by Jenny Kane
Peggy scribbled a note on her notepad. ‘And when does Thomas start in the kitchen?’
Jack, who had taken Kit’s son on as kitchen hand for a month, until a local student could take over the job, said, ‘The day before the launch. Which will be...’ he checked his diary, ‘the fifteenth. His job will largely be washing up, loading and unloading the dishwater, and fetching and carrying. He won’t need much training.’
‘And Thomas is happy to serve at the naming ceremony party as well, rather than being at the party as a guest?’
‘Yes. He and Helena, along with your new girl for Pickwicks ... what’s her name again?’
‘Teresa,’ Peggy looked at her notes, ‘Teresa Parkin.’
‘Right, all three of them will do the drinks and help serve the food, but then they can join in with the celebrations after the meal. It’s a party, after all. It’ll be a good chance for Teresa to get to know everyone.’
Peggy read a menu sheet Jack had given her earlier. ‘And you’re set on this as the menu? I have to admit, it sounds delicious.’
‘That’s the meal I’ll be serving for the critics at the private launch as well. I am unbelievably nervous about that!’
Delivering one of his brilliant smiles, Scott said, ‘You’ll be fine, mate. I’m looking forward to both events. Did all the people you invited for the critics’ meal accept? The newspaper and food magazine people, as well as us local business folk?’
‘They did. The place will be packed. Fingers crossed it goes to plan!’
‘I have all the afternoon food items listed here. I’m going to steer away from the type of food we serve at Pickwicks, as agreed. Are you alright with helping cook if life gets too hectic, Jack?’
‘No problem, mate, as long as I can leave you to it from six in the evening so I can sort the prep for the evening. Don’t forget, I’ll have Craig from the catering college doing most of that for me from five o’clock.’
The three friends looked at each other. ‘We really have got this sorted, haven’t we?’
‘I think so.’ Jack got up and fished his bag from where he’d left it by the counter, grabbed three glasses from the counter, and passed them to Scott and Peggy. ‘I’m sure we’ll find things we’ve missed as we go along, but in the meantime, we should toast our new venture.’
Pouring out the champagne, Jack stood up and said, ‘Here’s to The Olive Branch!’
‘I do love that name, Jack.’ Peggy smiled, ‘It’s perfect for the bistro.’
‘Well, I thought it was high time I offered you an olive branch, Peggy, especially after you thought I was poaching your staff. I can’t tell you how glad I am you accepted it.’
Megan couldn’t stop re-reading the email on the computer screen before her. Not only had Gareth Kennedy sent a glowing response after receiving the first of the pictures he’d commissioned, but he’d asked for business cards and website details to pass on to guests who’d already enquired about her work. He had also hinted heavily that there could be future commissions for Kennedy’s in the offing.
For Megan, her new working hours couldn’t come fast enough. And although she knew that her managerial role would be demanding she was really looking forward to both the challenge, and to being free in the mornings to paint, which was what she really longed to do.
As she read the email for the fifth time, her mind drifted back to the small terraced house she and Nick had viewed the night before. If Gareth did pass more work her way, and other commissions followed, then maybe their dreams of eventually buying a small place together rather than renting could come true.
Glancing at her watch, she saw she had ten minutes left before she had to get back to work. Taking a chance, she called Rupert.
‘Hi, it’s Megan. Is this a good time?’
‘Sure, I was in the middle of sorting some new stock. How’s it going in coffee and cake land?’
‘Great, but it’s even better in art land. I’ve just heard from Gareth Kennedy, apparently there’s been interest in my first piece. He was asking about a website and business cards.’
Rupert put down the pile of books he’d been holding. ‘If you’re still up for sharing one, I’m happy to set us up a site.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that! Thanks, Rupert, I wouldn’t know where to start on my own.’
‘Once the initial setup is done, it’s quite simple. I’ll talk you through it. Are you still painting in Jack’s spare room?’
