by Con Riley
“You’re going to turn it into a bedroom as well?” The final room off the upstairs hallway had been lined with books about sailing ever since he could recall, framed photos from his dad’s time in the Merchant Navy hanging from beams like the ones in their bedrooms.
“Yes. Boxing everything up will help speed up that process. Moving all of his stuff to the boatshed makes sense until we…. I mean until I have time to sort through it all, next winter.” She frowned. “But only making the study habitable won’t be nearly enough, not if we’re going to charge boutique hotel prices for every bedroom.”
“Boutique?” Jude’s face must have conveyed confusion.
“Niche,” Louise explained. “One-of-a-kind, instead of standard. Boutique hotels have something special about them,” she gestured at the window that framed a perfect picture of the harbour and green glints of Cornish water, “like their location for instance.” Then she included Rob in the conversation. “Or having a prize-winning chef in residence, supplying fine-dining for a steep price.”
Jude didn’t like the idea of moving the contents of a room that his dad had spent so much time in, his world-tour plans likely still visible in every nook and cranny, but it sounded like Louise had already scaled that mental hurdle. At least she’d left their parents’ bedroom untouched, thank God. That, he couldn’t handle. “I’ll pack his study up if you want,” he offered. “And do anything else left on your list. Tell me what else can I do for you?” Doing something physical might stop him from feeling as if he was shipboard for the first time, constantly needing to rebalance. His glance over his shoulder was involuntary.
Rob still stood in the doorway.
Him seeming so at home here, leaning casually with his arms crossed, didn’t help to anchor Jude, not since he’d shared a little about what mattered the most to him. Jude refocussed on the calendar instead of fixating on his surprise that people meant more to Rob than money. Also, he had to stop staring at his mouth. He had to. It had been a goodbye kiss, that was all, like Rob said. “Give me plenty to do,” he got out gruffly. “I’m used to being busy.”
“I can see that.” Lou prodded his upper arm. “You left here a beanpole, but you’ve come back all muscly. Did you notice the difference in him, Rob, compared to when you were both in London? Look at the size of his shoulders!”
Jude kept his eyes fixed on the screen rather than acknowledging Rob’s rough-sounding, “Yeah. I noticed.”
Louise must have been feeling better; her teasing ramped up. “And to think you could never get a girlfriend when you lived here. Turns out that all you needed to turn into a looker was to spend a while hauling up sails and sunning yourself on a posh yacht. I bet you had a girl in every port you sailed into, didn’t you?”
“Something like that.” If Jude could have summoned up a storm now to act as a distraction, he would have in a heartbeat. “So, your list, Lou? What do you want me to do first?”
“Give me a bit of time.” Louise clicked out of the calendar and onto what looked like a chore list. “I hadn’t planned on having your help, so I need to think about how best to use your extra manpower.”
“I need to get back to the kitchen.” Rob made to leave, his face shadowed. “Carl’s bringing his wife for lunch. You can help me prep for them both if you want? I can talk you through my plans for the summer menu….” He was hesitant. “That is if you want to hear about it from me? Or you might want to talk to Lou about it, although I promise there’s nothing on it that she didn’t taste first and then approve. We’re partners, so anything your sister didn’t like, we agreed to rule out together. Now you’re back, I guess you should have the same say over what we serve.”
His acknowledgement of Jude’s worries for Lou went a long way to reassure him, but the changes in the kitchen were still disconcerting. The door swung shut behind him as he said, “I noticed you both agreed to spend some money in here.”
“It didn’t take too much cash. I only invested in the essentials. Picked most of it up at auction.” Rob opened the new refrigerator door. “Like this beauty, and the range. They were both parts of a liquidation sale—someone else’s bad luck in catering was good luck for us, I suppose. Sad, but it saved us a ton of money.”
