by Fay Keenan
Caroline, whose patience had been on a tightrope all night, finally snapped. ‘I don’t need to take any precautions.’ She swatted Smith’s hand away smartly. ‘We’ve done a fucking fantastic job of getting this place ready, and you should give us the credit we deserve for the effort we’ve put in, not because you want to put the moves on me, so back off.’
‘Well, well,’ Smith said, hastily withdrawing his hand and reaching for his glass of wine, which still had a gulp in the bottom of it. ‘Looks like you’ve got teeth as impressive as your tits.’ Still insolent, he glanced down her body.
Caroline stood her ground. ‘Good night, Mr Smith. I suggest you leave before you feel just how sharp my teeth are. And I promise you, you won’t like it one little bit. I trust we’ll see your review in the Somerset Herald in due course.’
‘Certainly,’ Smith replied. ‘Thank you for an… entertaining night.’
‘It’s not her job to entertain you.’ A voice cut through the man’s oily routine like cheese wire through a block of Stinking Bishop. ‘She’s here to run a business, so why don’t you get back to your typewriter and write about it.’
Smith flinched as if stung.
‘Well, well,’ he said softly. ‘And I thought Carter’s were just throwing cash at the place and leaving the legwork to the minions.’
‘Why don’t you do us all a favour and push off before you say or do something else you’ll regret.’ Jonathan, who had slipped in through the front door, stopped a few feet away from Caroline. The three of them stood stock still for a few more heartbeats.
‘Don’t worry,’ Smith said eventually. ‘I get the message, loud and clear. I’ll be sure to call you if I need any more information.’ He walked to the door. ‘Good night.’
As he left, Caroline released a breath she felt as though she’d been holding all evening. It did little to extinguish her anger. She spun round to face Jonathan who had remained where he was, a few feet behind her. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
Jonathan held up his hands in mitigation. ‘I just thought you might appreciate a little help in dealing with that sanctimonious shit. His reputation precedes him.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you!’ Caroline was still fuming. ‘What right have you got to swan in here now when all the work’s been done?’ Restlessly, she walked around the restaurant, straightening cutlery, checking glasses, folding already folded napkins.
‘Calm down, Caroline,’ Jonathan said. ‘I was just passing and I wanted to see how Emma had got on. I slipped in the back way precisely because I didn’t want to tread on your toes. I wasn’t going to let you know I was here until I saw him try to do a number on you.’ He took a step towards her. ‘I’m sorry if it wasn’t what it looked like, but I’ve heard bad reports from people who’ve been on the wrong end of his ‘charm’. He thinks just because he used to work for a London newspaper he’s the hottest journalist in the South West, rather than doing food reviews for a freebie rag.’
‘I am more than capable of telling him where to go myself,’ Caroline snapped. ‘In fact, I was one step away from punching him in the face when you rocked up. I’m not some pathetic damsel in distress who needs you to weigh in and rescue me whenever the hell you feel like it.’
‘Look,’ Jonathan sounded exasperated. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just don’t like seeing people being put under that kind of pressure. He should give us a good review because you, and this place, are good. Not because he wants to get into your knickers.’
‘Your concern is touching,’ Caroline’s voice was still brittle with tension. ‘but can you honestly tell me you’ve never put a woman under that kind of pressure?’
Jonathan’s eyes were suddenly ice cold. ‘I’ve never had to.’ He let his hands drop to his sides. ‘Goodnight, Caroline.’ Without another word, he walked out of The Cider Kitchen.
The door closed behind Jonathan and Caroline let out a long breath. As if being hit on by a food critic wasn’t enough, now she had Jonathan trying to muscle in and play the great protector. She’d seen off enough types like Ian Smith in the past to know exactly where their weak spots were. At least, she thought, she’d be able to kick Gino’s arse when he came to see her early the next morning.