‘I am, but not for much longer. Jack was going to fit a vent to get rid of the paint fumes, but we ran out of time, and I don’t want the smell of paint ruining his opening night so I’m looking for a new studio.’
‘There’s always my place, I’m hardly there these days. It’s only tiny, but you can use it if you like. Why don’t we discuss that as well when we meet to talk about the site? Tomorrow night any good? Say about seven at the bistro?
‘Perfect. I’ll be there finishing off the portrait of Peggy and Scott.’ Megan felt her spirits rise even higher. ‘Any news on the photography competition?’
‘No. The closing date has passed now so I don’t imagine I made the cut. Never mind, it was great fun having a go.’ The bell in the shop rang, alerting Rupert to the presence of a customer. ‘Sorry, Megan, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bring Nick; that way maybe Jack will stop working long enough to join us for a chat and a takeaway.’
Chapter Forty-two
Monday 15th August
Megan crept out of bed as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Nick. It was only six o’clock in the morning, but she’d been lying awake for hours, mentally listing everything she had to do that day.
Incredibly nervous though she was about her first evening managing at The Olive Branch, Megan couldn’t begin to imagine how Jack must be feeling. Despite the early hour, she was sure he’d be awake too.
Deciding to give up trying to doze, Megan got up, leaving Nick a note on the small kitchen table he shared with the other lodgers, saying she’d see him later. Picking up the pre-packed bag of clothes she was intending to wear that evening, she slipped out into the bustle of commuting Londoners.
Rupert turned over, expecting to find Jack’s sleeping form next to him, but the space was empty – and by the chill of the sheets, had been for some time.
Pulling on his clothes, he headed downstairs into the bistro. He discovered Jack at the nearest table, scribbling at speed, a mountain of paperwork in front of him, the remnants of several cups of coffee cluttered around him.
Pouring two fresh cups from the machine behind the counter, Rupert sat opposite his boyfriend. ‘How many hours have you been up?’
Jack grimaced. ‘One or two.’ He held up a handful of pieces of paper from the clutter of different menus before him. All of them had been altered in some way from their original state. ‘I want this to be perfect, you know.’
‘I know.’ Rupert picked up the nearest menu, which until yesterday had been a neatly printed cream sheet of mouth-watering food choices. Now it was covered with ballpoint pen annotations and scribbles, signs of an insecurity in Jack that he hadn’t seen before.
‘Put your pen down, Jack.’
‘But...’
‘No excuses. Put down the pen and pick up the coffee cup.’
Jack looked at Rupert properly, and felt a smile start at the corner of his lips. ‘You sounded like your father then. All stern and sensible.’
‘I’m choosing to take that as a compliment!’
‘Indeed!’ Jack took a sip of coffee, and waved a hand over the mess in front of him. ‘I have to do this, Rupert. If this evening doesn’t go well then all my hard work will have been for nothing and –’
‘And it will be amazing.’ Cutting across Jack, Rupert laid a reassuring hand over his. ‘You and Megan have worked your socks off. Thomas has practised getting everything you and Craig need to prepare the meals to your work stations in record time all week. The students from the college are briefed and ready to be here
at six o’clock. Every single thing that could go wrong has been discussed and contingency plans laid. The necessary food is in the fridges, and the fresh food delivery will be here at ten, so you can prepare this menu. So, why have you drawn over it? It is perfect; you know it is.’
‘But what if it isn’t? What if the balance isn’t right? Don’t you think I should offer two fish choices and not just one, and is the beef too heavy with the cranberry pie side dish? Shouldn’t I have more than one dessert choice? I know that’s my signature dish and I want everyone to try it, but what if people don’t like it?’
Jack had been talking so fast that Rupert hadn’t had a chance to calm his boyfriend’s growing panic. Gathering up the menus that littered the table and stacking them decisively into one pile, he said, ‘Jack, this is just nerves. You’ve practised and practised the dishes on this menu.’ He brandished the one that was destined for the tables that evening. ‘You’ve been over it until you were blue in the face and Thomas has had steam coming out of his trainers! You’d be mad to change it now and risk a dish going wrong.’
