Recipe for Disaster (13 page)

'Hello, how are you?'
As if I care.

'This is a nice little place you've got here
.
'
Christ! The
colour on these walls went out of fashion years ago. What was the
look you were aiming for? Oh yes, doctor's surgery, circa 1972.

'I hope you enjoyed your meal, both of you.'
You know it
was fantastic and I bet every mouthful stuck in your throat.

'Oh, excellent grub, wasn't it, darling?'
A bit better than the
chippy down the road, I suppose.

Grub! You condescending little prick!
'It's good to see you can
take some time off.'
Bloody part-timer – that's no way to run a
restaurant.

Harry shrugged easily. 'It's been a piece of cake really. I
couldn't have asked for an easier ride.'
You look like shit. Been
up all night worrying about the cashflow, eh?

'Of course the real work starts when you're open, doesn't
it?'
You won't be smiling then – you won't keep any staff longer than
a day.

'Oh, I'm ready for it. I've got plenty of stamina.'
You won't
know what's hit you.

I'll see you drop dead before I give you a single customer, you
bastard.

Kate was eavesdropping shamelessly. She could pick up
all the innuendoes as clearly as if they were being shouted
across the room. It was like watching two lions fight it out
over territory on a David Attenborough programme. She
could almost hear his fluid tones on the voice-over. 'These
two magnificent animals are circling each other looking for
the right moment to strike. When they do, it will be a fight
to the death . . .' Oh, no, there was no way she was going to
spend the rest of the night on her knees, trying to get blood
out of the carpet. She nipped out, waited a few seconds, and
then nipped back.

'Excuse me, sorry for interrupting – there's a phone call
for you, Jake.' She followed him back to the office. He
stared at the phone, which was still on its cradle.

'Sorry. I made that up, but I thought I should help you
beat a retreat.'

For a second, he looked furious at her interference. Then
he grinned. 'Yeah, you did the right thing. Cool move.' He
looked closer. 'You've got shadows under your eyes.' He
ran his finger lightly across her cheek. 'No, they won't
budge – it's tiredness, not streaky mascara this time. I know,
let's get cleared up while everyone's clearing off and then
we'll make Godfrey cook us supper and Hans open a few
bottles of wine.' He didn't want to be alone, even though he
was dog-tired. He knew he would just think obsessively
about Harry and how much he hated him, and torture
himself about what Harry's next move might be. There was
bound to be one. I wish it was just the two of us, sharing the
wine, he thought, then shook himself. He had no right to be
having thoughts like that.

Kate followed him slowly back to the kitchen, and not just
because her legs were tired. Her cheeks were tingling from
where he had touched her. Oh dear, I don't need this, she
thought.

Later, when they were all sprawled at the bar, she
glanced round and said: 'I like this place better now it's all
tidy and there are no customers.'

Jake hooted with laughter. 'It's a good time of day – the
calm after the storm and cash in pocket,' he agreed.

Godfrey was practising his chat-up technique because he
fancied a girl down the road. It turned out he didn't have a
technique to speak of. 'How does this look?' he asked,
arranging his features in what he hoped was a seductive
look.

'Like you've got your dick caught in your zip,' said Jake
promptly.

'So, do you have any hobbies, apart from cooking?' asked
Kate. She wanted to get to know him better.

'Yeah, breathing. There's no time for anything else,' he
said.

He was leaning against the wall, cradling a whisky, slitty-eyed
from fatigue and other people's cigarette smoke. He
was looking pretty seductive himself, even though he wasn't
trying, thought Kate, comparing his style with Jonathan's at
the
Gazette
. The journalist enjoyed wearing the trappings of
his success. He had his hair cut regularly and always wore
expensive aftershave. Jake, on the other hand, looked like
he hadn't tried, because he really hadn't. There were dark
circles under his eyes as well, and his hands had two new
burn marks to add to the old ones. But Kate had seen how
tenderly they coaxed life into ingredients.

The conversation turned to food. Did these people ever
think about anything else?

'The best way to seduce a woman is with a meal. Tender
spring lamb, very pink and delicate and, to start with, fresh
asparagus because you have to eat with your fingers,' said
Jake dreamily.

'Is that what you cook for your girlfriend?' said Godfrey,
searching for a pen so he could take notes.