“Huh,” Jude pictured the restaurant kitchens both he and Rob were more used to. “Coming here must have felt like slumming it, for you.” Even with new appliances, a pub kitchen was a million miles from the ones in Rob’s father’s restaurants. The disparity in their backgrounds was a thought that still lingered. Even the judges of the contest commented on how Jude worked best with cheap ingredients, while if Rob could find a way to add gold leaf to a dish, he would. “I can’t picture you at an auction, picking up second-hand shit for pennies. It’s not exactly lifestyles of the rich and famous, is it?” And that was how he’d pictured Rob since they first met, flashy in a way that dazzled, his smile as bright as the stars Jude later spent long nights alone under, and just as out of his reach.
Now Rob removed a crate of shellfish from the refrigerator and placed it next to the sink. His glance Jude’s way was considering. “Turns out what I grew up learning first stuck more than anything I learned later. I’m much more frugal when I’m spending my own money.” He gestured at the new steel worktop. “What was here before was fine for a pub kitchen, but I wanted to start as we were going to continue; professional rather than…”
“Basic.” Jude knew there was no point hiding from that truth. This place had been designed with fry-ups in mind, not five-star cuisine. His gaze snagged on something hanging from a hook on the back of the door. “That’s…” he crossed the room to grab it. “‘Kiss the cook’,” he said quietly, reading the front of his mum’s old apron. He tied it on before coming back to the counter.
“Uh….” Rob seemed to forget what he’d been saying before he gestured at the crate. “Keeping the costs down has a lot to do with this lunch, as well.” He sorted through its contents, selecting the best of the shellfish along with the lobster. “Doing a deal with Carl is one way to keep a tight rein on the budget that could pay off.”
Jude helped himself to a knife and started to clean hairy mussels. “You’ll be lucky to get a discount from him, long term. He drives a hard bargain.”
“Well, it’s worth a try. To be honest, I’d pay out of my own pocket for the best quality fish when we reopen.” He worried at his lower lip, teeth very white against it. “You know how word-of-mouth works. The first clients are going to make or break us.” He’d make his lip bleed if he bit it any harder, Jude thought as Rob added, “So much rides on their first impressions.”
“You mean on reviews in the local paper?”
“Maybe, if we’re lucky. Any publicity would be amazing.” His huff was almost a laugh. “It’s a bit different from when Dad opens a new restaurant. He gets every restaurant critic for miles clamouring for a reservation. Did you see how many bookings we’ve got?” He formed a zero with a finger and thumb. “Yeah, it turns out that without Michelin stars like Dad’s under my belt, it’s hard to drum up any interest.”
There was no way to ignore such genuine worry. It went a long way towards Jude making an honest offer in return. “It doesn’t all have to be on your shoulders. Coming home to find all of this…” He gestured around the kitchen and towards the window where the headland was visible. “It was all one hell of a shock. All of it. You being here, the storm damage, everything. I can’t say I’m pleased about all of it, but you have to know I’ll help while I’m back.”
“Yeah?” For almost the first time all day, Jude saw the slow blossom of that wide smile directed his way. The ground wasn’t done shifting under Jude’s feet yet, off-balance all over again. Rob set down his knife and grasped Jude’s shoulder. “That means a lot. Thank you.” He slid his hand lower to where Louise had just prodded, the pad of his thumb pressed to the same spot. “Your sister was right, by the way. This is different.” He curled his hand around Jude’s biceps. “I noticed right away.”
Jude met his gaze, lost in its dark depth until Rob stuttered. “I-I mean, you always look good to me.” Rob dropped his hand and shook his head once as if it needed clearing, his expression complex. “Looked, I mean. You always looked good to me before.”
He drew away just as Jude asked, “Yeah?”
Maybe Rob heard something in that one raw word. Instead of putting more distance between them, he drifted even closer. “Yes,” he admitted, just as candid. “From the first time I saw you. It was at that meet and greet at the start of the contest. You were talking to my dad. Or listening to him while he talked, at least.” His brow furrowed. “Yeah, you listened to him. He loves that. He really does.” There was a repeat of that complex expression. “I wanted to know what you were talking about so bad that I tried to butt in.”
