by Con Riley
Louise noticed. “Did you two just fight, or something?”
Or something is right. Jude nodded at the same time that Rob shook his head.
Louise’s eyes narrowed over the rim of her mug. “I thought you liked each other.”
Jude had. Did. But it was pointless to revisit feelings that Rob had just drawn a stark line under. He took a huge mouthful of his sandwich rather than verbalise any of that, especially to Louise. Instead, he did what he’d practised since realising that men held his interest; Jude locked down, silent.
His sister set her mug on the table. “You have to know that I only contacted Rob in the first place because it seemed like you two became friends during the contest.”
Jude snorted.
“It did,” Louise insisted. “You must have been good friends. Rob dedicated winning the contest to you.”
Jude stopped chewing at the same time Rob stood so swiftly that the table rocked a little. Tea slopped onto its scarred surface, wood dented by years of tourists, their presence a small sign that parts of the Anchor’s history remained untouched, at least. By the time Louise wiped up the spill, Rob was behind the bar, setting a glass out on the counter. He opened a bottle of cognac and said, “It’s too early for this conversation,” as he poured, grimacing at his first sip. “Jesus, this really is shit. It’s worse than the coffee.”
Jude finally managed to swallow. “You dedicated winning to me?”
Rob took another small sip and nodded. The repeat of his grimace would have been comical if Jude’s heart wasn’t constricting. “Why?”
Rob grabbed the bottle and glass, returning to where they sat by the window, sunlight leaving nothing hidden. “Why did I dedicate the win to you?” He lifted his glass again, second thoughts striking, setting it down instead to push it away. The dents and scratches in the tabletop must have been compelling. He traced them very carefully rather than look up at Jude. “Because without you to compete against, I wouldn’t ever have needed to try so hard to stay in the competition.” His voice dropped along with his gaze. “I only entered to piss off Dad. Why would I need the prize money to set up my own restaurant? But you made me want to get to the final.” He lifted his gaze, unguarded in a way that stole Jude’s breath. “You did,” Rob insisted. “For the first time, I was desperate to cook my heart out.” He resumed tracing scars in the wood, fingertip edging closer and closer to Jude’s hand.
He should move it away, Jude decided; move his hand well out of Rob’s reach, before Louise saw how close they were to touching. Instead his fingers unfurled like the fronds of an anemone might at high tide, helpless not to while something deep inside him was desperate, so desperate, for the slightest scrap of contact, far more than it feared being noticed. This was asking for trouble, surely, but still Jude couldn’t help leaning slightly closer until his knee pressed against Rob’s under the table, the sensation of him pressing back welcome yet terrifying.
“It was in the papers,” Louise said, oblivious to Jude being close to a full-blown crisis. “I read an interview Rob gave. The reporter went into a lot of detail about Rob’s family background. About how his mum’s family ran the country hotel where his dad first worked.”
Huh. Jude hadn’t known that.
“And about how Rob’s dad and mum renovated their own hotel from the ground up. They stayed there until….” She cast a glance sideways, continuing at Rob’s small nod. “…until his mum was very poorly.” Louise did what Jude had struggled to hold back from; she took Rob’s hand easily, so easily, and squeezed it. “His dad sold up after she died, and that’s when he started opening restaurants in London.”
That part was news to Jude, too. Now that he thought harder, all he’d known for certain was that Rob’s dad was well-respected in London’s tight-knit restaurant circles, his good standing opening doors for Rob that Jude could only dream of. “I’m sorry,” he got out. “About your mum.”
Rob nodded, looking anywhere but directly at him while Louise continued. “So that’s how I know Rob understood about more than cheffing. He also knows how hotels work because of where he grew up. The article about Rob came out after the storm,” she explained. “By then, the basic repairs had wiped the summer profits as well as the emergency kitty Mum and Dad left. We didn’t get the usual winter visitors. Usual….” She paused for a moment, dark clouds scudding across a face that was usually bright and open. “Nothing’s been usual around here since then. After the storm, all I had was a pile of final demands and no way to pay them.”
