Springtime at the Cider Kitchen

by Fay Keenan

  ‘Just?’ Caroline echoed. ‘That’s quite a lot to do if you’re working in terms of weeks rather than months.’ Despite being off duty for the weekend her events management head was ticking. It was all very well converting a building but a new business venture was always risky, even with the backing of a huge company like Carter’s Cider.

  ‘You don’t know the Carters very well yet, do you? If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s driving projects through.’

  Caroline tried not to be too impressed by his zeal. ‘And do you and your brother actually know anything about running a restaurant? Or is this just another empire building exercise?’

  ‘Well,’ Jonathan conceded, ‘we are going to need someone to mastermind the day to day running of the project. After all, the concept is an obvious one, but the execution of it is what will take the time and the effort. Anna’s been helping us out with her knowledge of local trends from the tea shop, but we’re looking for someone to come in and manage the place as soon as possible.’

  ‘It would definitely be worth getting someone on board now,’ Caroline agreed. ‘After all, this isn’t exactly a kitchen table business, looking at the size of this barn. And I’m guessing that you have a lot of other things to do as well as project managing this particular development.’

  ‘I had intended to get the manager in place before now, ‘Jonathan confessed, ‘but the guy who we’d agreed on got a better offer running a new restaurant in Bristol Harbourside and pulled out a couple of weeks ago. Unfortunately, the contracts weren’t signed, so we lost out.’

  ‘So you’re looking for someone to manage it?’ Caroline said. As she looked through the windows again, at the large, empty space with the beautiful, newly laid pale yellow Bath Stone floor and bare walls, she imagined what it could be, what it could look like in the right hands. In her hands. She’d play on the oak structure of the barn; echo it in the tables and chairs. The light fittings would be wrought iron but not too fussy, chandeliers hanging down from the double height ceiling. Bare tables with simple, starched white napkins and gleaming silver cutlery would make it elegantly simple. On the walls would be framed prints and photographs reflecting the history and heritage of the building. The look would be classic but contemporary, simple and refined. Her fingers suddenly itched to draw up some plans, storyboard some ideas.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Jonathan asked, obviously having noticed the faraway look on Caroline’s face.

  ‘That you’ve got something potentially very special here,’ Caroline replied. ‘And in the right hands it could be a goldmine.’

  ‘That’s what we’re hoping,’ Jonathan said, still studying Caroline’s face. She blushed under the scrutiny.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I tend to slip into professional mode when I see things like this. There’s just so much potential here. Whoever you get to run the place will need first class management skills, coupled with the flair and vision to capture the essence of Somerset within these walls.’

  ‘I really like your passion; you’ve understood exactly what we’re trying to do, even though you’ve only just seen the barn.’ Jonathan was regarding her intently. ‘And your response to it is absolutely what I hoped you’d say.’

  Caroline stopped in her tracks. ‘Why? What’s it got to do with me?’

  Jonathan put his hands in his pockets and looked up at the recently retiled roof of the barn. ‘Potentially, quite a lot.’ A quick thinker, he was used to making deals on the hoof, and he trusted his own instincts implicitly. ‘How would you like to come on board? We need a talented manager for this place, someone who’s used to working in a high-pressured environment with the creative vision to not just drive a project through but to keep a team motivated and on track. You said you were looking for a change of direction; could this be what you’re looking for?’

  Caroline took an involuntary step back and nearly fell off the path into the gravel. ‘Did you just offer me a new job?’

  ‘Well, you did say you were looking for one.’

  Regaining her footing, Caroline tore her eyes from the building to Jonathan, who seemed all sincerity in the warm glow of the setting sun which was bathing the barn in mellow golden light. ‘But you know virtually nothing about me or my career, except for what we talked about just now. What makes you think I’d be right to run a place like this?’

