The Captain and the Baker

by Catherine Curzon

  “Will do!” Jake waved as he left the room, then once he was out of sight he jogged his way to the exit, signing a few autographs as he went.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jake made straight for Captain Cod’s fish and chip shop. The premises were small and neat, with Captain Cod written in huge letters on the stripy awning. He went in and behind the counter stood the white-haired man who Jake remembered from the village meeting.

  “Captain Cod?” Jake asked. “Or are you Captain Haddock?”

  “Captain Cod the last time I looked!” He rubbed his hands together and laughed, his accent a rich Cornish burr. “I heard word as you were knocking about. I thought you’d come in for some proper grub. A Captain Cod Blackbeard’s Bonanza should fill up a beefy lad like you!”

  Beefy?

  Jake patted his stomach. It was almost still flat.

  “Dare I ask what’s in your Blackbeard’s Bonanza? Is it that massive cod off your old ship? Hope you take the hat off first!”

  “That’s about the size of it.” The old man laughed. He seemed a little less hostile now, Jake thought. “I miss that big bugger.”

  The anthropomorphic cods had been put into storage, earmarked for hijinks at the wrap party. Jake drummed his fingers on the counter.

  “Got space for them in here?” Jake glanced around at the pristine, white-tiled interior with its posters of cartoon fish and adverts for deep-sea fishing trips. Captain Cod looked around too, as though considering it.

  “I have for the little ones, if you’re sure you don’t want them. I didn’t know how much space I’d have when I opened, but there’s room for those lads.” Captain Cod shook his head, suddenly rueful. “It’s my big cod I really miss. That one that’s taller than what I am. You keeping him on deck, are you? He’s like my son, that cod, but I’ve nowhere to put him in here.”

  Like his son? Fuck me.

  “What about on your roof? Or would it need planning permission?”

  “On the roof, you say?” He tapped his bearded chin. “That’s a thought to think about. I don’t know how I’d get him here though, or up there. What about your telly program, would they want to film that? Be a nice bit to warm the cockles, don’t you think?”

  “Could do. Just needs a crane!” Jake stroked his chin. It wasn’t a bad idea and now that he was producer… “Yeah, let’s do it! Oh, and make it two Blackbeard’s Bonanzas, will you? And chuck in a sausage.”

  “Two Bonanzas coming up,” Cod told him. Cod. Does he have another name? Maybe he had been baptized Captain Cod, his destiny set from birth. “I was sorry to close the old girl down but I’ve got a touch of hearing trouble as I’ve got older, you see, and choppy weather played a bugger with my sea legs. I’d be listing port to starboard and chucking curry sauce over the customers! Better here on dry land and a youngster like you making something of the pirate ship, giving her a second go at the booty!”

  “Nothing I can’t handle!” Jake assured him. “Do you want to have a look around, see what we’ve done?”

  Captain Cod sucked in air through his teeth, not that Jake could see them thanks to the beard, but he knew the sound well enough. It was the sound made before a plumber doubled his estimate or a mechanic stuck another zero on the bill.

  “Would there be cameras?”

  “No, not filming,” Jake replied. “Just you and me, having a look round your old ship.”

  “This fish was swimming in the sea this morning. Fresh, local, simple!” Cod beamed, slamming his fist into his palm with every word. “I’d love to see my old girl. You let me know when I can have a gander and I’ll be there.”

  “Whenever you’re free,” Jake said. “Just pop by.”

  “There we are now. Batter bits an’ all!” Cod rolled up first one huge parcel, then the second. He spooned mushy peas from a silver vat into two Styrofoam cups and put the lids on tight. He passed the parcels over the counter toward Jake. “And while you’re here, you can settle something Mrs. Cod and I have been hearing about London. Is it right you can’t get mushy peas in a chippy there? Mr. Locryn said as he asked for mushy peas and they tried to sell him a tin! What’s all that then?”

  The thought of Locryn wandering wide-eyed around London was an endearing one. “Tried to sell him a tin? Well, that’s London for you!”

  Cod nodded, his expression serious at the very idea of it. Then he smiled again, his eyes crinkling. “On the house, young man. I hear my old boat’s looking a picture. I’ll come by tomorrow morning and see what I can see.”

