by Fay Keenan
‘Careful,’ Caroline smiled. ‘That was almost a compliment.’
‘You know me,’ Jonathan said. ‘Praise where it’s due.’
They sat in companionable silence for a moment or two. Then, with an air of reluctance, Jonathan stood up. ‘I should probably head back.’
‘You can stay and keep me company if you want,’ Caroline said. ‘Matthew, Anna and Merry will be back soon.’
‘Thanks, lovely, but I told Dad I wouldn’t be long.’ A shadow crossed Jonathan’s features. ‘He had a bit of a funny turn last night; he’s claiming he’s taking his heart medication properly but when I checked the packets this morning he’d skipped a couple of doses. Denied all knowledge when I asked him about it.’
‘Oh dear,’ Caroline responded. ‘I hope he’ll be OK. Let me know if I can do anything to help.’
‘Thanks,’ Jonathan said, then brightened. ‘The copy of the picture of me, him and Matthew really cheered him up when he saw it. Thanks for getting it framed for him.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ Caroline said. ‘I’m really glad he liked it.’
There was a pause between them again. Caroline reached over for Jonathan’s mug and as she did so, their fingers touched. ‘Sorry,’ she blushed.
‘No problem.’ Jonathan withdrew his hand and Caroline took both mugs to the dishwasher.
‘I’ll see you later in the week,’ Jonathan said, making for the back door.
‘See you soon,’ Caroline echoed. As he left, she had a sudden image of the two of them curled up on the sofa together watching something a little more grown up than Hotel Transylvania 2. She wondered what film he’d have chosen. Shaking her head, she headed back to the lounge to keep an ear out for Ellie. Business, not pleasure, she reminded herself, settling back to wait for Matthew, Anna and Meredith to get home.
21
Jonathan Carter was no stranger to decadent pleasures. He’d spent a good deal of the past ten years indulging his whims, physical and otherwise. There had been a point in the early years of the new century when he’d experimented with quite a few things, including drugs and alcohol. He knew now, as he’d known then but hadn’t wanted to admit, that he was indulging himself to blot out the guilt of having an affair with Tara, his brother’s first wife, and for being such a disappointment to the family. It had taken a long time for him to reconcile himself with what he’d done; the type of man he was, and an even longer time to become the man he wanted to be.
This self-knowledge had come at a cost; he was afraid to become emotionally involved with anyone again, afraid of hurting them and of being hurt himself. It hadn’t escaped him that in this he shared much in common with his brother. The act of betrayal that had torn the two brothers apart ultimately had the same effect on their emotions and made them both afraid to take a leap and trust someone else. Matthew had shied away from relationships to concentrate on raising his daughter and developing the family business, and Jonathan had taken woman after woman to his bed but never his heart. But since he’d returned to Little Somerby, he felt as though something was changing. And, as he’d started spending more and more time with Caroline Hemingway, he realised that he was changing. There was something about the way she challenged him on everything that he found irresistible and their animated discussions about everything from cutlery to critics electrified him. Could it be that he was finally allowing someone into his heart?
This was all very well he thought, as he walked over to The Cider Kitchen late one evening, a few days after he’d seen Caroline babysitting Ellie and the day after one of their regular weekly meetings, but he still didn’t have the faintest clue what to do about it. Caroline had been clear that business was all she had in mind. He’d even said the same thing when they started working together. The trouble was, Jonathan was starting to think he wanted more.
As he approached the front door he couldn’t see anyone else in the restaurant. The front door, though, was still open, so he mooched in. Caroline must still be around, totalling up the night’s takings. No matter. He’d amuse himself until she came back through. He toyed with the idea of helping himself to a scotch from the optic behind the bar but settled instead for a glass of water and some leftover lemon. As he sipped his drink he contemplated the baby grand piano. It had been at least twenty years since he’d played; longer than that since he’d taken lessons, but suddenly his fingers itched. He picked up the glass from where he’d put it on the bar and ambled over to the piano.
