side and punched the pillow - it was obvious that Kate thought the worst of him now and who could blame her after hearing about Julie. He figured that Sarah must have seen them kissing outside the restaurant because Kate had taken such offence to it and he’d heard a smidgen of jealousy in her accusing voice. Which was silly because in the past she’d had no reason to doubt his feelings for her - he’d been utterly captivated by Kate from the first time he saw her.

  He’d met her with Frances at a party and had been blown away with her natural and carefree manner, her glossy thick hair, tanned slim legs, and full breasts straining against a tightly buttoned cream shirt. And the first night he’d made love to her he’d thought their bodies seemed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, but sadly now there was a corner piece missing and he didn’t know how to find it and put it back together again.

  “Maybe I should have tried to explain about Julie but I just felt so hurt and angry when she obviously believed the worst of me straight away and I figured making excuses would have made me look even guiltier?” he said to Luke while they were squatting on the lounge floor with cans of lager. He’d arrived an hour ago and had dumped his case, bags, and rucksack on the floor while they’d flopped down to have a drink and catch up.

  Luke rested back on his rucksack. “Yeah, but why feel guilty, mate? I mean, its ages since you two split up and officially you’re a free agent.”

  “I know, but funnily enough even though I know it’s all over between us I just can’t bear the thought of her disliking me?”

  Luke got up on his knees and clapped a friendly hand on Tim’s shoulder. “I’ll get this lot put away in the bedroom,” he said, and then stared at him through his rimless glasses. “Do you want her back, Tim?”

  Tim looked up at his friend, slowly nodded, and said wistfully, “I’d give anything I own to have her back…”

  The next day in the restaurant Jack appeared in his office with exciting news. A food critic was coming to the restaurant the following week to taste Tim’s new Victorian dishes and his comments were going to be included in an article in The Telegraph advertising the royal wedding banquet. Jessie was just about hopping up and down on one leg with excitement when he told them about it.

  Tim looked seriously at her. “Jessie, they say that a messy kitchen is a happy kitchen but I don’t even want to see a smile on this kitchens face.”

  Jessie looked dumbly at him and Simon said to her, “Duh …he means the kitchen has got to be spotless!”

  “Oh right,” she said sheepishly. “You can count on me, Tim.”

  “And get some agency help booked because I want every cupboard and chiller turned out and scrubbed, and the use-by-dates on all the spices and condiments, in fact, on everything double checked.”

  She sighed heavily at the amount of extra work but then he put an arm along her shoulder. “Thank God, I’ve got you two because quite frankly I couldn’t manage without you both,” he said sincerely and she flushed pink cheeked with pride

  And then it was time for Simon’s face to beam with pleasure when Tim asked him to concentrate solely on the new dishes with him, and leave the everyday menu to the other two chefs.

  “One chef,” Jessie corrected him.

  Tim looked blankly at her and raised an eyebrow in confusion. “One?”

  “Yeah, Geoff, the oldest guy is touring India on holiday for two weeks, he leaves this Friday. Didn’t you know?”

  Tim couldn’t believe it and after getting to the bottom of the story he found out that Jack had honoured his holidays at the interview but of course hadn’t told him about them. Great, that’s all he needed, he raged, one chef down for the important visit, but it was do-able he’d just have to be especially well organised and hopefully Simon would work some extra hours.

  At the beginning of the following week disaster struck when his other new chef was involved in a car accident. Jessie told him the news that he had a fractured pelvis and was on six weeks bed rest in the hospital.

  Sitting at his desk Tim put his head in his hands and groaned, “Christ, it’s two steps forward and bloody three steps back at the moment.”

  “We’ll be OK,” Jessie said positively. “We’ll just have to get an agency chef to help?”

  Flipping open his diary to look for telephone numbers, he said, “I’ll start to ring around now and see who’s available. I’ve got five days to find another chef.”

  By the end of the lunch time service he still hadn’t found anyone and had heard the same excuse over and over again that all the good chefs were tied up and he was trying desperately not to panic.

  Could they do it, he wondered? Could he and Simon cope with the set lunch time menus and the new Victorian dishes too? He was determined to talk to Jack later to see if he could get a pay rise for Simon because as a commis chef he was struggling on a low salary and his commitment to the business definitely warranted a pay rise.