If she was honest, she knew that Jonathan, and probably Gino, were the wrong targets for her aggression but she’d been so keyed up all evening that arguing with Jonathan had been a release. Perhaps she had responded too strongly to his attempt to intercede with Ian Smith. Sometimes the anger she still felt about her own isolation and the shadows of her past crept up on her and made her want to turn that anger outwards. In exasperation, she grabbed her phone from behind the cash desk and began to text Jonathan.
Sorry,
she wrote quickly.
It’s been a long night. Meeting to debrief in the morning? C.
She only just stopped herself from signing off with a kiss. That would be a step too far, she thought wryly, heading back to the kitchen to speak to Emma. Sometimes she forgot how far she’d actually come in a few months; what she’d left behind in Surrey. She just hoped that the past really was behind her, and that she could truly move on.
13
The next morning, Gino was waiting on the doorstep. Taking a moment to observe him, Caroline noticed the hunched shoulders, the lank locks and the general air of dolefulness that emanated from him.
‘I am so, so sorry, Caroline,’ was Gino’s opening gambit. He hovered on the doorstep, reluctant to cross the threshold.
Equally mindful of the Health and Safety risk to her other staff and customers, should Gino’s food poisoning turn out to be a virus, Caroline stepped outside to join him.
‘You’re a twat,’ Caroline said smartly. ‘You jeopardised the opening night just because you couldn’t say no to your mates.’
Gino shook his head. ‘You’re right. I am a twat. And it won’t happen again, I promise.’
Caroline sized him up. He still looked rather green around the gills and his already flat stomach was now almost concave. He had dark rings round his red rimmed eyes and he did, indeed, look the picture of contrition.
‘What time did you stop throwing up?’ She asked.
‘About five o’clock yesterday afternoon,’ Gino replied. ‘And then Mum gave me such a bollocking I wanted to keep my head down the bog as long as I could.’
‘Good for your mother,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m not your mum. I’m your boss and if you mess me around again, Gino, I will throw you out on your ear so fast you’ll think food poisoning is a night at the Ritz.’
Gino bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘You’re lucky that Emma Leadbetter stepped in at short notice yesterday to cover your shift. And I was pleased that you’d left such comprehensive notes. It made her job an awful lot easier.’
‘Emma? Vern’s daughter?’
‘Yes. She was on a week’s leave from college so we were lucky she could spare the time. Thankfully, she proved more than capable.’ This was, of course, absolutely true, but Caroline felt it should be emphasised to Gino to make it clear he wasn’t her only option.
‘I’ve heard good things about her,’ he admitted grudgingly.
‘With good reason,’ Caroline paused. ‘In fact, I thought I might take her on part time when she finishes her course, as your sous chef.’
Gino started. ‘I didn’t think you had the budget for a sous chef?’
‘I don’t, really,’ Caroline admitted. ‘But she’s got something. I think she’d be great.’
‘Do I get a say in this?’ Gino grumbled. ‘Or am I expected to just suck it up?
‘For the moment, you just do the latter,’ Caroline said briskly. ‘And try to keep your nose clean. Emma saved the day while you were hugging the toilet bowl so you owe her one. And she’s got some genuinely innovative ideas to bring to the table. Since you’re out of commission until tomorrow night, she’s going to come in and do tonight’s service. I mi
ght broach the subject of a job with her at the end of the night, if she does all right.’
Gino, realising that it was better to keep quiet, did just that, but he couldn’t resist a smirk. Emma Leadbetter might be good, but he knew he was better. They’d been a year apart at college and while she was organised and a grafter, he remembered her as lacking a certain flair. He, on the other hand, fancied himself as the next Marco Pierre White; his tutors had described him as an explosive talent and he was determined that Caroline’s restaurant would be the first step on a stratospheric career ladder. Perhaps, for the moment though, he’d better keep a keen eye on her; it wouldn’t do to be trumped by the pub landlord’s daughter.
