Twenty-three
Fiona was the first person to be interviewed.
Rose walked into the staffroom carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of biscuits, which Fiona thought was a kind way to create a relaxing atmosphere.
The boss held the tray effortlessly, while closing the door.
Fiona crossed her legs, uncrossed them, recrossed them, bounced her foot up and down .
.. it was tough projecting innocence when hiding a secret.
She should have told Rose about her history with Ru the day he’d shown up.
Rose set the tray down, picked up a mug and took a sip before speaking.
‘I wanted to see you first because I know it wasn’t you.
In fact,’ Rose shifted sideways, fishing something from her trouser pocket, ‘this is the keycode for the cellar door – it’s not practical me trying to find everything each evening.
I trust you,’ she said, passing over a slip of paper.
Tucking the scrap inside her apron, Fiona felt a rush of relief, and her shoulders loosened.
She concentrated on Rose’s next words, ‘Don’t take this as me blaming you, I’m not, but you might have inadvertently given the idea to the culprit.
Has anyone been quizzing you about wine? ’
That one was easy to answer. ‘People are naturally curious when they discover what I do for a living.’
A stern look crossed her employer’s face. ‘Who?’
Fiona thought back. Kim, Trish, Josh, the bar staff. The list was endless. She sipped her own tea, wondering how to respond. She didn’t want suspicion to fall on Josh, not after what he’d told her on the beach.
Rose sat up. ‘You can tell me in confidence. Who?’
‘Everyone, except for Ivy and Ru for obvious reasons.’
Rose’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ru?’
Fiona could have screamed at her slip-up. In Devon no one shortened his name. With her heart beating faster, Fiona scrambled for an explanation, but her mind was blank. With no choice but to ignore it, she soldiered on, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Yes. He’s worked with lots of sommeliers.’
‘What do you think of Ruben?’ asked Rose, her eyes narrowing. ‘Why is he here? If he wanted to experiment with fish why not go and work in one of the famous fish restaurants in Padstow? Why rural north Devon?’
Fiona shifted in her seat, her mind racing for ways to shift the subject onto someone other than Ru. ‘Maybe that’s exactly why he’s here, to get away from other famous chefs?’
‘So, he can shine?’
That wasn’t Ru’s style. He wasn’t arrogant. When customers complimented the food, he praised the entire team. But defending his team spirit wasn’t as important as deflecting attention from him as a suspect. She took another gulp of tea. ‘Possibly.’
‘I’m not sure,’ muttered Rose, shaking her head. ‘I think there’s something suspicious about why he’s here, something that’s connected to London. Maybe something went wrong up there. George says he’s often preoccupied, as if he’s worried. What do you think?’
Fiona’s eyes flitted round the room, bouncing off pictures, then her raincoat as if searching for something to lock onto.
Rose was perceptive, and Fiona was unsure how to respond.
‘I think he’s an excellent chef. Always calm under pressure, polite, professional .
.. treats the serving staff with respect. ’
‘Yes, Kim is quite taken with him,’ said Rose, a crafty smile creasing her face.
‘They’d make a great couple. She’s a good worker, Kim.
The customers like her – very efficient and polite.
’ Fiona kept her face impassive, as she remembered Rose scolding her about not pulling together with their small team.
‘George is adamant it’s no one in the kitchen, but those South African wines .
..’ She pursed her lips. ‘It would be a bit odd to steal them unless you know exactly what you’re stealing, and how much it’s worth.
’ She stood up, tapping a finger against her lip.
‘I’ll work it out, I never caught the thief in London, but I’ll catch this one. ’
Rose tipped up her mug and swallowed the remnants, before returning it to the tray. It looked like the meeting was over. It was on the tip of Fiona’s tongue to ask about the London theft, but she didn’t want to prolong the interview.
‘See if Ruben can spare time to see me before he gets too busy, would you? And be a love ... take these empties with you.’
Stepping into the bustling kitchen, the heat of the stoves instantly enveloped her.
The room was alive with the crackle of oil, and the smoky hint of toasting cumin.