Jack exhaled slowly. ‘But what if I’ve got it all wrong?’
‘You haven’t.’ Rupert stood up and gestured to the restaurant. ‘Look around you. The decor is spot on, the art is fantastic, the menus are well-presented and professional, and the whole feel of the place is welcoming and stylish without being imposing or invasive.’
‘What you’re saying is that I should stop panicking and get on with it?’
‘That is exactly what I’m saying. But first, I’m saying get in the kitchen and warm up those pots and pans by making us a hearty breakfast. It’s going to be a long day, and there’s no way you’ll get through it without some food inside you.’
‘Oh, I do like it when you’re all dominant.’ Jack winked at Rupert. ‘And what will you be doing while I rustle up two servings of eggs and bacon?’
‘Clearing up this mess, having a shower, and then I’m going to do whatever you need me to help with today. Now go cook some breakfast, Mr Chef Man.’
Jack stuck his tongue out and started to sing ‘How Do Y’Like Your Eggs in the Morning?’
Rupert laughed. ‘You really are old, aren’t you? Singing a Dean Martin song first thing in the morning!’
‘Cheek! Do I need to point out that you recognised it, and therefore must be old as well?’
Jack was about to disappear into the kitchen when Rupert said, ‘Well, I hope I get my kiss with those eggs!’
Megan arrived at The Olive Branch in time to find Jack and Rupert finishing their breakfasts.
‘Morning, boys. I’m impressed, Jack, I was way too nervous to eat properly this morning!’
Rupert pointed to the seat next to him. ‘I’ll grab you a coffee. This could be the only chance you get to sit down today.’
Jack passed the menu he’d been playing with over to Megan. ‘What do you think?’
‘Why have you changed this? You aren’t really going to alter the menu at the eleventh hour, are you?’
Rupert smiled at Megan. ‘I’m glad you said that. I’ve been telling him he’d be mad to change anything after all the work that’s gone into getting tonight ready.’
Jack held up his hands in defeat. ‘I was only asking what Megan thought of the menu in general, I didn’t mean for tonight. You’ve convinced me to stick to how things are already.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Megan took a sustaining sip of coffee. ‘Umm, actually, Jack ... the smell of bacon is making me hungry. I don’t suppose there’s any left?’
Rupert passed the list of guests to Megan as she finished laying out the last set of crockery. ‘I’ve double-checked all the bookings, and everyone who said they’d be here is definitely coming.’
‘Fantastic.’ Megan ran her eyes down the mix of local business owners, newspaper and magazine food critics, and Rupert’s parents. ‘How come Jack’s dad isn’t on the list?’
‘He and Jane are in New Zealand and couldn’t get a flight back. They’re planning to come over in a month or so, though. I have to admit I’m a bit nervous about meeting them.’
‘I’m sure they’ll love you.’ Megan studied the layout of the room carefully. ‘I’m trying to work out which the best tables are, so we can sit the most important critics at them.’
‘Good plan, although thanks to the great lighting the majority of the seats are good. Perhaps Peggy and Scott could go over by the kitchen door, and maybe I’ll sit with my parents in the far corner. Neither are bad spots, but they’re the tables with the least space, comparatively speaking.’
‘That’s a good idea. They won’t mind, will they?’
‘Scott and Peggy won’t,’ Rupert ran a hand through his hair, ‘and my mother won’t care. My father might, though. On the other hand, as he’s pretty much decided Jack is a waste of space, and that I’m a disappointment to the family name, he wouldn’t be happy even if the food came on solid gold plates served by the Queen.’
‘He won’t ruin it for Jack, will he?’
‘No, he doesn’t work like that. He’ll save his grievances up to fire at me later on – or possibly hiss them at me under his breath across the table, depending what mood he’s in.’
‘Jack said he was a bit difficult.’
‘Jack was being kind.’