  ‘I know it all seems a bit sudden but after our conversation yesterday, I did a little bit of homework. You headed up the team that staged the hospitality for last year’s Mercedes concept car launch at Goodwood, and I know those awards you laughed about with Anna were some of the highest accolades you can get in the industry. You’ve made a name for yourself in a very competitive market and you’ve managed to make few, if any, enemies on the way. I think, with your experience and with Carter’s backing, you could make this place a real goldmine. Even if you hadn’t mentioned you were looking for a change of direction, I’d have wanted to head hunt you anyway. What do you say?’

  ‘So you’re telling me that I was on interview for a job I didn’t know existed, at my own dead brother’s wife’s wedding?’ Caroline didn’t know if she felt indignant or flattered, so she settled for the latter. Then something else struck her. ‘And after the wedding? Was that part of the interview, too?’

  Jonathan had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘No. That was strictly personal.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ Caroline smiled wryly. ‘I wouldn’t want to think that our, er, encounter, would have influenced you in this.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Jonathan smiled. ‘But I am serious about the job. Actually, you’d be getting me out of a spot if you’d consider it. It’s the beginning of May already so we’re running to a tight deadline if we’re to get this place open for the start of the summer season, and we need someone to be on board with the project as soon as possible. So if you are interested it would be great to get things firmed up as soon as we can.’

  Caroline looked up at the barn again. It was at that exciting stage where she could visualise the things that she would do to make it beautiful; the shades and colours she’d use to enhance the natural beauty of the building, the little details that would suit a business like this so beautifully. For the first time in several years she tingled with excitement about a potential new project. At the back of her mind a voice was also whispering that if she took on this job, she’d be away from the shadows of her life in Surrey. ‘If I did decide to take on the post, I’d like to do it on a consultancy basis,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent so many years adapting my ideas to suit the clients, that I’d like the autonomy to put my own stamp on a place like this. As manager, I don’t just want to walk into the building once it’s a done deal; I’d like input now, in the development stage.’

  ‘I think we can agree to that,’ Jonathan said. ‘With your experience, I think your input while we’re still painting the canvas of the place would be incredibly valuable. And as a consultant, you’d get greater autonomy day to day. Although we’d have to contract you for a set period. How does twelve months sound?’

  ‘It sounds very tempting,’ Caroline replied. She looked up at the building again, visualising the enhancements she would make if she was in charge. ‘Can I sleep on it?’ she said, turning, once again, back to Jonathan.

  ‘Of course.’ Jonathan replied. ‘And, to be honest, I should really run it past my brother, too. Although I’m overseeing the project he does like to stay in the loop.’

  ‘He strikes me as someone who wants to be in control,’ Caroline said. ‘It must be tricky, doing the power sharing thing.’

  ‘Oh, it’s had its moments,’ Jonathan said lightly. ‘But I think he’s learning.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better head back to the house, or Anna’ll think we’ve eloped.’

  Caroline laughed. ‘Don’t start giving her ideas!’ she said. ‘She’s already onto us after last night.’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’ Jonathan slowed his pace slightly. ‘But don’t worr
y,’ he said. ‘What you said about last night… it doesn’t make a difference. I want you to think about this job because I’ve heard how good you are at what you do. That’s all. No strings, I promise.’

  Caroline nodded. ‘That’s good to know, because if I do decide to take the job, we’ll have to have a strictly professional relationship.’

  ‘Oh absolutely,’ Jonathan replied. ‘Can you think it over and let me know as soon as possible? We really need to move on this if we’re going to open for the end of the spring.’

  ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve had time to think it over,’ Caroline said. ‘And thank you for the opportunity. It’s certainly given me a lot to think about.’ With that, they headed back to coffee, pudding and the newlywed couple at Cowslip Barn.

  4

  As soon as the contract confirming her fixed term appointment as consultant manager came through from Carter’s Cider, Caroline wasted no time in arranging to rent out her flat in Farnham. Fortunately, a friend was between houses and wanted a place to stay for up to six months while the renovations on her new house were completed. Then, she packed up her stuff, putting most of it into storage, and headed off to Little Somerby.

