by Fay Keenan
‘Aunt’s duty,’ Caroline said, slipping the new pint of cider inside the empty plastic glass. ‘And she made a pretty good case as to why Matthew and Anna couldn’t go on it with her. I wonder why she didn’t think of her new Uncle Jonathan, though!’
‘Why do you think I’ve been hiding behind the bar all this time?’ Jonathan laughed. ‘But thankfully now I’m off duty for a bit.’ He sipped his own pint of cider and then glanced at one of the large bales of straw that was placed around the stage area where the next band was due to start playing soon. ‘I’m going to bag myself a seat. Would you like to join me?’
‘I’d better get this one back to her mum and dad first,’ Caroline said, squeezing Ellie’s hand. Her heart lurched at the unintentional slip. ‘I mean…’
‘I know what you mean,’ Jonathan said softly. ‘And I’m sure he’d be flattered to be called that.’
Caroline nodded, eyes suddenly feeling too bright and too hot. ‘Come on,’ she said to her niece. ‘Mummy will want to see you dance before it gets too late.’
‘OK,’ Ellie replied, apparently unaware of her aunt’s sudden shift in mood. Thankfully, by the time they had crossed the marquee, navigating their way through the now thick crowd of hoedowners, Caroline had blinked away her tears. This new life still took some getting used to, she thought. And it probably would for a while yet. This was a new beginning in so many ways; Caroline just hoped the book would stay closed on a few chapters of her old life. She cherished her memories of her brother James, of course, but there were several other things that were best left in her past, including the man in the photo.
8
Opening night came rushing towards Caroline like the ghosts of the trains along the Strawberry Line. With the Carters keen to get the doors open on the place so quickly, the time flew by and before she knew it, The Cider Kitchen was ready. They had a full house of bookings for opening night, including a food critic, so Caroline was both excited and absolutely terrified. What if she messed up? What if Gino did? What if her new waiting staff couldn’t handle the rush? It was a high risk strategy to invite a critic on the first night but he was from one of the more minor local papers, so Caroline thought it was a risk worth taking. The reviewers from the larger papers would be invited later.
The night before, Caroline was prowling the restaurant, almost marking a path on the oak floor. Everything was in place; the tables were laid, the glasses (three different sizes per place setting) were sparkling in the warm, subdued side lighting, the white napkins were lying pristine under the glittering, simple stainless steel cutlery. The light wood table tops had been polished to perfection. As she looked across to the bar area she saw the rows of optics, each one fully tested to make sure they worked (that had been fun a couple of evenings ago – as a bonding exercise she and her team had made absolutely sure every last one was in full working order), and yet more glasses stacked neatly on shelves on the wall behind the bar, either side of an A2 sized wooden carving bearing ‘The Cider Kitchen’ and its logo, a black and white stylised line drawing of an apple on a tree branch.
Good luck cards lined the shelf above the bar from everyone from Anna and Matthew to the local wine merchant, and a fair few people she’d never met. There had even been several with Bristol postmarks, suggesting that word was already spreading about the restaurant even before it had officially opened. Everything was perfect; so why couldn’t she shake off the feeling that it was all going to go wrong? Perhaps it was the one unsigned good luck card that had arrived this afternoon; the one with the carelessly scrawled message but no name. The handwriting looked disturbingly familiar but there was no way the card could have been from him.
‘I know just the thing to take the edge off your nerves,’ Gino said as Caroline, yet again, wandered into the kitchen.
‘A bottle of scotch?’ Caroline grimaced. ‘Although I suppose it’d have to be frigging calvados as everything’s made out of apples round here.’ She tended to swear when she was stressed and she was trying to rein it in in case she slipped up in front of the customers.
Gino went to his forage cabinet, which was a small, suitcase shaped box that he kept tucked away at the back of the pantry. It contained the dried herbs and plants he’d foraged over the past year and had been a revelation to Caroline in terms of new flavours. Without explaining anything he flipped the switch on the kettle and took one of the white china mugs from the shelf above the serving area. He sprinkled the contents of a small polythene bag into the mug and as soon as the kettle had boiled he poured the hot water over it.
