Love Overboard

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

When Sofia awoke, the cabin was pitch-black but she could feel the boat coming to life. Outside her door, purposeful footsteps hurried past and she could hear a faint whirring from somewhere below her.

Sofia was not historically a morning person, but today she leapt out of her bunk and marvelled at how much energy she had. She put on the white chef’s uniform she had laid out the night before and pulled her hair back into a small, tight bun. She had prep to do. The guests were to arrive mid-afternoon but she was expected to have an afternoon snack ready and then their first three-course meal on the table by 8p.m. There was no time to lose.

Past the crew mess, down the hall, Sofia practically skipped to the kitchen. She was so wrapped up in her own glee that she jumped when she crossed the room to find a figure bent over into her fridge. It was Jack.

‘Um, can I help you?’ She crossed her arms, trying to manage the sensation of adrenaline turning to liquid rage as it coursed through her body.

‘Just feeling a little peckish,’ he said in a ludicrously stilted British accent as he stood up straight and smirked at her. Her eyes flew to the half-eaten strawberry in his hand.

‘Are those the strawberries for my tarts?’

He looked at his fingers and feigned surprise. ‘Isuppose so? But I’ve only had a few.’

Sofia liked to think of herself as a reasonable person. Generally, she excelled under pressure – she wouldn’t have gotten to where she was if she didn’t – and historically she was not someone who jumped to anger. But there was something about this man. She leant back on her heels and straightened her back, taking a second to give Jack a slow once-over. He looked rough, and she thought she could smell something like despair radiating off his skin. His hair was unwashed. He was hungover.

When she met his eyes again, they were brimming with disdain and when she spoke, there was venom in her voice. ‘I don’t know if this job is some sort of joke to you, and frankly I don’t care if you want to sabotage this opportunity that Captain Mary has given you by getting wasted and welcoming the VIPs with a, quite literally, stinking hangover...’ She wrinkled her nose and for a moment she was taken aback by the ease of her cruelty. Then she remembered the tarts, how she had practised them in her small studio back in London. She had sliced each strawberry, delicately laying down the heart-shaped slivers with tweezers in a concentric spiral on top of a custard base.

‘But I will not have you and your unchecked arrogance ruin this for me. I am not just winging it, and I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am. Those are not a hangover snack; they are Sabrosa cultivars and they can only be harvested in early May in Southern Italy.’ She took a deep breath. She was shaking and her voice had cracked on that last word. For one horrifying moment, she thought she might cry. ‘And they were for a tart.’ This last part she said quietly, like the wind had been knocked out of her and she couldn’t hold his gaze any longer.

There was silence. Sofia picked at the skin around her thumbnail. ‘I don’t know what your problem is.’ Jack’s voice was measured. ‘But it’s clear that you have made up your mind about me. I think it would be best if we avoided each other from now on.’

Sofia’s head shot up. ‘You’re literally standing in my kitchen right now.’ She sounded like a petulant child, and she hated herself for being the one who couldn’t keep their cool.

Another deep breath.

Jack held up his hands either side of his face in a gesture of surrender. ‘I am leaving right now, Chef. Stick to the bottom half of the boat. I’ll be staying out of your hair on the top deck.’ He strode out of the kitchen.

Sofia was left standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the open fridge. She took a tentative look inside. She caught sight of the imperceptibly diminished punnet of strawberries and she felt a small nugget of shame settle in the pit of her stomach. Still, he shouldn’t have been raiding her kitchen, and maybe he would have eaten them all if she hadn’t caught him. He was right about one thing: it would be better for both of them if they avoided each other. She couldn’t remember ever having had so many bad interactions with one person in such close proximity in her entire life, and she’d worked under the infamous Lochland Fleet.

For the next four hours Sofia chopped, whisked, simmered and baked like her life depended on it. She had an extravagant first meal planned. Pan-seared scallops to start. Then a classic lobster with a twist she’d learnt at Nakachwa, swapping out the white wine for palm wine, which she’d smuggled over in her own suitcase. For dessert, the strawberry tart. Those would be served with a small scoop of samphire sorbet, tying it in with the two seafood dishes. That was the plan but as it stood the sorbet was overly crystalline and, with only half an hour to go before the guests arrived, Sofia was beginning to panic.

Right on cue, Petra poked her head around the door. She was flushed. ‘T-minus twenty-eight minutes. Time to prep the welcome snack,’ she said, vanishing just as suddenly.

The pale green slush would have to wait. It was time to put together a charcuterie board. Sofia was nervous about the cheese pastry puffs she had prepped, remembering Petra’s warning about preference sheets, ‘no carbs’ ringing loudly in her ear as she took them out of the oven. But Brian had made no such proclamation and she challenged any sane person to reject cheesy pastry when presented with it.

Exactly twenty-eight minutes later, Petra was back. ‘They’re not here yet, and no one can get hold of them.’ She was clearly agitated, constantly checking her phone. She held the radio up to her mouth. ‘Any signs?’

Jack’s voice crackled through – ‘not yet’ – and Sofia bristled at the sound of it.

Petra checked her watch. Sofia was surprised by how stressed she seemed. It was only three minutes past four.

‘I’m sure they’re on their way,’ she offered.

‘I just don’t get why people can’t be on time.’ To Sofia’s disbelief, Petra sounded almost nervous. Sofia sensed there was more going on here.

‘You’re a professional, Petra – no celebrity crush is going to jeopardise that.’

Petra looked over at her, pausing to decide whether or not to deny the true source of her anxiety. She decided against it and smiled shyly. ‘Yeah I know you’re right. It’s just Captain Mary really has no time for stuff like that and it’s a lot of pressure for my first time as head stewardess.’ It was reassuring to be reminded that even women like Petra were occasionally plagued with self-doubt.

‘You’re doing a great job. You’ve got this whole boat running to the minute.’

Petra tucked her hair behind her ear, as if resolving to get herself together. ‘You’re right, even the food is ready to go, and that literally never happens. You’re really on top of this. Thanks.’

Now it was Sofia’s turn to awkwardly take the compliment. ‘London kitchen training, I guess.’ She shrugged.

‘Michelin training, more like. Do yourself justice, Sofia – we’re really lucky to have someone as talented as you in our kitchen.’

‘Thanks.’ The two women exchanged the sort of look that left them both determined to prove the other’s faith in them right.

‘They’re here.’ The sound of the radio startled them both.

‘OK, everybody, let’s get this show on the road.’ Petra was in army general mode as she walked out of the kitchen, gesturing for Sofia to follow.