Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Nate
Long before I reached the kitchen, I smelled a rich, warming aroma. Though it was familiar, sparking a memory of home, I couldn't place what it was. I stood on the stairs for a moment, trying to work it out before I headed to the kitchen.
Juliet was at the stove when I walked in, her hair pulled up, her back to me. Eileen was at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, watching her work.
"What is that?" I asked.
"Lancashire hotpot." Juliet turned. "It's the first time I've tried the recipe. I hope I've done it right."
I moved closer to look at the pot she'd just taken out of the oven. The sliced potatoes layered on top of the bubbling stew were golden and crisped at the edges.
"Where did you find a recipe?" I asked.
"I called Michel," Juliet said, trying to tease a jealous response from me. Now I knew he was in his sixties, there was no longer a threat to respond to. When I gave her nothing, she huffed out a breath. "I found it online. Lancashire hotpot seemed like something you might have grown up with."
Pleased she'd searched for a dish that might evoke childhood memories, I pulled out a chair at the table and sat across from Eileen. She slid the wine bottle toward me.
"My grandmother made it occasionally," I said. "In lieu of a Sunday roast when times were hard."
Juliet glanced over her shoulder. "Your grandmother was a good cook?"
"The best."
Eileen snorted.
"Well, apart from Auntie Eileen, of course."
"Damn right," my aunt said gruffly as I poured myself a glass of wine.
Juliet laughed. She prodded the potatoes with a knife, then returned the casserole dish to the oven. "Needs a few more minutes."
She walked to the table, poured herself a glass of the claret, a French wine, rather than one we produced on the vineyard, and stepped back to lean against the island.
"The meat order is coming tomorrow," Eileen said. "I bought lamb, pork, and chicken to fill the freezer, and there was a good deal on brisket, so I got a few pounds of that too."
My aunt had access to unlimited funds for the running of the household, but she still loved a bargain.
Though I gave her a generous personal allowance, she rarely spent much of it, preferring to save for a rainy day.
Perhaps she thought, as my father had done, that I would lose everything because of one reckless decision.
But I wasn't him, and my financial future was secure.
"How do you cook your brisket?" Juliet asked with interest.
"Low and slow."
"Of course," Juliet said.
"I usually give it at least six hours."
Juliet murmured approvingly. "What do you cook it with?"
"Stock, some red wine, bay leaves, of course."
"I like to add a little Worcestershire sauce," Juliet said. "Or some quince jelly if I want a touch of sweetness."
"Quince jelly?" Eileen looked as if she was storing that away for another time. "I thought it was an English thing. Where do you find it around here?"
"They grow quince in California," Juliet replied. "But the jelly I use is imported from the UK. There's a cheese shop in Beverly Hills that sells some."
"They have cheese shops in Beverly Hills? I thought it was all designer boutiques and tennis clubs."
Juliet laughed, obviously imagining my aunt was joking.
"My aunt has never ventured into Los Angeles," I explained. "When I first moved here, we had a place in South Pasadena. Then I bought the vineyard, and we moved out here."
"Oh, right. What about San Francisco? Surely you've been there?"
"No." Eileen shook her head. "I grew up in a city, but I've never liked the cars, the crowds, the noise."
"You're a country girl at heart." Juliet smiled softly. "I can see why."
Her gaze drifted up to meet mine, and for a moment, the room seemed to still around us. Was she saying what I thought she was? That she preferred being here to being in the city? I didn't dare hope.
As the moment grew awkward, I cleared my throat. "Shouldn't the hotpot be ready by now?"
"Yes, it should."
Juliet grabbed a couple of folded dishcloths and carefully removed the piping hot dish from the oven. She brought it to the table and set it down. The scent of the gravy had me salivating before I took my first bite.
The lamb was tender, the potatoes crisped on top the way they should be. She watched me as if waiting for my verdict.
"This is exactly right," I said.
Juliet's face brightened. She picked up her fork, took a bite, and nodded in agreement.
As we ate, we chatted about inconsequential things.
Eileen told of a delivery driver who'd ended up twenty miles south at a different location when he took a wrong turn coming out of Oakridge.
Juliet laughed and shared her own tales of woe about orders she'd placed going astray.
A little before ten, Eileen said goodnight. She took her tea and left us alone in the kitchen. Juliet refilled our glasses and leaned back in her chair.
"Tell me something more about your father," she said.
I turned the glass in my hand. My father wasn't my favorite topic of conversation, but I decided to satisfy Juliet's curiosity.
"He built a business from nothing and lost it. Ten years ago. There were bad decisions and a partner who turned out to be dishonest. He's been living in a poky little flat in Gateshead ever since."
"Gateshead?"
"In the north, just outside of Newcastle." I doubted she'd heard of the city I grew up in either.
"Right. Is that hard for him?"
"He copes. I've offered to help, but he won't take anything from me." I paused. "I send money through Eileen instead. He pretends to think it comes from her."
Juliet was quiet for a moment. "He's a proud man?"
"It runs in the family. You've met Eileen."
She gave me a pointed look, but I wasn't about to admit I could be too proud to ask for help sometimes. She turned her glass slowly on the table.
"Do you visit him?"
"I went to see him about a year after I bought this place." The memory sat uneasily in my mind. "He was in the flat with the curtains drawn in the middle of the afternoon. I sat with him for a couple of hours and told him about the estate, about what I was trying to build. He didn't give a shit."
"Oh, Nate." Juliet was quiet for a moment. She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. She left it there for a moment, then picked up her glass. Though I didn't need her sympathy, I was loath to refuse the comfort she was offering.
After a while, I drew back my hand. "Thank you for the delicious dinner. It brought back memories, the good kind."
She smiled into her glass. "Chef Michel would have hated it," she said with a rueful grin.
I threw back my head and laughed. Juliet had a remarkable talent for cheering me up. I only hoped that when the threat from Garrett was gone, I would be able to persuade her to stay.