‘What is it?’ Caroline regarded the concoction suspiciously. ‘It’s not weed, is it? I can’t afford to get stoned the night before we do this.’
Gino laughed. ‘As if I would!’ No, and it’s not Psilocybe Cubensis, either.’
‘Er, what?’
‘Magic Mushrooms,’ Gino kept smiling. ‘Although I do know where there’s a regular crop that grows not a million miles from here.’ They’d seen him through a student night or two when he’d been too skint to buy booze, although the hangover had been far worse so he hadn’t had any in a while.
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Caroline said. She still hadn’t tasted what he’d handed her.
Gino shook his head. ‘It’s Valeriana officinalis,’ he said gently. ‘Valerian. It’s been used for thousands of years to relax and aid sleep. My grandma swears by it when she’s being kept awake by my grandfather’s snoring. Totally harmless, but will knock you straight out.’
Caroline took a sip and grimaced. ‘Probably tastes better with a slug of calvados in it.’
‘Trust me,’ Gino said. ‘You want a good night’s sleep, this’ll do it.’
Unguardedly, Caroline thought back to the last good night’s sleep she’d had; it had been a short one, certainly, but blissfully relaxing. It had been the night she’d taken Jonathan to bed; the night of Matthew and Anna’s wedding. She wished she could just ring him up and demand a repeat performance (she didn’t doubt he’d be willing, if the first time had been anything to go by and he had been hanging around the restaurant rather more than was strictly necessary, despite his initial assertions about being able to separate business and pleasure). But that way lay chaos and uncertainty. And she wasn’t prepared to risk that. Moving to Somerset had been an attempt to simplify things, to get away from some of the complications of her past. Adding more to the mix now would be defeating the object.
‘Thank you,’ she said before she took another sip. ‘It’s kind of you to try to help.’ She sighed. ‘I think I’m so caught up with trying to prove myself that I’m losing sight of why I chose to do it in the first place.’
Gino regarded her levelly. ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me, Caroline,’ he said. ‘You’ve hit the ground running with this place. That takes nerve.’
‘Or stupidity,’ Caroline countered. ‘Don’t let me down, Gino.’
Gino smiled. ‘I won’t. I promise.’ Gino’s phone buzzed. ‘Sorry, boss,’ he said, a second later, ‘got to dash.’
‘Anywhere special?’ Caroline asked.
‘You could say that,’ Gino replied, instantly cagey. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ Caroline replied. ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you.’
‘Thanks,’ Gino said, slipping his phone into his back pocket.
‘Have a good evening,’ Caroline said as Gino left the restaurant with a spring in his step, ‘not that there’s much left of it!’ It was coming up to ten o’clock and Caroline was definitely ready for her bed.
‘Oh, when you’re a chef the party doesn’t start until the restaurants close,’ Gino said airily as he went to close the door. ‘I learned that pretty quickly doing my internships.’ He raised his eyebrows at her playfully. ‘You should come out with us sometime; we’d show you how to have fun.’
Caroline laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said. ‘But I think I’m going to have my work cut out just keeping up with running this pla
ce.’ She was absurdly flattered to be asked, though. Oh, to be that age and on the cusp of so many things! Her twenties had been a time of exploration and excitement as well as drama, and, much as she still liked a night out, she was pleased to be older and wiser these days. Sighing, she turned out the lights and headed upstairs to try to unwind. The kittens skittered across the floor to greet her as she opened the door to her quarters, and, feeling in need of the company, she scooped them up and carried them into her bedroom, where they settled quickly near the top of the bed. Yet again, her thoughts turned to Jonathan. She wondered if he was feeling as nervous about the opening night as she was. Not that he’d tell her if he was, she supposed. Tomorrow was going to be one of the most important days of her life and before she fell asleep, she practiced her greetings to the customers who were booked to come through the door. ‘Good evening, and welcome,’ she murmured. ‘Hello, and welcome… good evening and welcome to The Cider Kitchen…’
9
The next morning, with The Cider Kitchen due to open for the first time that evening, Caroline was feeling much less amenable towards her new chef. She slammed down the phone in the small back office and considered chucking it out of the window. Bloody Gino! How could he have been so irresponsible? She looked around the cluttered, tiny space, wondering how the hell she was going to deal with twenty covers and no chef. She glanced at the clock on the wall opposite the desk; eight hours until the doors opened.