“But, Lou, when I called to ask how you felt about me staying aboard the Aphrodite to search for longer, you didn’t even hint that there was a problem. You told me not to come back.”
She nodded, mug now cupped in both hands. She took a final sip at the same time that Jude drained his own, his mouth dry at the thought of Louise here on her own dealing with a problem that had no solution. She set her mug down, a smile that didn’t look entirely happy twisting her lips. “I thought you were more useful looking for Mum and Dad.”
“How was that more useful?” Jude asked, exasperated.
Rob raised the cognac bottle as if to pour him a measure. Jude declined. Louise pushed her mug towards him. She cupped it again once he’d added a finger. Her nose wrinkled as she sipped, her next comment aimed Rob’s way.
“You weren’t lying. This is bad.” Her grimace mirrored Rob’s before she drew in a deep breath and spoke directly to Jude. “When I realised that the pub wasn’t going to make it without the usual tourists, I was out of options.”
“I could have—”
“You could have done what, Jude?” She pushed a curl behind her ear, her lower lip trembling. “Come home just in time to watch the bailiffs take everything Mum and Dad worked so hard for?” She shook her head. “No. You were much more useful where you were.”
“Surely the insurance….” Jude stopped when Louise’s eyes closed for a second.
“Storm damage only, remember? Of course, I contacted the coroner again.” It was a segue that confused Jude until she explained. “I asked if the presumption of their death could be brought forward.”
“Presumption of death?” Jude could see a line of seagulls on the sea wall, some with their beaks open, no doubt cawing, but all he could hear was the sick thud of his heart. “You wanted the coroner to have Mum and Dad declared dead?”
It wasn’t a laugh that Louise let out, exactly. The dictionary didn’t have a word to describe a sound so joyless. “Of course I didn’t want that.” She grabbed her mug with an abrupt jerk, china clinking against her teeth as she gulped instead of sipping. “Of course I didn’t.”
“Then why—?”
Rob spoke then. “As I understand it, the death of a missing person can only be presumed after seven years, but that timeframe can be shortened if an overwhelming amount of proof is offered, like pinpointing their specific location during a natural disaster, for example.”
The breath Louise let out was long and shaky. “Bless them, but Mum and Dad weren’t the best at business. They took on too big a mortgage for this place, and then never made too much of a profit. There’s still years left on the loan. With more proof and the coroner’s say-so, their life insurance policies will pay it all off and then some. We’d be able to access their pension pots too.”
Jude had experienced plenty of low moments lately; times when he’d spied familiar sails on the horizon only to find a different boat than the One for Luck below them, but he’d never hit rock bottom before that moment.
He sat across from his sister, finally understanding why she hadn’t insisted he come home even if an extra pair of hands might have been useful.
She’d stopped believing he’d find their parents alive.
When was he going to accept it as well?
Rob offered the cognac again. Jude pushed his empty mug towards him, barely listening when Rob said, “Louise asked the coroner, but their answer wasn’t helpful. Neither was the bank’s. They wouldn’t extend a line of cr
edit when the property belonged to missing owners. She truly ran out of options.” He poured a generous measure before recapping the bottle. “That’s when she contacted me. You remember that the contest came with a cash prize?”
Of course he did. It had been his sole motivation—just enough for an aspiring chef to set up on his own. It was what had led Jude to enter in the first place—finally a good enough reason to keep him away from Porthperrin long-term.
Rob pushed the mug back to Jude’s side of the table. “Your sister read the interview where I said I wouldn’t have won it without you.”
Jude lifted his cognac, almost choking because Rob wasn’t done yet.
“She told me if that was true, I should share it with you.”
This time, Rob followed Jude when he left the main bar and opened the front door to cross the street to the sea wall. He set Jude’s mug down, another inch of cognac at its bottom, and took a sip of his own.
“Getting day-drunk isn’t going to help anything.”