Thomas flexed his tired shoulder muscles as he walked around the kitchen, examining each work station in turn. He didn’t think he could possibly make them any cleaner if he tried. Every dish, spoon, knife, fork, herb, spice, and pan was laid out precisely as Jack and Craig had dictated. The dishwasher was empty, the sinks were shining so brightly they could double as mirrors, and the aprons were spotless and folded ready for instant use.
Looking at his watch, he stood back up, and went into the restaurant, where he found Jack, Rupert, and Megan deep in conversation about the order of service for the evening ahead.
‘Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I’ve got everything I can do this early in the day, done.’
Jack smiled. ‘Thanks, mate. Why don’t you head to Pickwicks, get some food, and take a break for an hour? You’re going to need all your energy later.’
‘You’re not going to start effing and blinding at me like Gordon Ramsay, are you?’
‘Maybe not as bad as Mr Ramsay, but I can’t promise I won’t get a bit hot under the collar as the stress levels rise.’
Thomas grinned. ‘Forewarned is forearmed, as Mum always says. I’ll go and grab some food. Why don’t you guys come? You’ve been at it non-stop for hours. You need a break or you’ll be too exhausted to do well tonight.’
‘He’s right, Jack,’ Megan said. ‘If you don’t take a rest you won’t have enough energy left to shout at us later!’
Without letting Jack open his mouth to protest, she pushed the boys out of the door before following and locking the bistro door behind them.
Four hours later, Megan nodded approvingly at Jack in his smart new chef’s whites. Craig looked neat and efficient, and Thomas was freshly aproned and waiting to start the first dash to the fridge for the supplies required. The air in the kitchen was electric with anticipation.
Dressed in her best suit, her stomach awash with nerves, her customer greeting expression firmly in place, Megan said, ‘Good luck, Jack.’
‘And to you. Everything ready out there?’
‘Yes. The girls from the college are excellent, and very confident.’
‘Good.’ Jack examined his workforce then, his blood racing, said, ‘Let’s do this!’
Rupert embraced his mother as she got out of the taxi. ‘It’s so good of you both to come. I hope you found a nice hotel for the night.’
‘We did. Just up the road. Even if we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’ Angela Ashton studied her son. ‘Is Jack alright? Not too nervous, I hope?’
‘He’s doing wonderfully. I can’t tell you how important this evening is to him.’
‘I can imagine.’
Rupert tu
rned to his father, who was studying the front of the bistro as if it might explode. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘This had better be worth the trip. I won’t be backwards at giving my opinion if it isn’t up to standard.’
Keeping his expression neutral, Rupert said, ‘As long as you spread the word widely when you see how good Jack’s food is, then I’ll settle for that.’
Angela put a restraining arm on her husband’s arm, and much to Rupert’s amazement said, ‘Richard, if you ruin this for Rupert and Jack, I will never forgive you. Now, come on, the smell from the kitchen is incredible. I’m dying to tuck in.’
Jack wasn’t sure which part of him was more sore: his feet from the rigours of the day, or his throat from all the talking. The time between plating out the first serving of beef and the last helping of dessert seemed to have been only seconds. And no sooner had he passed Thomas the final serving spoon to put in the dishwasher than came the first of many knocks on the kitchen door.
Everyone wanted to talk to Jack. Each journalist had questions to ask, the local radio critic had booked an appointment for a future interview, and Angela, who hadn’t been able to resist coming to see behind the scenes, had given him a hug and ordered him out into the restaurant to meet his satisfied customers.
The moment he’d walked into the bistro, the place had erupted into peals of applause, and Jack had found himself taking a bow, and embraced by a glowing Megan as he thanked everyone for their kindness and support in return.
While Megan went to fetch Thomas and Craig from the kitchen so they could receive the thanks they also deserved, Peggy, Scott, and Rupert smothered Jack in a wave of congratulations that he would never forget. Nor would he forget the relieved look on Peggy’s face when Scott whispered to her, ‘See, I told you he’d be a good cook.’
Now, all the guests had finally gone, Nick had taken a worn out Megan home, and only Rupert and his parents remained.