  Later that night Jenny called into the apartment, she said, “Well, Bro, if I was any good at cooking I’d come along to help you?”

  Tim made a sign of a cross guarding against her offer to which they both roared with laughter. Remembering an occasion when they were students and she’d tried to bake a cake which had all gone horribly wrong, he joked, “Er, thanks but no thanks.”

  Jenny had started to call at the apartment once a week now to see him and although they still had the odd tiny spat they were getting along so much better which pleased him greatly. He loved having the support from his big sister now and at one time where he’d resented her and confused this support with interference, he now thought of her as one of his biggest allies.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Katie had crept home at five o'clock in the morning after waking up still wrapped in Doug's chest and with one of his huge hands resting on her thigh. For one split second she'd thought she was with Tim and a tear had leaked from the corner of her eye while she’d begun to focus on the memories from the night before. Quietly she’d untangled herself, gathered her clothes from the floor and guiltily left a scribbled note on the window ledge. She knew it was bad form to run out but simply couldn't help it; all she wanted to do was get home and consoled herself with the fact that she could ring and apologise later.

  The water from the shower was steaming hot when it pounded down onto her scalp making her wince but she wanted to vigorously scrub her body and hair and wished the shower gel could clean away the memory of last night from her mind too. Wrapped snugly in a big bath towel she stepped over the earlier discarded red dress and underwear lying in a heap on the floor and crawled onto the bed. Her hair was still wet and she knew it would be frizzy later if she didn’t style it, but at the moment all she could think of was trying to sleep the drunken, guilt-fuelled memories away.

  Feeling refreshed after a few hours’ sleep, a pot of coffee and warm croissants inside her, she made the call.

  “Doug, I’m so sorry for running out on you this morning. I panicked which was silly and just felt desperate to get home,” she said and could hear him pause in consideration.

  “It’s OK, Katie. You not being here probably spared me some embarrassment too.”

  They talked briefly and decided that being friends would be the best solution, he would settle her account online, and when the prints of the recipe leaflets were ready he'd send her some copies.

  Relieved and feeling much better she rang Lisa and Sarah to change the venue from lunch at the bistro, to her flat which would allow her the whole morning to assemble the picnic hamper for her next booking.

  Michael’s friend, John, was in a bit of a predicament. His ex-wife had agreed to go on a date with him and he was taking her for a romantic picnic in the countryside. Until last month, they�
��d had no contact since their divorce but had bumped into each other at an old friend’s wedding, and surprisingly had spent the whole day together without one argument or recrimination. It was the end of the evening when they’d smooched the last dance together, John had realised he was still in love and desperately wanted to be with her again.

  Katie had agreed to make and supply the full contents of the picnic hamper where all he would have to do is collect it, and return the empty hamper the following day. She’d bought a luxury wicker hamper deciding it would be a good investment for future bookings and when she lifted the hamper from the box and opened the lid she was suitably impressed with the inside contents. Utensils, plates, crystal wine glasses, and white cloth napkins were all neatly fastened with leather straps and she was sure John would like it. He'd told her in his email that he knew this type of thing was important to women and he was determined to make a good impression because he wanted to establish a better track record than when they were first married.

  Grinning to herself, she put the chilled bottle of Pinot Chardonnay into the ice cooler, and wondered, not for the first time, where men got their monster egos from – maybe it was something mothers instilled into them at nursery age. She'd known John from school and hanging about with Michael, and although he was an average looking guy he was hardly Brad Pitt, she thought looking in the fridge at the delicacies she'd made the day before.

  She’d baked small, roasted white onion tarts, and had bought chicken liver & brandy parfait, venison & wild mushroom terrine, smoked oat cakes, buffalo mozzarella, and the piece de resistance - Strawberries Grand Marnier. Remembering at the last minute she took some of the saffron bread from the freezer and was stifling down the memories of kneading the dough with Tim when she heard a knock at the door. It couldn’t be John this early, could it, she thought hurrying along the hall to open the door.

  Lisa stood on the step looking forlorn. "The showers at the gym aren’t working and it’ll take me ages to go over to Pimlico and back..."