  “On the house? No, I—hang on, look, I’ve come prepared!” Jake took a crisp new twenty-pound note from his pocket and passed it over the counter. “I don’t expect to be fed for free, Captain Cod.”

  “You’ll need your money for that there crane.” Cod chuckled. “It’s a way to say sorry for chucking a bit of paper at you. From one captain to another.”

  “I should’ve been kinder,” Jake said. He folded the bank note and slipped it into the lifeboat-shaped collecting tin by the till. “And that’s for another captain!”

  And with the hot parcels of food safe in his custody, Jake left the chip shop. There was a spring in his step as he climbed into the Mercedes too, because he knew that in the house that overlooked Porthavel, Locryn Trevorrow was waiting for him.

  * * * *

  Jake knocked on his rented front door. “Two Blackbeard’s Bonanzas coming up!”

  A few seconds passed before the door opened and there was Locryn. Dorothy was cradled in his arms and on his cheek there was a dusting of flour. He couldn’t have been baking though, because there weren’t any ingredients in the kitchen. In fact, apart from food for Dorothy, the kitchen was shamefully empty for a renowned chef.

  Over the smell of the fish and chips, Jake detected something else. Not just Locryn’s cologne or Dorothy’s warm fur, but…

  Jake kissed the Locryn’s floury cheek, then said, “Hello, darling. Can I smell flowers?”

  “Flowers and a speedily put-together apple pie to welcome you home, using Porthavel’s own crop.” Locryn held up Dorothy for a kiss. “I hope you don’t mind, but the cupboards were empty so I’ve stocked up for you. And I’ve got a lovely fire going in the sitting room. You need it on a night like this.”

  Jake kissed the top of Dorothy’s head, then kissed Locryn’s cheek again. “I’m so bloody glad to be home! And especially glad you’re here.” Jake closed the door behind him. “What’s all this about cupboards and fires and flowers? I don’t deserve all this, Locryn!”

  “Autumn flowers,” Locryn told him, taking the wrapped dinners. “And Dorothy was only alone for twenty minutes while I dashed around the village stocking up. Glass of white?”

  “I’d love a glass, thanks, and I’m sure Dorothy didn’t mind too much!” Jake took off his jacket and hung it on a peg then peered around the door into the sitting room. A fire was roaring in the grate, instantly making the rented house feel like a home. “Didn’t think to light the fire, but then I wouldn’t know how! I don’t have a fireplace in my flat.”

  “No fireplace!” Locryn gave a theatrical shiver as he strolled into the kitchen. There was the apple pie on the table, its latticed top dusted with sugar, the pastry a perfect, golden hue. Speedily put-together? Bloody hell. “I’ll pour the booze, you dish up the feast? And tell me all about Medusa with the broken leg.”

  Jake got out the plates and started to unpack their dinner.

  “Do you want the paper or do you go straight off the plate?” he asked as he crumbled the end of his fish onto a saucer for Dorothy.

  “Paper,” Locryn assured him as he took a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I’d like to think so, but some people.” Jake held up one of the pots of peas. “Captain Cod told me about your adventure in London when they tried to sell you peas a tin! The poor man was shocked.”

  His companion laughed, pouring the wine as he nodded. He held one of the glasses out to Jake and told him,
“So was I, darling.”

  Jake took the glass. The wine was even chilled. He took a mouthful, then said, “So, Fionn. She’s been busy. She’s keen for me to do that show where people are electrocuted for fun, I suggested I have a monkey sidekick—”

  Jake stopped. “Sorry, it’s ridiculous—there was a fucking monkey or a baboon on my relaxation CD, and…”

  “Electrocuted for fun? Not much fun for them.” Locryn handed him a set of cutlery. “Shall we snuggle in front of the fire? I hope you don’t mind me invading your house like this, it just seemed a bit… I don’t know. Austere.”

  “Invade all you like!” Jake took the cutlery and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. He admired the worktops, which teamed with produce. “It looks like someone actually lives here now.”

  Together they pottered into the sitting room and settled on the sofa. Fresh flowers weren’t something Jake had ever thought of buying, but as he inhaled the fresh scent of the blooms, he wondered why it had never crossed his mind. Locryn wasn’t made for New York. He definitely wouldn’t get any mushy peas there.