“No,” Rob agreed, squinting in the sunlight. “But the sooner the bottle’s finished, the sooner Lou will let me replace it with something better.” He tipped the rest into the harbour. “She runs a very tight ship.”
“Sounds like she’s had to.” Jude inhaled salted air and exhaled a question. “You really gave her half the prize money?”
“No. Of course I didn’t.” Rob looked out to sea. Beyond the mouth of the harbour, waves crashed, turbulent and foaming. “I gave her all of it.”
“You what?”
Rob crossed his arms, still staring outward. “Or, to be accurate, I exchanged it for part of your sister’s share in the profits.” Before Jude could absorb that, Rob said, “It’s an investment, that’s all. Nothing to do with what happened between us. Like I said earlier, you made it clear that staying in touch wasn’t a priority. You put family first, and I get that. I respect it. So you have to believe that when I came to an agreement with your sister, seeing you again wasn’t part of the deal. It was strictly business.”
That was the second time he’d used the same phrase that morning.
“Your sister needed a cash injection if the pub was going to make it through the winter. As I said, none of the banks would touch her, but I could see that with some investment, the New Anchor could make a lot of money. Besides, it got me out of London.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Why would I want to stay there?” Rob turned so his hip rested against the sea wall. “That was what my dad wanted for me. Follow in his footsteps by running his restaurants? No thanks,” he said with a shudder as if declining that good fortune was like dodging a bullet. “I’ve seen what that life does to people. To families. That wasn’t ever what I wanted.”
Seagulls swooped overhead, chasing each other, the calmer water below them sea-green and so clear Jude could see a starfish on the seafloor. Rob echoed something Jude had long thought. “It’s so beautiful here. I can’t think of anywhere better on the planet to wake up every morning.” He paused, evaluating. “Apart from Glastonbury, maybe.”
“You didn’t grow up in London?” Country life wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured, Rob so urbane and relaxed in the capital’s hustle and bustle.
“No, but Glastonbury wasn’t like Porthperrin either. Less Atlantic Ocean; more Ley lines, druids and hippies. Our hotel attracted the strangest people. Growing up there was magic.” His whole expression lightened, delight a good look on him. “In a well-run hotel, everyone pitches in to make it work when it’s busy. Mum gave me all the best jobs, like pouring a glass of cognac after dinner for every new guest. She’d chat with them until dad got done cooking, then he’d come to sit with them as well; talk until they were friends rather than clients. He took his time with people, back then. Mum made him.” His next pause was drawn out. “I like the idea of running a hotel, even a small one, much more than only running a kitchen. What’s the point of preparing food if you don’t ever get a minute to learn about who you’re feeding?” He shook his head and glanced at his mug. “I never really thought about that connection, but I drank cognac with your sister when we made our agreement. I promised to invest my cash; all of it; the prize and the last of the money Mum left after she.... Anyway, Louise promised to either buy me out with interest at the end of this summer or we equally split any losses. It’s a good incentive for both of us to make this place work.” The breeze whipped his hair forwards. “If this summer season goes as well as we plan, I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
Jude muttered words that stuck in his throat. “And if it doesn’t? What if the takings are terrible? You heard what Lou said, didn’t you? The law says death can’t be presumed for seven years. You could be stuck with me for a long time.”
“Yes.” Rob looked as if he regretted tipping away the last of the cognac. “That’s crossed my mind a few times.”
“And you didn’t think about mentioning any of that before you kissed me?”
“You already said you were leaving again.” There was no disputing that fact. “It was virtually the first thing you said to Lou when you got back. ‘I won’t be staying after the summer’,” he quoted. “She told me.” He held a hand up to shield his eyes as he said the same phrase for a third time, as though repeating it would make the words more convincing. “So keeping things strictly businesslike is probably for the best, isn’t it,” he said before leaving.
Jude watched him go, wondering if Rob had meant that last statement to sound so much like a question.
7
Jude took his time before going back inside, checking his watch as the church bell chimed. How could it still be so early when so much had happened? He scrubbed his hands over his face, pausing as his palm rubbed his lips, still hypersensitive from Rob’s earlier kiss.