14
The next few weeks passed largely without incident at The Cider Kitchen. Gino, true to his word, had been efficient, creative and committed and word about his inventive use of flavour was beginning to spread. Caroline had employed Emma Leadbetter on an apprentice’s salary for Saturday nights, when she largely cooked to Gino’s specifications, but she was beginning to branch out with her own ideas. Once Emma graduated from catering college, Caroline was hoping to offer her a more permanent job if she could afford to. Gino grudgingly admired her dogged efficiency and her methodical nature which sat well with his own flair and desire to push boundaries and take risks.
‘Together, you two make the perfect chef,’ Caroline remarked one evening when they had come into work together. After the opening menu they were keen to adapt and change the dishes to showcase some more seasonal produce and so had arranged to meet Caroline before the evening service. Caroline had met Jonathan a few times and thankfully he’d accepted her apology for shouting at him on opening night. He was now lounging on one of the sofas at the back of the restaurant, tie artfully askew, the sleeves of his light blue shirt rolled up, having come straight from his office on the cider farm for this meeting. He had his phone out, his attention divided as always, but as Caroline approached she was gratified to see him slip it back into his pocket.
‘Thanks for the heads up on the new menu ideas, Caroline,’ Jonathan said after she and Gino had outlined their new plans. ‘I’ve also got an idea for a new theme for the autumn season.’ He glanced at Emma. ‘I wanted to include you, Emma, since you’ve proven yourself to be such a reliable asset to this place. And, Gino, despite some early issues, your menu choices have been inspired.’
Was Caroline imagining it or did Jonathan’s voice have a slight edge to it when addressing Gino? She assumed it was because he was still irritated by Caroline’s refusal to sack him after the opening night fiasco, or perhaps he felt embarrassed because he’d been the one who’d initially appointed Gino, but she decided to let it slide for now. ‘What have you got in mind?’ she asked.
‘I wonder if you’d consider some suggestions for a country pursuits’ based menu. As I’m sure you know, the grouse shooting season starts in August, and I’d like you two to think about how you might incorporate some game over the next few months. From October we’ll have ready access to as many pheasants as you can cook and it would be good to include some on the menu, along with rabbit.’
Gino nodded, obviously keen to keep in with Jonathan. ‘Of course. I’ve cooked some pheasant dishes before, and rabbit’s pretty adaptable.’
Caroline kept silent. She was a little unnerved by the way Jonathan assumed that a blood sports themed menu was just going to happen and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about having pheasant and grouse as options. The only time she’d tasted pheasant it had been so strong it had virtually crawled off the plate.
‘I’m happy to consider the options,’ she said as Gino finished outlining his ideas. ‘But I do feel we ought to be concentrating on more contemporary menu choices, too. There’s so much good local produce around here; do we need to hark back to field sport traditions that, frankly, would be better left in the past?’
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. ‘You do know you’re in the heart of Somerset, right? That tradition is basically part of the landscape? Head a mile in any direction and you’re into prime hunting, shooting and fishing country.’
‘I know that,’ Caroline said patiently. ‘But that doesn’t mean we have to steep ourselves in it the whole time. Contemporary producers are springing up all over the county – look at all the artisan cheesemakers in Cheddar these days that are opening up as a response to the super dairies, and only last week I had an email from a charcutier in Wrington who wants to collaborate on some ideas. Can’t we leave the hunting, shooting and fishing in the past?’
Jonathan looked thoughtful. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but I also know that there’s a fair proportion of the population who’d love a new spin on the old heritage, too. Can you allow your chefs to put their minds to a dish or two, just to humour me?’
There was a pause so long between them it verged into the uncomfortable. Gino and Emma suddenly looked very interested in the bottoms of their cups of coffee. Eventually, Caroline spoke. ‘I’ll let them think about it,’ she said guardedly.
Jonathan nodded. ‘Good. I think there’s definitely potential in the idea.’
Gino cleared his throat. ‘So, er, we’ll put our heads together and get back to you, shall we?’ He glanced at Emma. ‘Shall we head back to the kitchen and brainstorm?’
‘Sure,’ Emma replied. They stood up hurriedly.
Caroline looked at Jonathan, who was in turn regarding her with an expression of exasperation and amusement. ‘Do you think we scared them off?’