  “Is the leg all right?” Locryn asked carefully. “Am I looking at a big lawsuit?”

  “She’d never get anywhere even if she tried. Six of us saw her throw the eclair, then she fell on it, the silly twat.” Jake shook his head. “Nope, she’s not suing. In fact, she was so inspired by the experience that she’s got a Boxing Day special on Sky about Bakeries Going Bad or something.”

  With a bark of hearty laughter, Locryn unwrapped the mountain of food that Captain Cod had parceled up. Jake wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite so domestic as this for a long time, but life moved more slowly here. Unless you were renovating a pirate ship to a wedding deadline.

  Feedback. How had he forgotten the ever-approaching moment of truth?

  Jake started to carve into his enormous battered cod and casually asked, “So, pasty feedback? I didn’t see a crowd wielding pitchforks, so not too bad, then?”

  And Locryn paused for just a fraction of a second too long. A fraction of a second that threatened to undo all the relaxation Jake had been feeling.

  They hated them.

  “Not bad at all,” Locryn assured him. “People had lots to say. The general consensus was that the mystery pasty maker had a talent for flavor.”

  There is a but.

  The fish on Jake’s fork, which had stopped halfway to his mouth, began to flake off, and an interested Dorothy padded into the room. “Lots to say about what?”

  “About lots of things.” Locryn gave him a sideways glance. “Promise not to start swearing?”

  “I haven’t so far.” Jake put his dinner down on the side table and fed more fish to Dorothy as he nursed his wine glass. “Hit me with it, Loc. I need to know. Pasties are serious business.”

  Locryn nodded. “Everybody loved the taste and I didn’t say who’d made them, just that it was a local cook who wanted an honest opinion. But even though everyone loved them, I lost count of how many people said, but I’d rather have a Cornish pasty.” He winced, as though awaiting a clap of thunder. “I’ve got the feedback postcards in the kitchen.”

  Jake dived into his wine glass and swallowed. Then, fortified, he said, “Shite.”

  “Eat up, don’t let it get cold.” Locryn smiled, a hint of Mary Poppins about him all of a sudden.

  Jake put aside his glass and got stuck into the chips. “Now these are fucking magnificent!” After devouring his way for a while, Jake said, “How would you define a Cornish pasty, Locryn? And yes, I might get you on the show giving your definition to camera! Proper Cornish baker talking about the local dish.”

  “I’d define them like any right-minded Cornishman. A lovely minced beef with potato, turnip and onion. And we can supply all of that in Porthavel. Then just the right amount of seasoning, a lovely sprinkling of salt and pepper.” His eyes sparkled as they settled on Jake. “Personally, the Trevorrow recipe is a shortcrust one, but every family has its own. And you already know about the crimp, because you crimped your own!”

  “Was the crimping okay at least?” Potato. Turnip. Onion. Beef. Potato. Turnip. Onion. Beef. No coriander. No lamb mince. No chicken. Just those four simple things and that was it.

  “It was perfect, a work of art,” he replied. “You could’ve been born a Cornishman.”

  “It’s a start, isn’t it? And it’s got to be a Porthavel-style one. After all, we’re in Porthavel!” Jake speared another chip. “This is a fucking amazing chippy tea. Might be the best one I’ve ever had. No wonder that geezer’s called Captain Cod! Although he could be called Captain Golden Batter instead.”

  “And if you had been a local baking hopeful, you’d have had a repeat customer.” Locryn dipped his fork into the peas. “Ted from the pub kept on coming back for more. He said he’d stock the lot of them as unCornish pasties and asked me to tell the mystery cook that he was a fan!”

  “UnCornish pasties? The cheeky fucker!” Jake laughed. “Once I’ve got the Porthavel pasty down pat, we can let Ted in on the secret.”

  Locryn handed Dorothy a little bit of fish. “So you’re the sole producer now? How does it feel to be captain of your ship again?”

  “Well, having made Fionn walk the plank.” Jake spluttered with laughter. “I’ve told her, and she’s agreed—well, she was sort of volunteering—to leave the show. And I can’t tell you how fucking relieved I am. Wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d tried to bring electrocution into this show as well. But she’s gone now, and I call the shots. And if you’d like a production credit, too, Loc?”