Stainless steel counters gleamed under the bright kitchen lights, and Josh’s whistling blended with the hiss of steam and the low hum of the extractor fan.
In the middle of it all, Kim was laughing – a lilting, flirty sound – as she leaned close to Ru, touching his arm lightly.
Ru chuckled, meeting Kim’s gaze, as his hands neatly chopped a bunch of flat leaf parsley, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.
Even the simmering pots seemed to echo the pair’s light-hearted mood, bubbling as though in on the joke.
Fiona’s breathing became faster and shallower.
Across the kitchen, Josh glanced up from the sink, exchanging a smirk with George.
Both men seemed amused. George shook his head with a grin as he unfolded a fresh apron and secured it round his ample waist. Fiona could tell the men found Kim’s flirtation entertaining, like some predictable kitchen show.
Perhaps Ru viewed it thus, she mused. Missing his London stage, he was enjoying the opportunity to be the centre of attention.
But Fiona’s fingers tightened on the tray handles as she forced herself to ignore the twinge of jealousy.
She set the tray down harder than she’d intended, the thunk sharp against the softer kitchen sounds.
The whistling stopped and Ru glanced up briefly.
Quickly, Fiona looked away, hoping no one would comment.
Forcing a calm expression, she carried the mugs to the dishwasher, but the playful laughter from the other end of the kitchen buzzed loudly in her ears.
She handed Josh the dirty crockery and walked towards the couple, her heart somersaulting at the sight of Kim stroking Ru’s arm. Fiona fought to keep her face neutral, but when she spoke, there was a wobble in her voice. ‘Ruben, sorry to disturb you, but Rose wants to see you in the staffroom.’
He gathered up the parsley, securing it between his fingers, then slid the knife up and down so fast the blade never seemed to lose contact with his board. He grunted but didn’t take his eyes off the herbs. ‘Now?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Now,’ she said, allowing irritation to seep into her tone. ‘She’s waiting.’
Nonchalantly, he scraped the parsley into a bowl, removed his apron and sauntered past Fiona without even casting a glance her way. Fiona only hoped he could portray the same indifference during his interview. Over by the serving counter, Ru picked up a brown paper bag.
‘For me?’ squeaked Kim, rushing toward him.
Ru chuckled. ‘For Rose.’
George raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, yes? Have I got a rival?’
‘What is it?’ asked Fiona politely.
The bag rustled as Ru withdrew a pen. Attached to the top was a cluster of six-inch long powder blue ostrich feathers. ‘She’s always losing hers – I thought this might help.’
‘That, mate, is a beauty of a gift. She’s not gonna lose that one!’ said Josh.
Fiona smiled, recalling her bottle of perfume. Ru was generous with gifts and always so thoughtful. She hoped Kim appreciated those qualities as much as she had.
Fiona could smell baking pastry as she climbed the stairs up to Ru’s flat the next morning.
Her mouth salivated, hoping it was croissants – Ru was a skilled pastry chef.
The front door was ajar, and she pushed it wider.
The warmth hit her, making her realize how cold she was after just the short walk from Ivy’s cottage; but in a few days’ time she would be in London and could retrieve her coat.
In a corner of the room a suspended wood-burning stove glowed.
How long had Ru been preparing for Morning Prayers?
She wished she had reciprocated by drawing up a detailed agenda, but today there were only two topics she wanted to discuss: Ru’s interview, which she was sure he would tell her about; and whether there was something going on between him and Kim, which she knew wasn’t any of her business.
‘Hi Fi. Croissants will be ready soon. Take a seat.’ He gestured at the sofa, positioned for a view of the spectacular coast. She sat at one end.
On the coffee table in front of her were napkins, plates and knives; she pulled one set towards her, then moved the other to the far end of the table. ‘How did your interview go?’ she asked.
Behind her, she heard the oven door open, followed by a snatch of the humming fan, before it snapped shut.
Moments later, Ru was standing beside her, a tray of croissants in one hand, a pat of butter in the other.
‘This is made by a local dairy farmer. Just wait until you taste it. Expensive, but worth every penny. I’m trying to convince George to stock it,’ he said, the enthusiasm clear in his voice.