“You did?”
“See? You don’t even remember, too engrossed with him to even notice I existed.”
Jude thought back. “Oh. He asked about my signature dish.” Now that he thought about it, Rob’s dad had worn the same rapt expression as Rob did now, gaze so intense the rest of the world faded. “He said he might add it to his lunch menu.”
“Do you have any idea how many times he let me change his menus?”
Jude shook his head.
“Never. He never ever let me; I’d do it anyway, and he’d go ballistic. It’s why we worked in different kitchens. If we were together, it always ended in carnage, he’s so pigheaded.”
That wasn’t how Jude had found Rob’s father. He was passionate about food, all right, but maybe that meant he spoke a language Jude could translate without trouble.
Rob glanced in his direction. “Then later during the competition. You did the same thing to me, and I finally got it.”
“What do you mean, you finally got it? Got what, exactly?”
“I got how you managed him the very first time you met him. How you manage everyone. From my dad to the kitchen porters. Hell, you even do it to your sister.” He selected a knife and filleted sea bass, swift and decisive, slicing through iridescent skin and following the bone so closely that no flesh was wasted. “You don’t talk, Jude. You’re quiet, so people fill your silence. That means when you do speak, people listen.”
Jude wasn’t sure silence was a plus point. Keeping his thoughts to himself was a defence mechanism he hadn’t realised he wore like armour until he’d escaped Porthperrin. It stopped him from outing himself, and it also worked for him in busy kitchens where saying, “Yes chef!” was the only expectation.
“That strong but silent vibe you give off sure caught my attention,” Rob said, rueful. “Especially during the first heats of the contest. I didn’t realise how much other chefs blow their trumpets until you didn’t. You didn’t showboat for the judges either. You looked at whatever ingredients they gave us, and then committed. They noticed.” He used Jude’s weapon against him then, saying nothing else until Jude met his eye, caught like a fish on a tight line. Rob finally spoke very quietly. “You commit, Jude. That’s what I noticed about you. Like the way you committed to looking for your parents. I was pissed off that you left, but you’ve got to know how much I admire it. That kind of dedication…? Well, you can’t blame me for wanting more of it for myself, back then.”
It took every ounce of strength for Jude to break away from his gaze. It would have been so much easier to lean in and kiss him. He got busy washing shellfish instead, sure if he looked at Rob even one more time, he’d want to commit to far more than was safe here.
8
Jude maintained his silence until it was almost lunchtime, strangely aware of the quiet now that Rob had pointed out how often he was silent. The absence of words almost felt weighted, hanging heavy across his shoulders as he chopped and sliced like he’d done a thousand times already without realising how often the conversations he had were essentially voiceless. The knot he tied around a bundle of herbs mirrored the one in his chest, tight since he paid attention, restrictive now Rob had noticed. He added the herbs to a stockpot of fish bones before he eventually spoke. “You’ll need to make the portion size much bigger if you want to get in Carl’s good books.”
Rob enrobed tiny spoonfuls of a lobster in pasta so thin it was almost translucent. “I’m pretty sure I know what he wants.”
“Yeah, me too. He’s virtually my uncle.”
Rob simply glanced his way, interested, and speaking came easier. “I grew up with his kids,” Jude added. “And I ate his wife Susan’s cooking almost as often as I ate Mum’s. So I know he’ll want something substantial, not anything that dainty.” He frowned as he wiped the bench next to a bowl of whipped egg whites destined for soufflés. “Wait a minute.” He picked up a ramekin Rob had buttered and floured. It was truly tiny. “Nouvelle cuisine isn’t your usual style of cooking.”
“How do you know? A lot can change in a short time.”
“Yeah, but—”
“You know,” Rob interrupted. “I take back what I said about you being quiet.”
“I’m just saying I know these people. They’re like family, so I know fancy isn’t going to impress Carl into giving you a discount. Besides, he wouldn’t overcharge us.”