'Hell, no. Georgia thinks rare meat is still alive,' said Jake
gloomily. Where was she again? He remembered her rash,
but he couldn't remember the city. Shit, he'd forgotten to
set the video for her again! If he didn't pull his socks up,
this relationship would go the way of others, sacrificed to
the incessant demands of his job. If he wasn't careful, he
would end up old, alone and tetchy, with only a tattered
copy of
Larousse Gastronomique
for company.

'So why are you and Harry such enemies?' asked Kate,
who, though she had heard most of the story from Kirsty,
wanted it from the horse's mouth.

But Jake clammed up like an oyster shell. 'He's a bastard
– that's all you need to know.'

'He seemed very nice to me,' she said innocently,
knowing that riling people was sometimes a good way to get
them to open up.

'So do tigers when they are sitting snoozing in the sun.
His charm is his greatest weapon. He should come with a
sign on his forehead: "Believe nothing I say." There's no
side to him – whichever way you look at him, he's horrible.'

'You're not always that nice yourself when you're
cooking,' retorted Kate, still smarting from several, in her
opinion, unjustified rebukes that evening.

Jake's eyes narrowed. 'Why are you so interested?
Looking for a villain for your novel? I suppose he would
make a good swashbuckling pirate or smuggler. What
exactly is it you're writing again?'

This wasn't fair. He was turning the tables on her. She
was too tired to invent plot lines for spurious books at this
time of night.

'You make it sound like I'm writing some sort of bodice-and-bloomers crap,' she began weakly, but was rescued by
Tess, who had been on the phone to her mother, who was
Angelica-sitting.

'She woke up and won't go back to bed until she's said
hello.'

Jake obligingly took the phone. 'Hello, Angel. Why
aren't you asleep?'

'Because my dollies have been naughty and I have to tell
them off, of course!'

'Oh, I see. Why have they been naughty?'

There was a pause, during which Angelica sucked the
phone noisily and considered.

'They wet their knitters instead of going to the loo,' she
said eventually. Jake was baffled by this until he remembered
she still had difficulty with her ks.

'I think that's the first time I've seen you at a loss,' teased
Kate.

'Children are quite scary; I would much rather cook for
several hundred bad-tempered punters, to be honest.'

He watched Godfrey trying to chat Sally up. As Sally was
pathologically shy, he was happily doing all the talking and
singularly failing to notice that her eyes were glazing over
with boredom. Jake butted in shamelessly. Sally was
brilliant at what she did, but her self-confidence was dreadfully
low and it was affecting her work.

'I might shout a bit when it gets busy, but I've never
bitten anyone yet,' he teased, but she didn't laugh. The
trouble was, she took everything very seriously and
brooded on things too much.

'Your work is great, but you should know by now there's
no time to nursemaid anyone who is having a crisis of
confidence. Maybe if you said to yourself at the beginning
of the shift: "I am good and that's why I am here", it might
help.'

Kate was quite scathing about women who were too
feeble to look after themselves in the workplace but, despite
herself, she was touched by Jake's evident concern for all his
staff. She knew that, in most professions, a lot of bosses
would have said 'Sink or swim' and not really cared.

'I am aware that women can still have a rough time in this
profession. The trade attracts some real low-lives. If you're
a paranoid little shit with the hide of a rhino and the
sensitivity of Attila the Hun, you'll feel right at home. Or if
you are a complete idiot,' he added, watching Godfrey who
was trying to drink a flaming sambuca and had just burned
his nose. 'You've got to be tough to survive the heat and the
criticism. Did Tess collapse in a heap when I didn't like her
hollandaise sauce yesterday?'

'Didn't like! What you said, Boss, and I quote, was, "This
stuff looks like it belongs in a hospital lab. It's what people
excrete, not eat." '

'Oh dear, did I?'

'Yeah, but you were nicer when I got it right.'

Jake grinned and yawned.

'Maybe I should smoke dope, like Hans. Would it make
me wittier?' said Godfrey. They all looked over. Hans was
asleep, his mouth open, snoring gently.

'I knew this guy once –' began Kirsty.

'Oh, no, here we go again,' muttered Tess under her
breath. 'You know if you ever write your memoirs you're
gonna require half the remaining rain forest.'

'Well, that's OK, 'cos the back of a stamp would do for
yours,' said Kirsty, and smirked when everyone laughed.
'Anyway, as I was saying, this guy, he was having an affair
with my sister's brother-in-law's second cousin, but we don't
talk about him. Well, he used to work at the Go-Rite garage
out along the Windermere road, though my dad says that
most cars don't after they've been there – go right, I mean
– so –'

'What? Yes! Who!' Hans's snores had got so loud he had
woken himself up.