Jonathan shrugged. ‘They’re young. They don’t understand the importance of combative business discussion.’
Caroline bristled. ‘If you think that was me being combative, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’
‘Perhaps now isn’t the time to run the Halloween plans by you, then?’
Caroline sighed. ‘How about you put it in an email?’ She picked up her own coffee cup. ‘Seriously, Jonathan, when I took on this project it was mostly because I was promised autonomy in terms of the menu and the direction of the creative side of the business. That is why you hired me, after all. Is this field sports menu going to be the tip of the iceberg?’
‘Caroline,’ Jonathan said patiently, ‘I do understand, really, but there has to be a bit of give and take here. You’ve done a fabulous job getting this place up and running, but in order to keep people coming through the doors, we’ve got to keep things fresh. I know you’ve only been open a few weeks, but if there’s one thing growing up in the cider business has taught me, it’s that you’ve got to keep looking to the next season, the next event. In this economic climate you can’t afford to rest on your laurels. I don’t mean to teach my grandmother to suck eggs but you have to work with the land and its traditions a bit.’
Caroline bit her lip. ‘I do understand that. I just have some reservations about which traditions would be good for the business.’
Jonathan stood up. ‘Fair enough, and I’d love to discuss it further, but I’ve got to go. We’ll have to save it for another time.’ He pushed his rolled up sleeves further up to his elbows, revealing more of his suntanned forearms, and loosened his tie, undoing his top button at the same time. ‘Christ, it’s warm today. I miss the days when I didn’t have to wear a suit to work.’
Caroline shook her head as he left. What was it about Jonathan Carter that made her simultaneously want to scream and sing?
15
That same evening, across the village at Cowslip Barn, Anna was getting the shopping in from the car. She’d had a busy day as the Little Orchard Tea Shop was in full holiday season swing. Her godmother, Ursula, who owned the tea shop, had decided to extend her sabbatical and was enjoying her semi-retirement in Umbria, leaving Anna in charge, which she loved. She fully intended, once she’d taken a year off with the new baby, to return to running the tea shop, which had been a source of great stability and a lot of pleasure when she’d moved back to Little Somerby eighteen months previously.
A lot of people, her best friend Cha
rlotte included, had assumed that Anna would give up the tea shop when she married Little Somerby’s most eligible millionaire cider farmer, but Anna had been adamant; she owed it to Ursula to remain as manager of The Little Orchard Tea Shop and it was a business she adored. The cosy little shop had been her haven, her stability, and although she’d rented out her own charming cottage and moved in with Matthew, she wasn’t prepared to give up the tea shop. Matthew had understood and encouraged her to keep the business on. With Ellie nearly of school age, it would soon be easier in terms of childcare and he didn’t want her to give up something that made her so happy.
Ellie had been over the moon when Anna and Matthew had broken the news to her about the new addition to the family. She’d been fascinated to see the greyish blob on the ultrasound photos after the twelve week scan, demanding instantly to know whether she was going to have a brother or a sister. Anna wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Better to keep things a surprise this time round, she thought. Meredith had been somewhat quieter in response to the news, but Anna had put it down to having a lot of other things to think about as she was in the middle of her GCSE exams. She was sure that Meredith would be just as excited about a new brother or sister once the time grew closer.
Grappling with a shopping bag before it collapsed entirely, Anna dropped her car keys onto the scrubbed oak kitchen table and made a futile snatch at the bag of oranges at the top of the hessian shopper, grimacing as they escaped their netting and careered wildly across the table top. As she wandered across the kitchen, picking up the fruit as it rolled away, including one that Sefton had caught in his jaws, she noticed a new entry on the calendar stuck to the side of the fridge. This was nothing unusual; Meredith’s social life was hectic and Matthew had trained her long ago that if she required a parental taxi she needed to put it on the calendar, but this entry wasn’t in Meredith’s looped handwriting; it was very definitely written in Matthew’s hand.