The sigh Rob let out was heartfelt. “No, really, I take back everything I just said. Go on then. If you’re suddenly feeling chatty, tell me what you’d cook if you were running this service?”
This was hardly a full lunch service. Cooking for two locals who weren’t even paying wouldn’t make or break the Anchor. Jude surveyed what was left on the counter. He settled on the sea bass. “If I wanted to impress Carl, I’d serve that, pan-seared.”
“That’s all?”
Jude peered into another crate of local produce. “With some of those chard stalks.”
“Seared too?”
“Simmered au blanc, I think, to retain the colour.” Not for too long, though. “It contrasts well with—”
“Black trumpet mushrooms in a beurre noisette?”
“Yes.” Jude frowned. “How did you….” Then suddenly he remembered. It was the recipe he’d discussed with Rob’s dad. “Wow, you were eavesdropping.”
Rob made a noncommittal sound and slid the bass towards Jude. “Go ahead. Cook for Carl, but we don’t have any of those mushrooms.”
“That’s okay. I can adapt. I’m used to it.” One of the best things about cooking on the Aphrodite had been that need to be creative. “There’s no running to the store if you’re anchored off the Maldives.”
“The Maldives? Sounds amazing. I’d spend all my time snorkelling.”
“Maybe, if you like sharks.”
“You saw some?” Rob looked up from the bite-size scallop he was about to set atop a spoonful of herbed sauce.
Saw them? Sharks had been visible in those shallow waters and had filled Jude with despair until Tom had noticed and sailed where the sea was opaque instead of transparent. Even so, imagining them circling his parents was all too easy. “Yeah,” Jude admitted, still harrowed. The moment Rob noticed the shift in his expression was almost a mirror of Tom’s reaction. That slow dawn of understanding, like a body rising to the water’s surface, was too hard to witness here in the last place Jude had seen his parents. “I saw plenty of sharks,” was all he said for a while.
They worked next to each other in silence, Jude slowly stirring his sauce as he side-eyed the array of amuse-bouches that Rob steadily created, a suite of single mouthfuls that would never satisfy a man like Carl who would have been hard at work since before dawn. He bent his head over his pan rather than say so again. Rob was trying, so he could as well.
“I’m sorry,” Rob murmured as he passed on the way to the refrigerator, his hand on the back of Jude’s neck a cool comfort he hadn’t expected. “That must have been rough.”
“Yeah.” Jude let out a breath, a prolonged gust of sadness so pure he had to look away, blinking. His gaze snagged on the clock. “What time are they due?” The chime of Louise’s voice raised in greeting from t
he hallway was an answer. A few moments later, she poked her head around the door to say, “They’re here and ready whenever you are.”
Jude made to go and greet them.
Rob blocked his path. “Listen. When did you last see Carl’s wife?”
“Susan? The day I left to start searching.” Something about Rob’s nod had him asking, “Why?”
“You should know that she hasn’t been well.” Rob arranged his creations on a platter, taking care to make it pretty. “She’s on the mend, though, so remind yourself of that if she looks different than you remember.”
Nothing around here looked the same, Jude thought as he plated Carl’s meal. From the beach to his old bedroom, so far change had been the only constant.
He followed Rob to the smaller snug bar, mentally noting yet more change. It had been transformed too. No longer a private place for locals to drink while the main bar heaved with summer tourists, now it was a dining room that oozed class, but seeing the change to Susan was almost one change too many.
Jude hesitated for a second, grateful Rob had at least given him a heads up, and realising now exactly why he’d made such tiny offerings. Susan was so much thinner, as was her hair, once worn in a thick plait, now far too fine and patchy. “Jude, love!” Even her voice was frailer. She accepted his kiss to her cheek, holding his free hand before saying, “I’m so pleased to see you!”
Jude could only nod, grateful all over again that Rob carried the conversation. He pulled up a chair and sat down, talking the first customers of the New Anchor through each mouthful he offered while Jude stood behind him, his grip on the back of Rob’s chair doing a lot to keep him steady.
