by Sherri Bryan
“Say anything about what?” said Harriett with a wink. “Whatever your secret is, he won’t find out about it from me.”
Larissa sighed with relief. “Thanks. That’s good of you. Gavin and I would both be looking for new jobs if Roman knew we were ‘fraternising’ with each other, as he calls it.”
“Don’t even give it another thought,” said Harriett. “See you on Monday.”
“What was all that about?” said Ava, when Harriett caught her up.
“You’ll never believe it! I walked back in and found them snogging! They were all over each other. I didn’t know where to look.”
“Good grief, what’s wrong with them? Can’t they wait until they get home?” Ava tutted and shook her head. “Young people these days have no sense of decorum—I blame E-additives and energy drinks for all those urges of theirs. We never behaved like that in our day when we used to eat proper food, and drinks in every colour of the rainbow didn’t exist. I hope they’ll be able to restrain themselves next week and we won’t have to keep stopping so they can go off and have a quickie.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” said Harriett. “I only caught them at it because they weren’t expecting anyone to walk in. Anyway, they don’t want Roman to know, so you mustn’t say anything about it in front of him, okay? They’d be in trouble if he found out.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word,” said Ava with a sniff. “It’s nothing to do with me. If Roman Haley wants to employ staff who behave like rabbits on heat, that’s his business.” She linked her arm through Harriett’s. “Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I fancy a coffee to warm me up. Come on, let’s go to that new place on the seafront and get one of those lovely frothy chia-latte-hazelnut thingies on the way home.”
____________
Sundays at Charlotte’s café were always guaranteed to be barnstormers but this Sunday was busier than ever, mainly due to all the customers, and other bar, café and restaurant owners on the marina, who’d made a point of popping in to wish her luck.
It was her last shift before going on maternity leave, after which her godmother, Laura, would take over in the kitchen, with her best friend, Jess, running the bar and terrace as she always did.
Charlotte knew all would be well. The two of them had run things without a hitch after Molly was born, but she couldn’t help but feel a little sad at the thought of not being around for a while. The café and its customers - many of whom had become good friends - were such a huge part of her life.
“You should pop outside and see Harriett. She’s had a bit of good luck,” said Jess, as she brought in a pile of empty plates from the terrace at the end of a busy lunch service. “There are no more food orders, except a few desserts and Betty’s second helping of peach pie, but I can see to those.”
Charlotte looked at the pile of washing up. “Okay. I think that can wait for a bit.”
Jess nodded. “Go on, Harriett’s dying to speak to you. I’ll keep an eye on everything while you have a sit down for five minutes.”
“Afternoon, all,” said Charlotte, pulling up a chair at the table with her old friends. She turned to Harriett. “Jess said you’ve had some good news.”
Harriett nodded and reached into her handbag. “Here, look at this. I won first prize at the library roof fundraiser.”
“Wow! You lucky thing!” Charlotte pointed to the course itinerary, her eyes popping. “You’re going to be making bread! I’m so jealous. What I wouldn’t give for a professional to teach me how to make bread. And it says here there’ll be a tasting session at the end of every day, so you can all try each other’s baking. That sounds like fun. You’ll have to remember everything they teach you and let me know.”
“We will,” said Harriett, as she spooned up her last mouthful of peach pie and custard. “Unfortunately, though, not only is Roman Haley going to be at Monday’s tasting session, but he’s invited Olivia Floyd-Martin along, too. Talk about cooking under pressure.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine once you get started,” said Charlotte, “just wait and see.”
Harriett nodded. “You’re probably right. I’m looking forward to it; we both are, aren’t we, Ava? I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. Although I have to say, we’re a little disappointed that the man himself is such a complete pillock. Not that we’ll see much of him, probably.”