For a split second when he sat down on the piano stool, he wondered if he dared play it. Should he? The restaurant was so quiet, the last customers having left as he’d approached, that it seemed sacrilegious to break the silence of the night. Somehow Ragtime didn’t quite seem appropriate. But he knew what did.
Drawing a deep breath, allowing the muscle memory to take over, Jonathan put his hands to the keys. As the melody came back to him and his left hand embraced the steady regularity of the bass, Jonathan realised that the piano, whilst a touch out of tune, was in remarkably good shape. The rhythm took over, his fingers moved with more certainty, picking up on the beauty of the melody until it all came back to him.
At some point during the piece, Jonathan became aware of a figure entering from the kitchen. Undeterred, he continued to play. The key to this piece was keeping the bass regular and though his left hand hadn’t kept time for years, he found it was coming back to him. Just as he was coming to the final cadences, Caroline drew closer. He felt her breath in his ear, blowing gently, and distracted, he missed his fingering in the melody, resulting in a flurry of wrong notes. Righting them resolutely, he finished the piece.
‘And how many women have you seduced with your rendition of the Moonlight Sonata?’ Caroline asked wryly.
‘You’d be surprised how well it works,’ Jonathan replied.
‘I bet.’ Caroline pulled out a chair from the table nearest the piano. ‘Frankly, if you’ve been expecting me to do a Michelle Pfeiffer and slither all over that piano, you’d better think again.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Jonathan replied, although the thought was more than a little erotic. ‘So,’ he said, turning round on the piano stool. ‘If I was to seduce you with a piece of music, what would it be?’
‘Do you really expect me to answer that?’ Caroline stretched back in the chair, raising slender arms above her head. ‘Besides, all I’ve done this evening is look at figures. I can’t think in musical terms after all that.’
‘Music is very mathematical,’ Jonathan said. ‘You might be surprised.’
‘I doubt it.’ Caroline put her arms down again. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
‘Just checking in,’ Jonathan said. ‘I don’t like to see you burning the candle at both ends.’
‘I don’t really have a choice at the moment,’ Caroline sighed. ‘If I don’t work every hour god sends, the balance sheets aren’t going to look very good at the quarterly meeting with your accountant.’
‘Then let me help,’ Jonathan said. ‘Carter’s can always advance you some more cash.’
Caroline shook her head. ‘No. We’ve talked about this before. If I don’t keep within the budget we set for this place it’ll feel like I’m failing.’
‘You know it’s not like that,’ Jonathan said.
Caroline sighed. ‘I know. But there’s nothing you can do, unless you want to do a few shifts waiting tables tomorrow night.’
‘I think I might just cramp your style,’ Jonathan replied. He looked thoughtful. ‘But perhaps there is a solution.’
‘What, get myself a magic wand or nick Hermione Granger’s Time Turner?’
‘Hermione who?’ Jonathan asked.
‘You really don’t read anything except women’s phone numbers, do you?’ Caroline teased, although her heart wasn’t in it. ‘Never mind. The point is, I don’t have time or money to think any further than the end of the month at the moment. If you advance me more cash to cover the day to day costs, then we’ll eat int
o our profit margin.’
‘OK, OK,’ Jonathan held up his hands. ‘But I can tell you’re knackered and you haven’t had much time off since this place opened.’ He paused. ‘Although perhaps there is an answer.’
‘What?’
‘What about Emma? You said at our meeting that she handled herself brilliantly the other night when you babysat Ellie and she could do with a fulltime job.’
‘We don’t have the budget to pay her full time. One night a week is one thing, but taking her on for more hours is quite another.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ Jonathan said. ‘But what if you offered her a fifty-fifty sous chef and front of house apprenticeship? You’d save a few quid on her salary and she’d get the chance to train for both jobs. You know she wants to do both and it would give you a night or two off a week. She knows this place really well, so you wouldn’t have to spend too much time training her up. What do you reckon?’
