Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
Over the course of the morning, Sofia experienced a range of emotions. When the disgust had subsided, it was replaced by a blinding anger. She could hardly concentrate on making breakfast. Her scrambled eggs were overcooked and oversalted. When Petra walked into the kitchen she tried to put on a brave face.
She handed over the plates. Petra eyed them, and then Sofia, suspiciously.
‘I’ve never seen you overcook an egg before.’ Petra put the plates down and her hands on her hips. ‘What’s wrong?’
That’s when the tears came. Petra enveloped her in a hug. ‘Tell me what happened, Sofia. It’s OK.’ But hearing the care in her voice only made Sofia cry harder. It reminded her of how cared for she had felt, in Jack’s arms, only hours ago.
As the tears dried hot and her cries turned to shaky breaths, Petra leant back, examining Sofia’s face, her own steeped in worry. ‘Please tell me,’ she begged.
Sofia took a ragged breath. ‘I slept with Jack.’
Petra’s arms dropped to her sides in shock. ‘Oh,’ was all she said.
‘I don’t really know what came over me, but it was a mistake.’ Now Sofia was feeling angry again, with herself. How had she let this happen? Hearing the words come from her own mouth, it seemed so obvious that Jack was right – it was a mistake, a slip-up, and it could never happen again.
Petra was clearly absorbing what she had just been told. Cautiously she said, ‘What does he think about it?’
‘He also thinks it’s a mistake. I heard him telling Captain Mary this morning.’ Sofia’s voice broke and more tears started streaming down her cheeks.
‘Oh, honey.’ Petra pulled her in again. ‘It’s probably for the best. He’s a lot of things, but boyfriend material is not one of them, and anyway you wouldn’t both be able to keep working here if anything else happened, and I don’t want to lose either of you!’ Petra was trying to lighten the mood and Sofia smiled weakly.
‘Sorry, I know this must be awkward for you, what with Jack...’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Petra batted away Sofia’s apology. ‘That stuff is ancient history. I’m more worried about these eggs.’ Sofia giggled half-heartedly. ‘There you go, that wasn’t so hard.’ Petra took Sofia by the chin and levelled it with her own. ‘Listen, Sofia, I know that this is going to feel like some awful case of history repeating itself, but it’s not. These things happen and the best course of action you can take now is to buck up, laugh it off, and fake it till you make it.’ Sofia nodded – maybe she could manage that?
‘Now, for the love of God make me some more eggs. I can’t possibly serve these up as they are.’ They both chuckled. Sofia wiped her eyes and resolved that, unlike last time, she wouldn’t let a man get the better of her and her work.
The second time around the eggs were silky, bright with fresh yolk and flecked with smoked salmon. ‘Now there’s the Chef Harlow I know,’ Petra said appreciatively, blowing Sofia a kiss as she walked out the kitchen. In a way it had been exactly what she had needed, to redirect her pride into her cooking, forget about workplace romance, and concentrate on being the best she could be. That was the point of all this.
Afterwards she sent out the crew breakfast. ‘Just tell them I’m not hungry.’ She hoped Petra would deliver the line convincingly. She couldn’t quite face up to sitting across from Jack yet.
Instead she decided to slave over a spectacular lunch – four courses, Milly’s calorie counting be damned. She was determined to try and send their palettes on at least an excursion if not a full-on adventure. For the first course, an orange, radicchio and fennel salad with an anchovy dressing, which they had enjoyed the last time she’d snuck it into a dish. For the second course, a gorgonzola and pear risotto, with candied orange peel. After that she would serve a duck confit. She thought back to her days at Lochland Fleet’s, his clipped, precise orders ringing out through the kitchen. Duck confit had been one of his signature dishes, one that had taken him years to perfect in Paris, where he had trained.
The key, he said, was the marinade. It had to be left to sit for at least twenty-four hours. In her time under Lochland’s tutelage, Sofia had discovered a different method. It involved less time, but she would have to massage the duck, in its marinade, at least every hour. It was more labour-intensive. The duck would essentially need her attention for the whole day. Today, she couldn’t think of anything better than clearing her mind of errant thoughts with a fixation on a duck leg.