Harriett’s husband, Leo, raised an eyebrow. “I could have told you he was a pillock the first time I saw him on TV. Acting like he owns the place and looking down his nose at everyone. I don’t know why people think he’s so great. Here, listen to this.” He picked up his newspaper. “‘Diabolical, hideous and appalling are just some of Roman Haley’s favourite put-downs as he dismisses hours of hard work by the contestants of Easy Peasy Bakey Cakey with a single stroke of his acerbic tongue.
“Let’s hope none of those adjectives are necessary next Monday, which is when he’s invited Olivia Floyd-Martin to join him for a joint tasting session at his new culinary school: Two of the most highly-respected experts in their field in the same room, at the same time. Students beware!’”
“That’s from the article in The St. Eves’ Herald,” said Leo, as he neatly folded the newspaper. “The bloke sounds like a complete moron.”
His friend, Harry Jenkins, harrumphed noisily. He was always wary of newcomers to the town, especially ones who thought they were better than everyone else. “Well, if you ask me,” he said, refilling his glass with red wine, “that school has no place in St. Eves. Haley only opened it here to spite Olivia, so I heard from the boys at the bowling club. I told you what they said, didn’t I, Leo?”
“Well you didn’t tell us,” said Ava. “What did they say?” She drew closer to hear the gossip.
“And what’s it got to do with Olivia?” said Harriett.
Olivia Floyd-Martin was the Executive Chef at The President; St. Eves’ only five-star hotel. She’d started out as a pot washer and potato peeler, but her ambition had seen her rise quickly through the ranks, leaving the hotel behind when she made the decision to become the best.
Since then, she’d worked under the guidance of some of the most highly-respected chefs in the world, attaining a standard of culinary excellence that others in her field could only dream of.
However, in earning the accolade of world-class chef, she’d also earned a reputation for being disagreeable at best, and a downright liability at worst. Many were the unsuspecting diners, or members of kitchen staff, who’d made the mistake of giving the daunting chef the smallest critique, only to feel the full force of her fury in response.
The hotel’s management, though, had long turned a blind eye to her bad temperament, ever since luring her back to The President years before, on an astronomical wage. Left to work her culinary magic, Olivia had transformed the hotel’s rooftop restaurant into a destination eatery that people flocked to in their droves from far beyond the boundaries of the town. Since casting her uncompromising eye over the kitchen staff and the menu, the restaurant had become the go-to venue in every good-food guide in the country.
“Well, come on, Harry,” said Ava. “Spill the beans.”
Harry pulled his chair closer to the table. “These two brothers I play bowls with know Olivia’s parents. Apparently, years ago, at the start of their careers, Roman and Olivia used to work together in the same restaurant. Back then, they were as thick as thieves.”
“I didn’t know he used to work in a restaurant,” said Betty, her face lighting up as Jess put down a second helping of peach pie in front of her.
Harry nodded and took a sip of wine. “Anyway, word has it that after Olivia left the restaurant, Roman stayed on, but when it looked like her career was taking off, he couldn’t bear the thought of being overshadowed by her, so he left to further his career. He decided he didn’t want to cook food for a living any more, though, he wanted to write about it, so he took a job as a restaurant critic for a local newspaper.
“After a while, his resta
urant review feature was spotted by the editor of a national newspaper, and he was invited to write a column for the Sunday edition, which is when his own career really started to go places, and he and Olivia lost touch completely. They only saw or spoke to each other if it couldn’t be avoided; at culinary events; award ceremonies, things like that.”
“Why didn’t they keep in touch?” asked Betty.
“Because they became jealous of each other’s success, and this stupid rivalry started up between them,” said Harry. “Apparently, when Roman was offered that TV judging role, Olivia went ballistic. Let’s face it, she’s never been one for sharing the limelight, has she?”
“I still have no idea why Roman was such a big name before he became a judge on Easy Peasy Bakey Cakey,” said Ava, blotting the corners of her mouth on a serviette. “I mean, he was just a restaurant critic with a newspaper column.”