Jonathan had that flash in his clear blue eyes that immediately told Caroline it would be useless to argue. Besides, she admitted grudgingly, he did actually have a point. ‘OK,’ she said slowly. ‘I’ll raise the idea with her when she comes in tomorrow. So long as she realises we can’t pay her much.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be more than happy,’ Jonathan said gently. ‘She loves this place and she and Gino are a good team. If we ever decide to open up another restaurant, we could put her in as head chef eventually.’
‘Another one?’ Caroline snorted. ‘Don’t you have enough on your plate overseeing this one? You seem to spend enough time here!’
‘It’s because I love spending time with you, darling,’ he said lightly. ‘I’m not fussed about this place really.’
‘I’m sure,’ Caroline smiled despite herself. A pause descended between them. With a jolt, Caroline realised that, without much of a combative discussion, she and Jonathan had agreed on a possible solution. Subject to Emma’s agreement, of course. ‘Thank you,’ she said in surprise. ‘I think we might have sorted it.’ Suddenly, a yawn overtook her. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.
‘You need to get to bed,’ Jonathan stood up. ‘Can I walk you to your door?’
Caroline grinned in spite of her tiredness. ‘Kind of you, but I think I can make it upstairs by myself. I’ll see you soon.’
Jonathan walked to the front door of the restaurant and gave her a last smile. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Carter,’ Caroline said. And with that, Jonathan headed home.
22
The next morning, Caroline checked the appointments diary on her phone and swore. She’d forgotten all about the trip to the hunt kennels that Jonathan had set up for her. She also had to make sure she allowed enough time to meet Emma formally to offer her the sous chef/front of house apprenticeship. Dragging a brush through her hair she threw on some warm clothes and programmed the postcode of the hunt kennels into her phone.
Once she’d shaken off her irritation about forgetting the appointment she quite enjoyed being away from the familiar surroundings of The Cider Kitchen. For months, she’d been working so hard that she hadn’t had much of a chance to explore the surrounding area, and it was nice, in the early autumn sunshine, to get into the country lanes of Somerset and see some new places. As she headed further south into the county she was amazed at how the wild, rocky hills of the Mendips flattened out into the glorious green expanse of the Somerset Levels. She drove through a couple of charming hamlets on her way to the kennels, which were situated just outside the picturesque small city of Wells. Perhaps if Emma accepted the job later, she’d make more of an effort to get out and about; after all, she’d moved to Somerset to experience new things and therefore she really should start experiencing them.
The hunt kennels were set back from the road and as Caroline drove up the driveway to the farm she felt very apprehensive. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected to see; huge, drooling dogs running wild, perhaps, or red faced bellowing upper class twits swigging whiskey from hip flasks. Then she chided herself; she’d assured Jonathan she’d keep an open mind, whatever her feelings and preconceptions were, so she needed to try to do that.
As she pulled up in the kennel yard a tall man came striding over. He was dressed in a green body warmer and blue jeans with dirty green wellies on his feet and a friendly smile on his face.
‘You must be Caroline,’ he said as she got out of the car. He offered her a hand which Caroline was relieved to see was spotlessly clean. ‘I’m Rob Kelloway, Master of Hounds for the Old Somerset Hunt.’ When he finished shaking her hand, he took off his tweed flat cap and raked his fingers back through his unruly mousy brown hair. ‘I gather you need some convincing that my hounds aren’t going to chase your cats and that we’re not bloodthirsty animal haters!’
Caroline smiled, despite her misgivings. ‘Something like that.’
‘You’d better come and meet them, then.’
Rob led Caroline across the yard to the stables, where an excited barking could be heard as they approached. ‘They get fed once a day,’ Rob said. ‘Would you like to see them have their breakfast?’
Caroline looked wary. ‘Depends what you feed them.’ Rob was being very hospitable but she couldn’t shake her instinct that he was the amenable face of a very violent and bloody institution. She wasn’t going to be swayed by a nice smile.