'Be quiet! I am in the middle of a story!' Kirsty took a
deep breath. 'Oh bugger. I've forgotten.'

'We all need some sleep. Now Kate is dropping off.'

'My eyes are closed but I am still firing on all cylinders. I
was thinking.'

'Napping, more like,' teased Jake. 'Well, what were you
thinking about?'

She opened her eyes. Jake's dark eyes were on hers. He
had a trick of looking at you as if you were the only person
in the room, she thought. You, she wanted to say. I was
thinking about you. 'Oh nothing, just about what we've got
to do tomorrow,' she lied.

'Yeah, there's a hell of a lot of prep to do. Off you all go.
I need my beauty sleep.'

'You'll need a hell of a lot of it then,' said Tess.

Kate dragged Godfrey out by the simple method of
grabbing the seat of his pants and pulling. 'I'll give you a lift
home but only if you leave the bloody matches behind!'

Kate was not in a good mood. First, there was the email
from Jonathan.

'Hi, babe.' Who did he think he was – Austin Powers?
'Why have we heard nothing from you? As far as I know,
you are only a few miles away, not halfway down a cave in
Afghanistan. Can I see some copy, and you, for a drink this
evening?'

Kate typed 'No and no', added 'Fuck off, you sarcastic
prick' and then deleted it. Jonathan was, after all, as he was
fond of reminding her, her superior. Then she pressed
'Send', switched off her computer and then had to switch it
on again to check she really had deleted the rude bits.

The previous night Jake had spent what she considered
a ridiculous amount of time showing Godfrey how to make
an omelette.

'For goodness' sake, it's just a few eggs in a pan,' she
muttered now, getting some out of her fridge. She would
show him. Any competent person could make an omelette.
She beat eggs furiously, threw them into a non-stick pan
and went off to put some mascara on.

When she came back, the inside of her pan seemed to
have become stuck to the bottom of her omelette, which
looked and tasted like something that might be better used
wiping a car windscreen. It so wasn't going to be eggs for
breakfast then.

Bloody Jonathan! Did he know just how hard waitresses
had to work? It wasn't just the long hours. She was so tired
when she got home she was practically nodding off in the
shower. There was a whole reel of taped episodes of her
favourite television thriller to catch up on, but she just
couldn't seem to stay awake long enough to find out which
particular life-threatening catastrophe was facing America
at the moment.

She calmed down and admitted Jonathan did have a
point. She was letting the job get in the way of her real
work, and there was plenty to make a start on. She had
downloaded some pretty juicy gossip on Jake and Harry.
But one of her ideas – how chefs cut corners so they could
rake in more profits – didn't apply to the kitchen she was
working in. She knew Jake was short of money, but he was
passionate about buying only the best-quality ingredients.
He was one of the most critical and explosive people she
had met, but she was starting to respect him for that. He
was also very kind to Sally, who was a really pathetic drip,
even if she could make cakes. Kate had no patience with
her. Life was a tough deal and you just had to grit your
teeth and get on with it.

Jake might blow a fuse if there was a drop of sauce in the
wrong place on a plate but he worked like a dog without
complaining, even the other night when he'd just about
sliced the end of his finger off. His language was choice, but
he'd calmly bandaged himself up, managing a pale grin at
Sally, who was having hysterics and threatening to phone
an ambulance.

Then he'd gone quietly back to work until it started
bleeding again, when he had apologised for not being able
to help them clear up at the end of the shift.

He was bad-tempered, he was brave, he was good looking
. . . oh dear, concentrate, Kate told herself. But it
was no good. She couldn't work here. She would break into
the between-shifts calm and quiet of the kitchen and hope
that the atmosphere would spark some inspiration.

A pale sun was filtering through the clouds and there
were plenty of people about, mainly couples with children
too young to be dragged up the fells. Kate had never
walked up a hill by choice in her life before and until
recently had considered that shoes made specifically for
walking in were not worth buying.

To take away the hideous taste of the omelette she
bought a couple of doughnuts and ate them while she
walked.

Sitting outside the kitchen door was a box of lobsters. She
had no idea why, but Jake would go ballistic if he found
them. It would be kinder on everyone's nerves later on if
she shoved them in the cold room and pretended she had
been there when they were delivered.

