by Fabian Black
“Well aye.” He began to rummage uninvited through the kitchen cutlery drawer. “I used to stay with my grandpa in Cromer every summer when I were a lad. As I'm sure you know Cromer crabs are the best in the world. My gramps and me used to go crabbing every weekend. The old fella was as tough as they come, but he didn’t like to make owt suffer needlessly. It got him a lot of stick it did, but he didn’t care.”
He found what he was seeking, a strong thin bladed steel knife, which he reverently withdrew from the drawer. Holding it up to the light he turned it in the air, admiring it as it glimmered in the sunshine. "This’ll do nicely. Gramps showed me how to turn a crab onto its back, lift the apron flap and slice straight through its spinal cord. Voila, instant death!” He beamed happily around the kitchen. “Now show me this coalhouse where them crabs are loitering.”
“Icehouse,” chorused three voices, Lydia joining in with gusto.
Brandishing his mini Excalibur like a knight on a quest, Tom Prescott followed David down the path towards the icehouse. Lin, wearing beach sandals and holding Lydia's arm, brought up the rear, limping as he walked. He stayed at the top of the stone steps watching anxiously as David swung the door open and shone a torch into the dark interior. He and Tom then ventured inside.
Moments later David re-emerged dangling a large dead scorched crab by the one pincher it possessed. “Look, what I found behind the door. This explains why it slammed on you. The crab cut a freezer wire with its pincher. It got electrocuted and thrown against the door. It blew its claw clean off.”
“The poor thing.” Lin put a hand to his mouth.
Lydia patted his arm, “I'm sure it won’t have suffered. It’ll have been very quick.”
Tom suddenly poked his head around the door, gesturing to them. “Quick, come and have a look at this. The buggers are fighting each other. It’s like gladiatorial combat. They must be nearly all males.”
Lydia decided to descend the steps and have a look, but Lin shuddered, opting to stay where he was.
Less than twenty minutes later, Tom, Lydia and David emerged from the icehouse bearing seven humanely killed crabs, and one electrocuted one, all ready to be cooked.
Tom brushed aside Lin's gratitude. “No need for thanks. Just turn these crabs into something to make the taste buds sing.” Flushed with success he swaggered back to the house carrying his share of the kill. Lydia followed in his wake with her portion of ocean bounty.
Looping an arm around Lin's shoulder, David gave him a hug, nodding in the direction of the Prescotts. "See, all your antagonism was unfounded. They're not such bad people after all."
"I never said otherwise, David Jordan." Lin sniffed. "I'm going to get changed. There's crabs to boil and shell and cooking to be done so I can't be standing here all day and neither can you. Empty the damaged freezer before the stuff spoils. Pack it into the other one, there should be room, but check all the dates first. Put the short dates to the top, long dates to the bottom. Oh and the light needs changing and you'll have to call an electrician. I don't want the freezer out of action for too long. Then you'll need to sluice the blood off the floor and disinfect the entire area."
Folding his arms David gave Lin a cool look. "Have you finished issuing orders?"
"For now. I don't want to over burden you with instructions. I know how easily you get confused. I'm sure I'll find more jobs for you to do once you've done these."
"Don't push your luck, chef Larkin. I am not your kitchen porter to be bullied around." Rapidly unfolding his arms, David swiped a hand at Lin's backside. "Go and cook."
Fresh from the Sea
Eight
Making a rare exception to the rule of no bookings David placed a reserved sign on the most sought after table in The Transit of Venus that night. The one situated in the broad bay window. It had a view of the narrow street outside, a street that had changed little in almost three hundred years. Opposite was a pretty winding little cobbled lane leading down to the beck where some of the fishermen moored their boats.
Under Lin's critical eye he dressed the table to perfection with a crisp white cloth, linen napkins, candles and fresh flowers ready to receive its guests of honour, the Prescotts.
When they came down to dinner he escorted them to the table, Lydia's small figure seeming to gain height as she caught the envious glances of other diners.
David pulled out a chair for her. “Dinner this evening is courtesy of Lin and I with our gratitude for all your help today.” He handed them a menu each to read through.
Lin arrived bearing a tray set with two elegant Riedel wine glasses and a bottle of chilled white wine. “This is on the house with our compliments.” He poured a small amount into a glass and handed it to Tom, who he knew fancied himself as a bit of a wine buff. "I bet you won't be able to guess the region."
“Nice bouquet,” boomed Tom, solemnly swirling it around the glass. He took a sip, swilled it around his mouth and swallowed, nodding approval. “Good body, hints of hazelnut and vanilla, long finish, very nice indeed." He pondered for a few moments. "A part of me is inclined to say it's an Aussie wine, it's got the balls for it, but, it has to be said, they're not as big as your usual Aussie balls." He took another sip and then smiled. "I've got it. One of the better French Chards I’d say. I’m right aren’t I?”
Lin inclined his head in acknowledgment, “indeed you are.”
Tom beamed, puffing out his chest. “I knew it and what’s its name?”
Lin had been waiting for this moment all afternoon. Smiling sweetly he turned the bottle label to face Tom. “Fat bastard Chardonnay.”
There was a brief moment of silence, and then Tom slapped the table leaned back his head and roared with laughter.
“Enjoy.” Lin graciously kissed Lydia's hand, shook Tom's and headed back to his kitchen, exchanging nods and small pleasantries with other diners as he went.
Fresh from the Sea
Nine
David slipped an arm around Lin's shoulders as they surveyed the bistro later that evening. The atmosphere purred like a contented cat. The last batch of main courses had been cooked and served. There would be no more. The menu board had been removed from the front door. Only three groups of diners remained, including the Prescott’s who were enjoying their second pot of after dinner coffee, along with a nip of complimentary brandy.
“Well," David gave Lin's shoulders a squeeze. "You have to admit, Linsy love. Henry's bees were right after all. There was danger from the sea today, only nothing to do with the weather.”
“Beehive yourself, man.” Lin dug a mild elbow into David’s ribs and then leaned into him, stifling a yawn.
“You’re absolutely shattered and your feet must be aching. You haven't stopped all day." Reaching for the chefwrap Lin always wore to keep his hair covered when cooking, David slipped it off his head and put it on the oak dresser. “Go to bed. I’ll finish down here. There’s only desserts and coffee to do for two tables. I'm sure I can manage without calamity or supervision. I promise to serve desserts with appropriate elegance as you demonstrated.”
“I’m fine, don’t fuss. I've survived this far and anyway a chef is like the captain of a ship, he never leaves his post until the last passenger has safely disembarked.”
“I've been more than patient with you today. I'm not negotiating anymore." David's voice was gentle, but backed with steel. “Go to bed or I'll take you in the snug and serve a reminder about what happens when my instructions get ignored.”
"I'm going, no need to flex." Uncaring of public scrutiny Lin reached his arms around David’s neck and gave him a long, hard kiss, pressing against his body. “Goodnight, my sexy toy-boy." He gave a sly little wink, whispering, "if you're lucky there'll be a nice hot dessert waiting for you when you're done here, just bring plenty of cream when you come up.” He walked out of the room.
David gazed thoughtfully around the restaurant. Would people be offended if he removed their food and asked them to leave forthwith? He ca
me to the sad conclusion that probably they would. Dismissing the idea of sounding the fire alarm he resigned himself to staying aboard The Transit of Venus until the last man and woman left.
The diners at table six finished their main courses and putting a smile on his face David walked over to remove their plates, share some chat and take their orders for dessert, while inwardly praying Lin would still be awake when he finished work so he could get his own share of heavenly afters.
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Coming Soon
More Postcards From A Seaside Village
Storm In A Teacup
Sailor Take Warning
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