‘Mostly raw foxes,’ Rob said wryly.
Caroline felt a prickle of irritation that he could be so flippant, but when she saw he was still smiling, she relaxed. After all, it wouldn’t do to antagonise a man who had a hefty dog pack at his command. She followed Rob to the kennel building and the noise of hounds expecting their breakfast was almost deafening.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come a bit closer?’ Rob called over the increasing din from the hounds.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Caroline called back. She glanced at the bucket Rob was holding and was mildly repulsed to see it contained raw beef, bones and all. She kicked herself mentally; Gino was often chopping beef and other meats off the bone in the restaurant; this was really not that different.
‘I’m going to let them out into the yard to have their breakfast,’ Rob said. ‘You’d better get out of the way of the door unless you want to be knocked over.’
Caroline stepped hastily out of the way and watched as the hounds streamed into the yard. Having never been up close to fox hounds before she was amazed at how big they were. Each one came up to her thigh and they were solidly built and muscular. Rob strode back out of the kennel and Caroline observed as the hounds circled him, before settling in a rowdy line in front of him. As he put their feed down in a long trough in the centre of the yard, they still waited for his signal, until with a motion of his hand, they all piled in.
Caroline was grudgingly impressed. Edging round the strong backs and waving tails of the hound pack, she joined Rob in front of them. ‘They’re very well behaved,’ she said.
‘They know they won’t get fed if they aren’t,’ Rob replied. ‘They only get one meal a day.’
‘Where does their food come from?’
‘Farmers bring in animals that have died unexpectedly and we use what we can of them to feed the hounds and incinerate the rest. We will also humanely destroy and collect casualties. The local councils often ask us to collect and dispose of dead animals, too.’
‘Don’t they chase the live ones?’
‘My hounds are too well trained for that.’
Caroline was surprised; she hadn’t realised that the hunt could actually be useful. But she wasn’t prepared to let go of her principles and opinions that easily. ‘So what happens when they do, er, accidentally, end up chasing a fox?’
‘They do cross our path from time to time,’ Rob conceded. ‘But healthy foxes are quicker than you think. They’re not the defenceless animals a lot of people take them for. And,’ he paused, giving her a wicked grin. ‘I understand a lot of them have relocated to the town, anyway, since it’s better pickings for
them from the bins!’
Caroline, who had the notion she was being mocked, shot back ‘And I suppose that justifies your hounds chasing the not so fast ones, does it?’
‘Of course not. We don’t chase foxes. We stop the moment we see one and redirect the hounds.’ Rob said, ruffling the head of a hound who, having finished his breakfast, was sniffing around by their feet. ‘And I do understand why you don’t agree with the practice. People sometimes can’t see the role that the hunt plays in the countryside. But I hope you can at least see that I do keep my hounds under control and no harm will come to your cats when we meet at The Cider Kitchen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to give them a bit of a run.’
‘Where do you take them?’ Caroline asked.
‘Well, they’re quite partial to the Strawberry Line!’ Rob said. ‘If I can stop them from chasing tourists on bikes, that is.’
Much against her will, Caroline was tickled by the image of a tourist clad in neon lycra being the quarry for the hounds. Perhaps she was turning into a country girl after all, she thought as she bade farewell to Rob and headed back to The Cider Kitchen.
*
Later that day, when Emma came in for the evening service, Caroline beckoned her over to the sofas in the corner of the restaurant. Emma was delighted to be offered the combined sous chef/front of house post and said she could start straight away. Caroline was pleased, too. She knew Emma was an excellent chef and she had every faith, given the girl’s lovely, calm disposition, that she’d prove to be an equally excellent deputy front of house person. And, she thought, it might actually mean she could take some time off after four months of working seven days a week.
Just before she turned in for the night, she texted Jonathan about Emma’s response to being offered the job. Hopefully, the Old Somerset Hunt meet would go without a hitch, too, and that would be the last she’d see of those bloody foxhounds.