She reached for a warm pastry, golden, crisp and flaky.
As she broke off a piece she watched the steam rise.
Slathering on butter, she let it melt, remembering how in London he used to rely on her to judge new products, making her smell, then taste things and score them out of ten.
She took a bite, tasting the cream, the tang of salt .
.. willing him to ask for her opinion. He was watching her face.
She thought she detected a loving look in his eyes but knowing him, it could just as easily be for the butter, not her.
She swallowed her mouthful, taking her thoughts with the food.
The butter was magnificent. Ru hadn’t asked for her opinion because he didn’t need it.
In London, he had just been playing lip service to her skills.
She broke off another piece of pastry, the comforting warmth a stark contrast to the dull ache settling in her chest.
‘I saw you.’ He spoke softly, the words more of a lament than a reproach.
She glanced up. The sunlight danced through the window, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw and the slight curl of his hair.
He looked effortlessly handsome in his well-fitted chef’s jacket, the fabric just snug enough to hint at the strong shoulders beneath. ‘Saw me?’ she queried.
Ru’s gaze was intense. ‘On the beach ... with Josh. Again. If you aren’t a couple, I don’t understand why you’d be out there with him,’ Ru said, his voice steady but edged with an unmistakable anxiety.
He hadn’t taken a croissant, and the untouched tray of pastries sat in front of him like an accusation.
‘It’s not like you to go parading around the beach with a kitchen porter. ’
Fiona’s stomach tightened. ‘We weren’t parading, Ru. We were talking about sparkling wines,’ she replied, trying to keep her tone light, but her heart raced under the weight of his scrutiny. ‘You know how passionate Josh is to learn.’
‘Passionate?’ Ru echoed, the word as sharp as a paring knife. ‘Is that what they’re calling it now?’
As she met his gaze. Heat rose to her cheeks, ‘You know I would—’
‘Would what?’ he interrupted, leaning forward slightly, his voice low but fierce.
‘I was just—’
‘Just what?’ he shot back, the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface. ‘Just enjoying the view? Just catching up on old times? Oh no, wait, you can’t have been doing that because you’ve only known him for about two minutes.’
His bitterness stung. The silence roared louder than any words could, a warning as sharp as a scream, charged with unspoken emotions.
Fiona looked down at her plate, tracing the outline of her croissant with a finger, caught in a whirlwind of memories and unspoken feelings.
She ached to reach up, grasp his hand and reassure him it had only ever been him, but those hands weren’t hers to hold anymore.
That privilege belonged to another woman.
It didn’t really matter what he thought she was doing on the beach with Josh.
She and Ru weren’t a couple anymore. She must accept it and so must he.
‘It was just a date,’ she said, forcing the words out. ‘You don’t have to make it sound like ...’
‘Like what? Like I care?’ His voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face. ‘You’ve moved on remarkably quickly.’
‘I haven’t moved on,’ she insisted. Her voice rose to match his. ‘You know I still care about you. I always have.’ And she feared she always would. He was too big a character to forget.
Ru’s expression softened momentarily, a brief crack in his defences, but it snapped shut again. He shook his head, the movement as heavy as the weight of unspoken words.
‘How did we get here, Mousse?’
She saw his jaw clench, his eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and hurt. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered beneath his sarcastic exterior – a raw, wounded look that made her heart ache. But she quickly hardened her expression, unwilling to pander to his jealous pride.
Fiona pushed her plate aside. ‘I think I should go.’ she muttered.
He whispered. ‘No. I’m sorry. Of course you can see who you want. Don’t rush off. Stay and enjoy your breakfast.’
Absentmindedly, she picked up the remains of her pastry, shredding it between her fingers. She’d lost her appetite. ‘I’m not sure I should.’
He heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘Don’t go yet. I promise to behave like a rational human being.’ He sat beside her. ‘Now come on, tell me what you think of that butter. No one has a palate quite like yours.’
Although sure he knew the answer to his own question, she gave him a shy smile. ‘The butter is a ten.’
He returned her smile, ‘Do you want to hear about my interview with Rose?’