  The restaurant was scheduled to open in the middle of June. Progress had been rapid in the couple of weeks since Matthew and Anna’s wedding; the walls had been painted, the light fittings had gone in (Jonathan had agreed with Caroline’s suggestions about hanging wrought iron chandeliers and subtler side lights) and the dining furniture would be delivered the next day. The staircase to the mezzanine level of the building led to Caroline’s living quarters. At first, she’d been reluctant to live where she was also working, but the choice of affordable rental properties nearby was pretty limited. Also, there were some fairly antisocial hours involved in running a restaurant and having somewhere to crash that was only up a flight of stairs, after a long night, would definitely be an advantage.

  As she unlocked and opened the door that separated the flat from the restaurant she was instantly charmed by the sight of the small living area which housed a sofa and a coffee table, still in their polythene wrappings. One door led to the bedrooms and bathroom and another to a tiny kitchen. Well, she figured ruefully, she was probably going to be sick of the sight of food after evenings at the restaurant anyway; she didn’t need a big cooking area. Since the flat was furnished, Caroline had put most of her possessions into storage, but she’d brought a few boxes with her of things she simply couldn’t live without.

  The clothes could wait, but at the very top of the first box she opened was the photo album of pictures from the wedding she’d received from Anna as a moving present. Opening the cover, she smiled as she saw a picture she’d taken of Ellie. Her niece was utterly, edibly, gorgeous, and yet Caroline still didn’t feel broody; the emotional upheavals of the past few years hadn’t triggered any desire in her for babies and with the restaurant on the cards for the foreseeable future, she certainly couldn’t think about them now.

  She smiled again as she turned the page and saw another candid snapshot. This time it was one of Anna and Ellie. And, she noticed with surprise, in the background was Jonathan. She’d not done any drawing for ages but always took a book with her whenever she went somewhere for a while. Jonathan’s profile would be a glorious one to draw, she thought, if she ever found the time.

  Putting the photo album aside after flipping through a few more pages, Caroline dug further into the box. There were a few more loose photos, detached from their moorings in a rather more conventional album and Caroline took them out, determined to secure them back in place before they got lost in the detritus of the move. Flipping idly through them, her heart lurched. Staring back out of one of the group snapshots was someone she hoped she’d never see again. She looked at his close cropped dark hair, his outwardly amiable expression, his air of confidence, and she thanked her lucky stars once again she’d made this move to the West Country, away from him. It would have been easier to forget him if he’d been an ex-boyfriend, she thought ruefully; goodness knows she’d made some interesting choices in her love life over the years, and often not altogether wise ones. This man had been something different, though, and she had no desire to dwell on that particular part of her past. She scrunched up the photo and threw it in the black plastic sack that was serving as a bin. The sooner she put him out of her mind, the better. Her last job was over, and so, thankfully, was her association with him.

  Just as she was taking stock of what to unpack next, she heard the front door to the restaurant opening below and a voice called up to the mezzanine.

  ‘I’m here,’ Caroline replied, hoping, after shifting so many boxes around, she didn’t look too hot and sweaty. Running a hand through her hair, she stepped down the staircase towards the floor of the restaurant. There, standing in the doorway, clad in jeans and a white t-shirt and carrying a bottle of champagne and a bunch of freesias, was Jonathan Carter.

  ‘I just thought I’d come and welcome you on board,’ he said, handing her the champagne and the flowers. ‘And check that everything’s as you expected, of course.’

  ‘It all looks good so far,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m hoping to spend this afternoon getting familiar with the space and the layout.’

  Jonathan smiled. ‘Sounds good. You’ve got my mobile number if you need to get hold of me outside office hours?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not sure I have,’ Caroline confessed. Jonathan had called her a couple of times, but always from his office line at Carter’s.

  ‘Oh,’ Jonathan’s brow wrinkled. ‘I could have sworn I gave it to you the morning after the wedding.’