“He may have been “just” a restaurant critic to you, Ava, but in the food world, he was like a god—one of his reviews could make or break a restaurant,” said Harry. “That’s how powerful he was. If he gave a place a good write-up, you could bet its custom would go through the roof, but if he didn’t, it could plummet. As I understand, his negative reviews have contributed to countless restaurants going out of business.”
“That’s terrible!” said Ava. “He sounds even more awful than I’d already decided he was. What a way to make a living.”
“Ironically, it was one of his negative reviews that pushed him into the elite bracket,” said Harry. “It was for a meal he had at a world-famous restaurant owned by a chef who was considered food royalty by his peers. The chef in question was so revered, no other critic or fellow restaurateur had ever dared to give him an unfavourable critique.
“Roman didn’t care about that, though. His review was so scathing, the poor chef had to have time off to recover. It caused such a scandal, the offers to appear on TV chat shows came flooding in, along with the offers to do magazine interviews, and guest on cookery shows: all of a sudden, everyone wanted him. It must have been very difficult for Olivia to see him becoming so in-demand, just because of that one review, when she’d had to work so hard to get to where she was.”
“But why was there so much rivalry between them?” said Harriett. “They weren’t even in the same line of work, so I don’t see why either of them would be jealous of the other.”
Harry shrugged. “Competition, I suppose. People who’ve been friends for years often end up at each other’s throats, and it can be the smallest thing that escalates something trivial into a full-blown conflict. With Olivia and Roman, their rivalry came to a head when he became a TV star. She had a hard time coping with his fast-track to fame, although the final straw was him buying the culinary school; she was absolutely livid about it. It had always been an ambition of hers to open a school in St. Eves, but then he comes along and does exactly that, right under her nose. And in her own hometown.”
“And her parents think he did it deliberately? Just to get under her skin?” said Charlotte.
Harry nodded. “That’s what Olivia thinks, too. Her dad said she and Roman used to talk about their ambitions all the time when they worked together; opening a culinary school was hers back then, and it’s never changed. I can’t see any other reason why Haley would want to have a business here, other than to spite her. He has no other connection to St. Eves, does he?”
“I told Harriett I reckon the only reason he invited Olivia to the school next week was to put her on the spot,” said Leo. “I don’t imagine she’ll be keen to set foot in there but now he’s invited her so publicly, she’s going to look like a sore loser if she turns him down.”
“Well, I’m glad he’s not one of the tutors on the cookery course,” said Ava. “I’ve got a good mind to punch him on the nose.”
“Why are you suddenly sticking up for Olivia?” said Betty, her eyebrows shooting right up to the fringe of her bubble perm. “You don’t even like her.”
“It’s not that I don’t like her, Betty,” said Ava, picking her teeth, “it’s just that she’s not really my cup of tea; she’s a bit rough around the edges, if you know what I mean, but she’s a local girl, so unless she’s done something really awful, I’ll always take her side over an idiot like Roman Haley, celebrity or not.”
“But Olivia has done some really awful things in her time, hasn’t she?” said Leo.
Harry pulled a face. “You can say that again.” He began counting on his fingers. “Let’s see… she’s made goodness knows how many kitchen staff and customers cry; she took a couple’s dinner away on their wedding anniversary because one of them said the paté needed a little more seasoning; some poor chap was yanked away from the dinner table by his collar when he complained his steak wasn’t cooked properly; she threatened a prop-forward from the local rugby team with bodily harm when he asked for tomato ketchup with his lobster thermidor, and we already know she had an aversion towards restaurant critics, long before Roman Haley came along, because she threw one through a window when he found fault with a sauce.”
“Hmm, that’s true,” said Ava, “although the incidents with the anniversary couple and the restaurant critic were years ago, not recently.”
“Whenever they were,” said Harry. “They’re all proof that she had a volatile temperament, and she’s probably still got one.”
“But everyone deserves a second chance, don’t they?” said Ava. “And she’s been having treatment for years. All that relaxation therapy and anger management counselling, and whatnot.”