He had to get a grip and take Rob up on his strictly business offer.
He had to.
It was the only safe way forwards.
Decision made, he went back inside to find Louise in the office, another spreadsheet open on her laptop. Rob came to lean against the office doorway, adding his thoughts on the business plan on the screen until Jude turned and said, “Can you give us a minute?”
“Jude, Rob knows as much about this as I do,” Louise said. “We drew up this plan together. If I’m making changes now that you’re back—”
“For a few months,” Rob interjected.
“—for a few months, or from now on,” she insisted, “it means we need to account for the impact of your work on the figures. An extra pair of hands means I can recalculate the timeline until we can fully reopen.”
Jude’s huffed-out breath was loud enough for Rob to take the hint. He said, “I’ll be in the kitchen when you get over your tantrum, Jude. Come and find me when you’re ready to talk business like a grown-up.” The door didn’t exactly slam closed behind him, but it was a close thing.
“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” It was just all a lot to take in. So many changes to a place Jude had known forever. “I’m frustrated that you had to do this. Any of it. Without me. That’s all.”
“I know. And don’t mind Rob,” Louise said as if almost-slammed doors were nothing new to her. “He gets emotional.” She considered for a long moment. “No, not emotional…” She swivelled in her chair to face Jude. “He’s very invested.”
“I know. I heard.” Jude still couldn’t believe Rob had used his prize-winnings this way, or that Louise had willingly risked her share of their home for what seemed a high-stakes venture. “You know there’s no guarantee of the business working, don’t you? Did you even get legal advice before signing?”
“Yes.” Louise faced front again and addressed an email to him. She attached a document and pressed Send. “There. I’ve sent you the agreement. You can read it whenever you want, but it seemed like a no-lose proposition to me. We either make a go of it, with Rob’s help, or both of us will end up with nothing.”
“All three of us will, you
mean.”
Louise nodded. “You planned to work here all summer anyway, didn’t you? Our agreement doesn’t have to affect you.”
Apart from having to spend so much time around Rob when he was still so attracted to him. Maybe some of that conflict was visible. Louise took pity. She clicked back to the spreadsheet. “Look, I hadn’t factored you coming back this summer into the projections.” She changed some macros. “It makes a hell of a positive difference.” The graph looked much more healthy. “With your extra manpower, we could reopen early, and I can cut down on kitchen staff costs.”
The door opened again, Rob in chef whites now, tying his apron. “You can be my kitchen porter.”
“I’m not clearing up after you.”
“I was joking.” Rob walked in to stand behind Lou, both of his hands on her shoulders, his expression conciliatory, at least. “But I’m guessing you aren’t finding much of this funny, right now.”
No, Jude really wasn’t.
“We’ve had a long time to get used to the idea,” Louise said, glancing up at Rob before wrapping her hand around Jude’s. “I get that it’s going to take you a while to catch up, but I hope you do, Jude.” Her gaze was as watery as it had been at the crack of dawn. “I hope you do because Rob’s been wonderful, but having him here didn’t make up for how much I missed you.”
Those few sips of cognac must have left Jude weak-willed. Rob said, “I missed you too,” and all of his resolve fractured.
“So, what is the plan, exactly?”
Rob deferred to Louise. “You want to talk Jude through it while I get back to the kitchen?”
“Not really,” Louise clicked on a calendar icon. “What I actually need to do right now is finish working on the bedrooms. You didn’t think I stayed up late last night just in case you decided to come home, did you?” She nudged Jude, her teasing so much better than her former teary smile. “There’s still a lot to get ready before our first potential bookings. See?” White paint spotted the back of the hand she used to click open an online booking system. “This is when we’re scheduled to reopen.” Jude couldn’t help but notice that every single room was vacant. She listed chores on the rest of her fingers, also spattered with paint. “I still need to decorate the second bathroom, finish making the last few sets of curtains, and paint Dad’s study.”