Kicking the door open with her foot she staggered inside,
knees buckling under the weight of the heavy box. She put
them down and stood looking at them doubtfully. The last
time she had seen a lobster it was ready to eat. These
weren't. In fact she was sure they were still alive.

What was she supposed to do now? Fill the stockpot with
water so they could frolic away happily until they were
murdered? Would they die anyway if it wasn't salty water?
It would be really good if she could do something
knowledgeable with them to impress Jake, but what? And
was it her imagination or was the biggest one trying to edge
its way out of the box?

She was about to creep stealthily towards it, rolling pin in
hand and quite prepared to batter it senseless if she had to,
when the door opened and a ridiculously beautiful woman
walked in.

She had impossibly long legs, sheathed in leather so soft
it gleamed like silk and was so tight it looked like it had been
sprayed on. She was wearing a tiny pink top that screamed
'I may only be four square inches of material but I am
designer-made and way out of your spending league,
honey!' Her face was the sort you usually only ever see in a
heavily airbrushed photograph. Kate just knew her rich
golden hair didn't have a single split end, and it was obvious
that the curved, pouting mouth owed everything to nature
and not injections. But what the hell was she doing here?

'Er . . . who are you?' This seemed a fairly safe way to
start.

'I'm Georgia,' said the vision simply, as if that was enough.
'Where's Jake? Why have you got jam on your nose?'

Kate remembered the doughnuts and instantly felt two
stones overweight, although she generally thought of
herself as skinny. So this was Jake's girlfriend! Somehow
this information seemed to be making her feel very bad tempered,
which was absurd: it was no business of hers who
he went out with.

She looked at her watch. 'He'll be upstairs in the flat,
asleep probably. You have to bang on the door very hard or
he won't hear.'

'I did,' said Georgia, examining her fingernails, which
looked as if they never did anything more strenuous than
tap open the lid of a Chanel compact.

'Well, I'm not sure what I can do,' said Kate. She
certainly wasn't going to bang on the door herself, thus
incurring a tired man's wrath and then have to watch while
he flung himself into this gorgeous woman's arms.
Honestly, if it wasn't seafood it was sex bombs. Couldn't
they all just leave her in peace?

'I suppose I could try again,' said Georgia rather
doubtfully.

'Yes, you do that,' said Kate briskly, and turned away in
case she was expected to carry luggage upstairs like a
lackey. She chucked the lobsters in the fridge and stomped
off to the nearest café.

Sipping her cup of sludge, which was what passed for
coffee, she took out her notebook, sucked the end of her
pen and gazed into the middle distance. But it was no good.
The only thing she could concentrate on was how beautiful
Jake's girlfriend was. It really wasn't fair that God had given
Georgia a slender body and large boobs, though with a bit
of luck He hadn't given her a brain. She looked down at her
thighs. Was it her imagination or were they spreading?

Pull yourself together, she told herself severely. The next
boyfriend she had would be someone who fell in love with
her mind, not her body. The trouble was, this meant she
was in for a long spell of celibacy. If she met six men
tomorrow, at least five of them would try and have a
conversation with her breasts. This was so depressing she
was quite pleased when it was time to go back to work.

Kirsty grabbed her the minute she walked back in. 'Guess
what? Jake's girlfriend has turned up and they've just had
a massive row upstairs. I could hear it all. She was
screaming and slamming doors and when he tried to calm
her down she yelled all he wanted her for now was sex and
he said, well no, he didn't actually, because he was so bloody
knackered he'd prefer an extra hour's kip any day. Then
she burst into tears and threatened to stick her head in the
oven because he didn't love her any more and he said she'd
be waiting a long time for death then because that was an
electric oven and it wasn't even plugged in and could she
stop being such a silly tart, and did you know we've got an
extra twenty booked in tonight and Godfrey can't find a
clean apron and ohmigod, who is that?'

A man in a white overall had just walked in. He was
carrying a clipboard and looked frighteningly official.

'Where is Jake Goldman, the owner of this establishment?'

'Who's asking?' said Jake, appearing before them and
brandishing the knife he was about to use on the lobsters.

'Geoff Brown, Environmental Health. We have heard a
report that there are rats in this kitchen. I have to inform
you, sir, that we must close you down immediately while it
is being investigated. I must warn you that the process
could take at least two weeks,' he continued.

