Chapter 20
J ude thought about happiness as the clock ticked towards noon, each task he completed bringing Guy Parsons ever closer.
Louise was stressed but clearly took pride in checking tasks off her list, adding to a tally of hard-earned achievement.
She deserved it, Jude knew. Rob did too after the effort he’d put into his menu.
Jude watched from the kitchen doorway as he toiled, itching to go and help, so used to creating feasts out of almost nothing while on the Aphrodite .
The bar was where Rob would be much happier, a far better fit instead of working alone in the kitchen.
Once the critic was gone, he’d insist they swap roles for the rest of the summer, Jude decided, if that would bring back the smile that was so conspicuous by its absence again, Rob’s resemblance to his father clearer now than ever.
Would he have known, Jude wondered, that sending this critic would kill his son’s enjoyment?
Was that really the reason he’d done it, pointing Guy Parsons in their direction like a loaded rifle?
Or had he sent him as a favour because he too wanted his son happy as Carl had insisted about Jude’s parents?
Jude took the stairs up to the bedrooms two at a time, while trying to imagine a world where that might be true. He still couldn’t fathom that ever being an outcome, had things turned out different.
He toured each refurbished bedroom, mentally running his own checklist, just like he had for all of Tom’s clients, making sure the yacht’s staterooms met his standards.
In another life where his mum and dad still existed this kind of decor would seem too sterile.
The new white bedding, pristine and snowy, would be a blank canvas to his mother, crying out for a splash of vibrant colour.
He straightened the edge of a fluffy, white towel, frowning. She wouldn’t have got too much happiness from this muted palette. Applying rainbow shades would have been her hallmark.
That was a truth that had him slipping through the kitchen, dropping a quick kiss on Rob’s surprised lips as he passed on his way out of the back door.
Juvenile seagulls sat in a row atop the boatshed, feathers mottled and ruffled instead of sleek, tumbling clumsily into flight as he ran towards them, their calls to each other like mocking laughter.
Rob and Lou might mock him as well for what he pulled from his duffle and carried back to the same bedrooms he just inspected to cast a length of batik fabric across the foot of each bed.
He smoothed each strip of printed cotton in memory of a woman he’d never completely say goodbye to as long as the Anchor held some colour.
“Are the bedrooms all done?” Lou asked without looking up from her checklist as Jude came back downstairs.
“Yeah. They’re perfect now.”
“And the snug?”
“Just going to double-check it right now.” It was the work of a moment to add a colourful runner across the snowy linen covering the table set for Guy Parsons. At least having it on display like this meant his mum would be with them all during this make-or-break moment as well.
That tight knot inside him loosened a little.
There.
Now the snug looked more like somewhere she’d still inhabit.
The sound of chatter, sudden and getting louder broke his introspective moment, Susan along with friends and family there to swell Porthperrin’s puny numbers.
Now the clock seemed to tick a whole lot faster, Jude serving them drinks with one eye on the window, awaiting an arrival he half dreaded.
A crash from the kitchen drew him away from the bar for a moment, Rob red in the face and holding a steaming pan of clear stock surrounded by sharp shards of china.
“Fuck,” he spat, more angry with himself than he need be after spending the whole morning toiling.
“I didn’t realise the dishes were so close to the edge of the counter. ”
“Where’s Lou?”
“Taking a phone call in the office.”
Jude leaned out of the kitchen doorway. “Susan,” he called out, his voice echoing between the bar and the kitchen. “Watch the bar for me for a minute, will you?” He found the broom and swept a clear path for Rob.
“Well, at least if it all goes to shit today,” Rob huffed as he set his pan down, “you could always take up curling.”
“It’s not going to go to shit.”
Rob looked anxious before he busied himself by locating a teaspoon. He dipped it into the pan, focussed on the stock he scooped up. “But if it does, I’ll understand if you blame me.” He blew on it, lips pursed, then held it to Jude’s.
The stock was perfect, if richer than Jude would have chosen, complex where he could have chosen a single key flavour, so perfectly over-the-top and Rob-like that he could hardly swallow. “Delicious,” he finally managed.
“Yeah?”
It wasn’t fair that Rob still sounded so worried, not after everything he’d done here to save their business. And it was theirs now, Jude accepted, Rob’s sweat earning as much of a place in the Anchor’s success as his and Lou’s blood tie.