At first Lochland had been unimpressed, bordering on incensed by the idea. He had scolded her, every time she broke rank and scuttled to the fridge to tenderise the duck. When it came time for tasting, Sofia had been a bundle of nerves, imagining what form his derision might take. She had never forgotten the feeling she had gotten when he put the fork to his lips, chewed and then smiled. It was pure elation.
The other students in her class grumbled when he sang her praises, complaining that he had told them how to prepare the duck the best way and weren’t they there to learn from him? From the best?
‘Indeed you can learn from the best but that does not mean you can learn to be the best,’ he had said calmly, and then motioning towards Sofia. ‘True greatness, in the kitchen, as in life, comes from knowing, instinctually, when to follow the rules, and when to break them.’ It was the first time in her life that Sofia had been sure she was on the right path. Maybe it was the last time as well, she thought now, as she dug the heels of her palms into the flesh.
For dessert, she would keep it simple, but continue her orange flavour theme. The crème br?lée too would be flecked with zest. Sofia didn’t leave the kitchen all morning. In the steam, the sizzle, and the smells she could lose herself, laser her focus onto a singular slice of fennel, or spoonful of browning butter.
It was Patricio who came to collect the first dish. His eyes widened when he came in and he saw every inch of the counter space littered with utensils, bowls, chopping boards.
‘Whoa, Mama is making a feast today!’ he exclaimed. ‘It smells magnificent in here.’ Sofia grinned, the pride swelling in her chest and driving away that persistent pearl of shame in the pit of her stomach.
‘I just thought I’d send them off with their bellies full.’ They would be docking in Gaeta that afternoon and Brian and Milly would not be eating dinner on the boat.
‘Miss Amelia is a little concerned about the four courses, but Mr Brian looks thrilled I must say.’ Patricio picked up the plates. The segments of orange intertwined with the charred fennel, topped with pomegranate seeds that caught the light like gems. ‘Bellissimo,’ he said, almost to himself.
The next three courses went out in quick succession, each replacing the pristinely clean plate that Patricio returned. Sofia was buzzing. When the crème br?lée went out and she set to cleaning up manically, she found herself worrying about the crash that was surely just around the corner. As if on cue, Petra burst through the door, a single shot glass in hand.
‘I wanted to wait until you were done. The food today, Sofia, was beautiful. They both loved it.’ Petra was also glowing with pride; Sofia was touched. ‘And now I think you deserve one of these, after the past twenty-four hours you’ve had.’ Petra handed her the glass. The vodka burned, but Sofia welcomed the numbing haze.
‘OK, we’ll have them off the boat in about an hour, and you better be ready to party. We are going hard tonight.’ Sofia remembered her earlier resignation about going out again.
Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Petra’s infectious enthusiasm, but suddenly she couldn’t think of anything better than whiling away the night dancing to Europop. Jack would be there of course, but she supposed she would have to face him sooner or later, and a little Dutch courage might smooth the process.
Sofia headed back to the cabin and when she saw that Jack’s things were gone she was, above all, relieved. The mould expert must have come straight onto the boat as soon as it had docked. As she undressed she tried to ignore the niggling undercurrent of longing. Despite everything there was a tiny, delusional part of her that mourned his absence.
She finally had a shower. The scalding water washed away the last traces of the night before from her body. Next the sheets, which smelled of him, went into the laundry, and then her pyjamas, the ones she had worn when he offered to tend to her burn, were sent off to be boiled too. The only thing left to erase were her still-vivid memories. She had a plan for those, a plan that involved more of Petra’s vodka.
Sofia went on the hunt. When she saw Captain Mary at the top of the stairs she considered throwing herself into the nearest cupboard to avoid whatever hellish conversation she would surely have to have. But the captain spotted her, waving for her to come. Sofia was expecting a telling-off right there and then but the interaction was far more unsettling. The captain gave her a shallow smile, the type that didn’t reach her eyes.
‘It’s not really the time now, but could you come and find me in the morning, Sofia? I would like to get some things straight.’ Both women knew exactly what was being spoken about, but the polite ambiguity had the effect of sending a shiver down Sofia’s spine.
‘Of course, I’ll come up to your quarters about midday?’ Sofia matched the captain’s civil tone, throwing in a superficial smile of her own.
‘Perfect.’ A curt nod and Captain Mary was gone. If this is to be my last night on board, I better make it one to remember, or forget, she thought wryly.