There was a stunned, horrified silence.

Nightmares filled Jake's head. He was crippled; no, he
was ruined. By the time this was sorted out he would be a
dead chef walking. Rats? The only rat that had ever been in
his kitchen was –

'Ha ha! Got you. I
am
from Environmental Health, by the
way, but we're the party booked in tonight. My friend
Harry Hunter said you'd be up for a laugh. Hope I didn't
scare you too much to cook a decent meal for us!'

'Gosh, no! Absolutely not! Yeah, very funny! My sides are
nearly splitting – I do like a good joke. But that one –' But
Kate clapped her hand over Jake's mouth just in case he
was going to say something he would regret later.

When the man had gone Jake leaned against a wall for
support. His knees were shaking.

'Water! Water! I think he's fainted!' shouted Godfrey.

'Don't be silly,' said Jake irritably. He was furious with
himself for having been so easily taken in. But it was the
thought of being shut down . . . Only a complete bastard
like Harry would make a joke like that. As for the
Environmental Health people . . .

'No, I don't think you should go out and tell them what
you think of them. Remember – they – are – customers,'
explained Kirsty, very slowly and clearly, as if to an idiot,
flapping a clean tea towel in front of his face.

'Just think of all the money we'll make from them
tonight,' said Godfrey encouragingly.

'They will love it here and recommend it to loads of
people,' said Kate, hoping none of them would recognise
her. She would walk with a stoop and cover her face with
her hair. No, that would make her look like Quasimodo.

'I know how you feel,' soothed Godfrey. 'My dad hates
officials as well. He once locked a man from DEFRA in the
cowshed and left him there for an hour. He was so overcome
by the pong he didn't realise he'd counted all the
sheep twice and we got an enormous subsidy.'

'But your dad doesn't keep cows,' said Jake, trying to
keep track of this conversation.

'You're right. There was nothing in there but two
enormous cheeses my mum had brought back from France
and had forgotten about.'

'Camembert?'

'Pont l'Évêque. They absolutely reeked. She wasn't
allowed to keep them in the kitchen.'

'Well, what are you all doing standing around and
gawping? Don't you realise there is work to do?' said Jake,
getting up and waving the towel away crossly.

He then went into overdrive, reducing everyone to
exasperation and heightened nerves.

He dealt with the lobsters by the simple method of
chopping them in half and told Sally curtly that if she didn't
like it she could take herself and her strawberry mousses to
another kitchen.

He hated Tess's sauce for the pork, commenting that if
he had wanted Polyfilla he would have asked for it.

When Kate returned to the kitchen after a furtive recce
to see if there was anyone out there who might shop her,
she found him icily congratulating Godfrey for making a
salad that looked as if a blind man in boxing gloves had put
it together.

'Honestly, Jake, calm down. They are really very nice
people out there, and judging by the amount of wine
they've ordered, it's going to be a massive bill. You are
making us all so wound up, we're bound to do something
wrong.' She stared him straight in the eyes, daring him to
bawl her out.

Everyone cringed, waiting for the fallout. Jake opened
his mouth, thought about it and shut it again. He gave her
an apologetic grin. 'OK, you're right. Enjoy this moment –
it won't happen very often.'

No one had ever smiled at her like that before. Well,
maybe they had, but she hadn't cared about them.

When he left the room, everyone breathed out and
relaxed, apart from Kate, who was suddenly so keyed up
she needed a moment on her own. In the loo, she splashed
cold water on her face. When Jake had smiled at her she
had felt a jolt of connection between them, like an electrical
spark. 'Control yourself, woman,' she said to her reflection
in the mirror. 'You so don't need this complication.'

Back in the kitchen, Godfrey loosened his collar. 'Phew,
I was getting a bit wound up myself.'

'Oh, come on – what's the worst he could do to you?'

'Quite a lot, actually. I've even come out in a funny rash
since I started here.'

'Have you been shagging someone you shouldn't?'
chortled Tess.

'Chance would be a fine thing,' said Godfrey gloomily.
'The doctor says it's nervous tension.'

'Well, I wouldn't start worrying until something falls off.'

Godfrey did looked worried and said: 'But I'm so
knackered by the time I get home I don't even have the
energy to flick through the channels to find
Baywatch
.'

'Well, in that case, you're bottling it all up – that's even
worse,' said Tess wisely.