Gino had been effusive in his apologies in between bouts of retching. He’d assured her that most of the prep work had been done the day before; the chicken was marinating in the meat fridge for one of the main courses and the scallops for one of the two starters just needed flash frying. The tiramisu, thankfully, were prepped and ready in one of the other fridges, just needing a sprinkling of cocoa powder before they were served. But that didn’t excuse the fact that her apparently brilliant head chef had had a pint too many in Weston Super Mare last night, an ill-advised kebab from a highly dubious mobile van and was now suffering from a violent bout of food poisoning. Of all the times he could have done it this had to have been the worst.
But what was she going to do? She had every faith in her new front of house team and she still had Joe the kitchen porter and Erin the pot washer, but they couldn’t be expected to cook. Any agency would charge her extortionate rates for a chef at such short notice. Exhausted already from the preparations and feeling uncharacteristically close to tears, she looked out the back at the yard behind the restaurant and despaired.
‘We’re not open yet,’ she called irritably as she heard the front door of the restaurant open. Too late, she realised that probably wasn’t the best way to greet a potential customer. ‘Sorry,’ she added, a beat too late. ‘Can you come back later?’
‘Well, I could, but I didn’t think you’d want me booking a table on your opening night.’ Jonathan, holding another bunch of freesias, poked his head around the office door.
‘There’s not going to be an opening night at this rate,’ Caroline snapped.
‘Why not? What’s happened?’
‘My sodding chef’s got food poisoning.’
‘Shit.’ Jonathan said. ‘That’s rotten luck.’
‘Luck’s got nothing to do with it,’ Caroline crossed her arms. ‘He had a dodgy kebab last night and has been throwing up since about six a.m., I ought to sack him on the spot, but it’s too late to get anyone else in.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ Jonathan put the flowers down on the desk and looked straight at her.
Caroline scowled. ‘I haven’t got a frigging clue.’
‘Right.’ Jonathan’s back straightened. ‘Leave it with me.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Caroline’s heart lurched between hope and irritation. ‘You’re no chef and the agency fees for a temp would be astronomical. We’re finished before we even open.’
‘Oh, don’t be so defeatist, darling,’ Jonathan replied. ‘Fill me in on what needs doing and I’ll make a couple of calls.’
‘No. I can sort this myself.’ Furiously, Caroline grabbed her diary and flipped through to the list of names and numbers of people who’d booked tables that night. ‘We’ll just have to cancel and reschedule the opening for another night.’ As she rifled through the pages she jumped as a warm hand closed over hers.
‘Now you’re just being silly.’ Jonathan’s voice was calm, gentle, and it nearly reduced Caroline to tears. He took her hand away from the diary and held it for a moment. Caroline was torn between snatching her hand away and wanting him to hold it forever.
‘What are we going to do, then?’ Caroline said.
‘As I said. Leave it with me. I’ll get us a chef, I promise.’ He let go of her hand and delved into his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he dialled quickly. ‘Vern? Is Emma working tonight? No? Great. Can you give her a ring and ask her if she’s free to come over to The Cider Kitchen in about an hour? All right. See you later.’ He turned back to Caroline who stood bemused, still clutching her diary.
‘Who was that?’ Caroline asked.
‘Vern, the landlord at The Stationmaster. His daughter’s at catering college.’
‘How do you know?’ Caroline said. ‘Do you keep tabs on every woman over the age of eighteen in this sodding village?’
‘What do you take me for?’ Jonathan replied with mock outrage. ‘I was in the pub the other night and overheard Vern talking about how amazingly well Emma was doing and how she was looking forward to having this week off as she’d been working so hard. I thought she might appreciate the pocket money.’
‘We can’t afford to pay her,’ Caroline groaned. ‘I’ve got virtually no funds left from the budget you allocated. Which isn’t enough, by the way.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Jonathan smiled. ‘After tonight, you’ll be fine. And I’ll sort it with our finance department.’
‘How do I know she’s any good?’