“I’m not so sure the therapy’s doing much good,” said Leo. “She’s hardly the best-humoured woman in town, is she? And she still blows up every now and then.”
“She’s got a very stressful job,” said Betty, running a finger around the rim of her dessert bowl to get the last traces of custard. “Running a kitchen like the one at The President can’t be easy, especially when you’ve got such high standards to maintain.”
“I heard she’s been in a foul mood ever since she found out what Roman Haley’s plans were,” said Jess, as she came back to clear the table. “Mind you, I’ve known her since we were at school and it didn’t take a lot to put her in a bad mood then. Seems like nothing’s changed.”
“Well, I’m sticking up for her,” said Charlotte. “She was amazing when Nathan and I got married—she couldn’t do enough for us to make sure the day went without a hitch. And I agree with you, Betty. Running a kitchen is stressful. Not that this one is anything like the one at The President, but I know how stressed I can get when it’s busy and I want to be sure everything’s nice for people. If you multiply that by about a million percent, you’re probably close to the stress Olivia’s under every day. I mean, this place just does home cooking, but she does fine dining. Not that I’m excusing her bad behaviour, I’m just saying it’s a lot of pressure.”
Ava folded her serviette and sighed. “Well, whatever Olivia’s argument is with Roman, I’m sure it won’t affect us, will it, Harriett? I wasn’t sure if I was keen on cookery lessons when you first won the prize, but I’m really looking forward to it now. And it couldn’t have come at a better time, because Derek and I are going to be like passing ships for the next few weeks. He’s going to be at rehearsals every day for the next month, and then away at competitions.”
“Didn’t you say the dance company’s performing in Windsor soon?” said Charlotte.
Ava nodded. “And at a festival in Horsham after that. And we’re both taking part in a couples’ competition in Tonbridge in September, although we won’t be dancing together all the time because they’re going to split us up on the second night and pair us with other people.” She took a powder compact from her bag and examined her teeth for stray food particles. “Sort of like wife swapping, I suppose,” she said, thoughtfully.
Charlotte chuckled. “I don’t think it’ll be quite the same.” She pushed herself up from the chair and groaned. “Oof, that’s the trouble with being
on your feet all day—when you sit down, you don’t want to get up again. Right, I’ll see you again before you leave, but right now, there’s a pile of washing up with my name on it.”
Chapter 4
“For heaven’s sake! How much longer are we going to have to wait?”
Outside the culinary school, Ava stepped from one foot to the other and puffed out an impatient breath. “We’ve been standing here for ages.”
“Only because you insisted on getting here so early,” said Harriett. “There was no need to, you know—Larissa just asked us to arrive on time, not at the crack of dawn.”
“Yes, I know, but I wanted us to be first so we could get good seats at the front,” said Ava.
Harriett clicked her tongue. “It’s a cookery course, not a Michael Bublé concert. And there’s only going to be four of us, so I doubt we’ll get caught in the crush. In any case, we’re going to be standing up—we can’t cook sitting down, can we?”
“Here, look.” Ava gave her a nudge and nodded to an approaching couple. “They could be the other two.”
A scruffy-looking giant of a man with his hair in a short ponytail, slightly stooped shoulders, and munching on a Danish pastry, and a slim woman with her ginger hair styled in an urchin cut, stopped and sat on the edge of the nearby fountain in the market square.
“Or maybe not,” said Harriett.
The faraway purr of an engine turned to a roar as a motorbike appeared from around the corner, carrying a rider and a passenger. The rider parked in the small driveway at the side of the school and revved the engine before switching it off.
Ava spluttered and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. “Is that really necessary?” she protested, clutching her throat. “If I have a funny turn halfway through the morning from breathing in your fumes, I’ll be giving the police your registration number. And I’m very good friends with the Detective Chief Inspector, so don’t think I’m bluffing.”