  Caroline’s cheeks reddened as she recalled both the night in question, and the fact that she’d casually binned Jonathan’s note with his phone number on it. ‘I must have lost it,’ she evaded, hoping he didn’t press her further.

  ‘I’ll text you,’ Jonathan said, a vaguely amused expression on his face. ‘And then you’ve got no excuse for not contacting me.’

  ‘OK,’ Caroline said. She felt the awkwardness rising between them as they both seemed to be casting their minds back to the day they met. ‘And thank you for all of your help so far.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ Jonathan replied. ‘It’s a shame I’ve got to dash or we could have opened the champagne. But I’ll see you in the morning for our first official meeting.’

  *

  Caroline wasn’t one to hang around so over the next few days she cracked on with the plans that she and Jonathan discussed during their first official meeting. The restaurant furniture had been delivered on her first proper day at The Cider Kitchen and she was kept occupied completing Health and Safety assessment forms and placing a rather alarmingly sized red lacquered baby grand piano in one corner of the restaurant. It had seemed like a mad idea when her last client had offered it to her as a leaving present, but it was in good working order and she knew exactly where she was going to put it. Whether or not she’d be able to pay a pianist was another matter, but for the moment, she was pleased to host it in the restaurant.

  Caroline also arranged to meet the front of house staff that had been appointed before her. The building was fairly large and had the potential to do forty covers a night but in the initial weeks she had no idea how busy it was going to be, so to begin with the restaurant would just have a kitchen porter and a few waiting staff. She couldn’t afford a full time sous chef on the budget Carters had allowed for staffing, so the chef would have to hit the ground running. She hoped they’d be flexible.

  Since employment opportunities were limited in the village virtually every A Level student had applied for an evening job, but Caroline had whittled them down until she had three full time waiting staff and a handful of part timers to take the evening and weekend shifts between them. These included Jonathan’s niece Meredith.

  Jonathan kept in regular contact with Caroline. He was an excellent communicator and always had a good reason for being on site, but Caroline couldn’t help w
ondering if he was checking up on her for other reasons. Maddeningly, he always seemed to slide around the door when she least wanted to see him. Sweaty from shifting tables around for the umpteenth time as she tried to work out the perfect arrangement for the floor, she’d turn around and see him by the front door, smiling that smile of his. She had however, invited him over one evening to test out the kitchen. He was a fair cook and he wanted to make sure everything was in working order. While Caroline had drawn the line at him cooking a proper meal, for fear of ruining the kitchen before the new chef had even had a go, he whipped up a few small things to make sure everything was as it should be. She was currently sitting on one of the high stools in the kitchen sipping a glass of the champagne that he’d brought over on the day she’d moved in.

  ‘What do you reckon to this?’ Jonathan asked, placing a green olive atop his blini, mackerel and sour cream concoction and passing it to Caroline. She felt the charge as his fingertips brushed hers. Popping it into her mouth she tasted the saltiness of the olive against the cream, the yeast flavour of the blini and the sweet, smoky sensation of the fish counterpointing it all.

  ‘Not bad,’ she conceded. ‘But I don’t think you’d make it as a professional. Look at the mess you’ve made on the counter just making some blinis!’ She put her glass down and tore off a sheet of blue paper towel from the large roll that had been installed next to the hand washing sink. Dampening it slightly, she wiped the spilt blini batter and discarded olive stones from the stainless steel counter top. Then, she crossed the kitchen and looked at the waste food bin. Health and Safety regulations stated that it must be emptied every day, and although it was nowhere near full she figured she might as well do it now. The new chef would be in soon enough and she wanted the place to be neat and tidy. She took the bag and tied it before heading out to the back of the restaurant where the bins were. As she lifted the lid of the large brown food waste one she paused. From somewhere deep inside the bin she could hear a faint sound. Her skin started to crawl as she considered the possibilities. Rats? Mice? Gigantic, mutated West Country maggots? Anything was possible in her imagination. As the scratching continued she spied a movement inside one of the bags in the bin. And then a very faint, very plaintive, very hungry sounding meow.