  “Me? For telling you the contents of a pasty? That’s very kind, but…” Locryn reached out and patted Jake’s knee. “If you need any help with the show or even if you just need an endless supply of cream horns, I’m all yours. But I don’t need my name on anything, darling. This is your baby.”

  Jake playfully prodded Locryn’s shoulder. “What about your cake? You should have a credit for that at least!”

  But he shook his head. “As long as Zoe and David like it, that’s my credit. Speaking of which, Petroc let us down last night, darling. He left the pub after one drink and Zoe and David had to escort Merryn home. We need to up our efforts.”

  Jake slapped the arm of the sofa. “Buggeration! We’re going to get the pair of them together even if we have to babysit them!”

  “What about us?” The question was casual, as casual as Locryn’s gentle glance. “Are we together, do you think? Can I call you my boyfriend, even if I only tell Dorothy?”

  “I’d say we are. Wouldn’t you?” But what happens at the end of the shoot? Jake didn’t want to think about that yet. “And I don’t care if the whole of Porthavel knows.”

  Locryn beamed, as happy as a child on Christmas morning. He was so far from the sort of man that Jake would usually go for, but Locryn was the sort of man that he wasn’t sure he’d ever met before. And maybe that’s why they went together so well, and there was still a lot of the shoot left.

  And it’s not like I’ll get the job in L.A.

  “This shoot’s going to be fun now, isn’t it?” Jake rubbed his hands together with glee. “We’re dating, we’ve got a wedding to sort, we’re matchmaking, oh, and shit, I’ve got a new restaurant!” Dorothy climbed onto the arm of the sofa and rubbed her face against his arm, as if reminding him that he’d forgotten something. “And I’ve got a cat, who needs to see the vet. Oh, fuck it, you know what, I’m busy but in a good way.”

  “And on top of all of that good stuff, we’ve got an apple pie!”

  Jake licked his lips. “Do you always spoil your boyfriends like this, Loc? I don’t understand how you were still single.”

  “I just haven’t met the right fellow, you know how it is.” Locryn looked bashful. “I like spoiling you. I want to take care of you even though I’m sure you don’t need me to.”

  Jake ran his fingertips back and forth down the back of Locryn’s hand. “I think you do, actually. I’ve b
een butt-kicking, sweary git Jake Brantham for so long that I’d forgotten sometimes I do actually need a hand.”

  He lifted Jake’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Time for pud?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dorothy had stretched herself out full-length in front of the fire, clearly happy with her lot. Jake watched her for a while then realized the time.

  “Loc, you’ve got cakes to bake and a café to run. Will you be okay getting home on your bike?” Jake wasn’t sure if they were quite at the invite to stay over stage, in case his offer seemed too much like a crap come-on.

  “Betsy will see me safely home,” Locryn assured him lazily. Then he gave Jake a mischievous look and asked, “Should I let it ring three times when I get back?”

  “Yes, or I’ll worry!” Jake hopped up from the sofa and held his hand out to Locryn to pull him to his feet. “Heave-ho, Mr. Trevorrow! And I would say blow the man down, but that’s just rude.”

  Locryn took Jake’s hand and let him pull him to his feet. There was a touch of mutual choreography involved that sent Locryn neatly into Jake’s arms and they shared a lingering kiss. Not for the first time Jake wondered if he should invite Locryn upstairs, but he’d never had a courtship quite like this one. He didn’t want to get it wrong so early on, when life was so right.

  The kiss went on, and Jake pulled Locryn closer to him. Jake couldn’t help his moan of pleasure as he realized that Locryn was aroused, and he ran his hand up into Locryn’s hair, combing his fingers through Locryn’s dark-blond locks.

  This is one hell of a goodnight kiss.

  Locryn’s hands, the hands that had been so elegant and accomplished as they kneaded the dough last night, slid over Jake’s back, caressing and exploring. He sighed into the kiss, a soft expression of pleasure.

  “This is going to make cycling an interesting experience,” Locryn told him with a glimmer of mischief as they broke for air, their bodies still tight together. “I’ve had the most lovely evening.”