“Haven’t you tasted it?”
“Yes, but…” Rob shook his head, looking as lost as Jude had felt while away until Tom had given him simple orders.
“Taste it, Rob.”
“I can’t trust myself,” Rob admitted. “Not when it matters—”
Jude kissed him before he could finish, sharing the stock’s rich flavour.
Rob’s teaspoon clattered onto the bench.
He wound his arms around Jude’s neck, holding on tight as if the kitchen was a galley aboard a yacht sailing choppy waters.
“Oh,” he said. He placed both hands on Jude’s face and took more sip-like kisses.
“Yeah,” he finally accepted, saying, “It does taste okay,” right before Jude kissed him deeper.
Behind him, sauces simmered and bubbled and a timer went off, its pings ignored as they locked in an embrace where nothing else mattered. Eventually, they stopped, Rob looking a whole lot better, settling into his skin in a way that seemed less anxious.
“Tell me what you have left to do,” Jude asked.
“Actually,” Rob admitted, sounding surprised, “I’m just about ready.”
Jude backed out of the kitchen, smiling until he overheard the voice of a stranger demanding service.
Guy Parsons had arrived early.
Jude hesitated before crossing the threshold into the bar, taking a moment to process the sight of the critic in person.
Online, he’d looked rakish, his goatee and crow’s-wing dark hair, dashing.
His expression as he took the glass Susan passed across the bar was almost genial, Jude noticed.
Then, it turned calculating as he asked her a quiet question.
The chuckle he let out after she answered must have sounded genuine to her rather than forced, but Jude saw his hand stray to his phone maybe as if to record her answer.
“Did you want to make a call?” Susan asked, perhaps not as oblivious as either of them had thought. She tapped the edge of the critic’s phone case. “There’s barely any signal in the village.”
“Really?” he asked. “That’s got to make life tricky.”
“Makes it easier, you mean,” Susan said, certain.
“No one bothering you when you’re having a nice time?
That’s what makes a good vacation. You’ll have to find another way to keep busy if you’re staying.
” She took a sip of her drink. “Are you?” she asked.
“Staying? Because you really should after Lou and the boys put so much work in. It’s been a real labour of love for them.
Especially for Rob. He’s such a treasure. ”
“We’ll see.” Guy Parsons was reserved in the face of Susan’s gushing.
Jude took a small step back into the hallway as the door to the harbour opened. A younger man came in holding a camera, his cheeks ruddy and wind-flushed.
“Caught some fabulous shots of waves from the end of the sea wall, Guy!” He took the stool next to the man whose smile now was so much warmer.
“Look!” He held the camera close so they could both see what he’d captured.
“Very French Lieutenant’s Woman . Terribly atmospheric.
” He scanned the bar tables. “Maybe you could eat outside. Put one of these tables at the far end. Nothing behind you but waves crashing and seagulls soaring.” His voice softened.
“With the wind in your hair—” he pushed a chin-length strand back from Guy’s forehead “—you’d look magic.
” Some kind of sorcery came into play as he tucked that strand of black hair behind Guy’s ear and leaned in to whisper.
Like a storybook character, Guy Parsons thawed in front of Jude’s eyes, becoming sweetly flustered.
It was a good moment to witness, recognisable from Jude’s hidden perspective.
These two might be new lovers as well.
“Welcome,” Jude said. He held out his hand in greeting. “I’m Jude Anstey. You must be Guy, and…?”
“I’m just the photographer.” He took Jude’s hand after Guy and Jude shook. “No one important. Just pretend I’m not here.”
Guy looked as if that no one important statement rankled, his brow furrowed until Jude said, “I remember you. It’s Ian, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” Ian’s pleasure added even more pink to his cheeks. “You remember me from the contest?”
“Yes,” Jude nodded, very aware that Guy listened intently. “You made everything I cooked look delicious. Later, I crewed on a yacht and I had to take pictures for the website. They never came out looking anything like yours did.”
“Oh.” Ian beamed. “You’ll have to show me. Maybe I can give you some pointers.”
“Thanks.” Jude glanced Guy’s way, wondering how far to push this tiny advantage. “But I think I’ll stick to cooking. You make photography look easy, but I know it takes real talent.”