‘I trust Vern,’ Jonathan said flatly. ‘And frankly, darling, you need to learn a bit about not looking too closely at the dental records of free equines, if you catch my drift.’
‘I’m the manager of the restaurant, Jonathan!’ Caroline knew her voice was rising but she couldn’t help it. She’d gone from hope to despair so quickly and now Jonathan was expecting her to rhapsodise over some trainee whom she’d never even met. ‘You might own the business but I’m the one who makes the day to day decisions. I think I’m entitled to be a bit wary.’
‘Then be wary, Caroline, but please, think about it. What choice do we have?’ Jonathan reached across to one of the freesias he’d put on her desk and idly fingered its bloom. ‘From where I’m standing, very little, unless you want to postpone the opening night.’
A heavy, expectant pause descended. Caroline found her eyes drawn to the sight of Jonathan’s fingertips caressing the fragile petals of the freesias. She knew he was right. She didn’t have a choice. It just made her hopping mad that he had swanned in and saved the day, since she was the consultant on this project and should have been able to come up with a solution without him.
‘OK, OK, you win.’ She dragged her eyes back up from Jonathan’s hands to meet his gaze. ‘It’s lucky I’ve had control over Gino’s menu choices – I know exactly what goes into each dish, I just need someone to cook it.’
‘There you go,’ Jonathan said. ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ Now I suggest you get that coffee machine on and get yourself organised for a meeting with Emma. You’ve not got long until the doors open for business and I think you’re going to need every minute.’ He headed towards the door.
‘So, you’re just going to sod off again now, are you?’ Caroline said. She suddenly felt very small and alone seeing that he was, indeed, leaving her.
‘Well, I had hoped you’d say thank you before I left,’ Jonathan said coolly, his eyes unreadable.
‘Thank you,’ Caroline said meekly. She usually knew just how far to push people, but Jonathan was especially dif
ficult to read.
‘I’ll see you at opening time,’ Jonathan said. Then, relenting a little, ‘good luck.’ He gave her a brief smile. ‘I’ve heard nothing but good things about Emma Leadbetter. You might consider offering her a permanent job if she works out tonight.’
As he walked back out of the restaurant, Caroline steeled herself and set about finding Gino’s notes and recipe cards, ready to brief Emma on what would be required. She hoped she had long enough.
10
Two hours later, and Caroline was thanking her lucky stars that Jonathan had visited when he had. Emma Leadbetter had turned out to be an absolute star; grounded, knowledgeable and efficient. She had read Gino’s recipes and instructions and followed them to the letter. As the enticing scents of chicken parmigiana infused with a hearty basil and tomato sauce began to drift through from the kitchen, Caroline dared to hope that things might be alright after all.
At around half past two she left Emma to her own devices. Before she went upstairs for a couple of hours’ rest and a bite that she’d probably be far too nervous to eat, she checked the tables and made sure the water in the small floating flower arrangements was topped up. As she wandered back to the office, she realised guiltily that she hadn’t had time to put Jonathan’s freesias in water. Taking them from her desk, she decided to take them upstairs with her, and as she took a second to inhale their delicate scent she was reminded, most disturbingly, of the sight of Jonathan’s fingers caressing them. This in turn triggered off a stronger memory of the night they’d spent together; the night they’d met. Caroline’s skin prickled with goose flesh as she remembered how his hands had expertly brought her body to a shuddering climax, and the feeling of him inside her.
It had been a night of fun and her intention had been to walk out of his life as easily as she’d entered it. And yet now, due to a combination of twists of fate, here she was, working with him. There was a part of her that needed him to be something more in her life; a part of her that had wanted to throw herself into his arms when everything had gone wrong this morning. But the sensible, rational part of her had held back. Jonathan would never settle; would never be the type with whom she could build a future. Anna had said as much when she’d described him to her all those months ago. He’d slept with his brother’s first wife, for goodness’ sake! Caroline knew that she needed to be careful in case her heart, or her mouth, or perhaps both, got her into deeper water than she could swim in. It wasn’t as if she was unaccustomed to that feeling; she’d been in deep water back in Surrey until she’d pulled herself out of it, but tonight she had the restaurant to open. Nothing, and nobody, could get in the way of that.