A Perfect Devon Pub (Brambleton #2)

One

The Fork warm, crusty bread with golden extra-virgin olive oil; and vibrant salads topped with orange and purple edible flowers.

The smells of roasted vegetables, caramelized onions and grilling meat intermingled, making the space almost alive with flavour.

Ruben, still centre stage, seemed animated by the buzzing atmosphere, chatting with customers between cooking, throwing in witty remarks that drew chuckles and applause.

At the Chef’s Table, Fiona poured another glass of wine for a couple. ‘You’re so lucky to work with him,’ commented the man.

Fiona’s smile was polite, her tone light, but there was a knowing look in her eyes. ‘Yes, he’s very talented. But it’s not all glitz and glamour. There’s a lot more to running a restaurant than what you see on social media.’

As the door shut behind the last diners, Ruben took off his apron, mopped his brow and approached Fiona, his usually loose-limbed gait a little stiff, likely still fizzing from the evening’s adrenaline. ‘Busy night. The team did well,’ he said with a grin.

Fiona gave him a small smile and kept her voice soft. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to say something. ‘Yes, they did do well. But what about you? You’re not just cooking anymore, Ru. You’re performing. I wonder how long you can keep that up.’

‘Hey, come here.’ He pulled her into his arms. Being a foot shorter enabled her head to rest on his chest and she breathed in the comforting smell of him.

Her nose, fine-tuned to detect the subtle aromas of different wines, picked up top notes of lemon, rosemary, thyme and mint over the smoky base notes of cooked oil and fried fish.

She inhaled deeply and felt a small lump form in her throat.

‘Sorry, Ru. I shouldn’t deny your success just because I’m a failure. ’

‘Forget it, Fi,’ he whispered.

‘I can’t,’ she muttered, her voice thick with emotion.

He spoke firmly. ‘You must . You can’t be like this tomorrow morning. Come on. Let’s go home and leave the team to do the final clear-up for once. Their future depends on us. We need to prepare for some very important Morning Prayers.’

Morning Prayers. The name they used for business meetings, mostly with the team, occasionally with suppliers, all invariably scheduled for early mornings to dovetail with their restaurant commitments.

Fiona suspected Ru’s preparation plans wouldn’t address their glaring blind spot.

‘Ru, face it! Things have changed. They won’t back us now. ’

He smiled; it was the sort of cunning, assured smile that made her feel that he knew something she didn’t but, this time, she suspected his confidence was misplaced.

If only she hadn’t persuaded Ru to change the concept of their second restaurant, to differentiate it by leading on wine expertise.

If she’d messed up his future, she’d never forgive herself.

Using a finger, he tipped her head gently off his chest. ‘Don’t dwell on it, Fi,’ he whispered. ‘You’ll get another chance and the investors will understand.’ Then he kissed her, temporarily quenching all her thoughts of failure.

A voice called out from the stoves. ‘Good luck tomorrow, Chef!’

Ru turned to wave at his team. ‘Thanks! And guys ... thanks for everything tonight. You all did brilliantly. See you tomorrow.’

They slipped outside and walked hand in hand through the empty market, a warm summer breeze brushing against their skin. The low hum of trucks collecting the day’s discarded rubbish and the clatter of bottles being emptied into metal bins replaced the usual noise of vendors and tourists.

‘I spoke to your aunt Ivy today,’ said Ru. ‘I thought we should get away this weekend, to celebrate.’

‘Don’t tempt fate,’ she scolded. Sometimes Fiona thought his confidence bordered on cocky.

Nevertheless, she wanted to see Ivy, who had hung up her clerical collar a few months earlier and for once would have time to spend with her favourite niece.

Her aunt had recently moved out of the rectory into a cottage, and it would be fun to see Ivy’s new home.

The two women shared the same diminutive height and round freckled face, but that’s where the similarities ended.

Unlike Fiona, Ivy didn’t give a fig for the trappings of success, and rarely worried about the future.

She had been Fiona’s sanctuary when her parents’ cold silence echoed through her childhood home, her steady lighthouse through the stormy waters of adolescence, and a fount of wisdom through the maze of early adulthood.

Perhaps Ivy’s presence would be the balm Fiona needed.

Ru squeezed her hand. ‘Hear me out. We both need a break. We haven’t had a holiday for over a year.

The team can manage without us for a week.

I’ve made a decision. We are going down to Devon to stay with Ivy for a week.

I’ve hired a car, and we can drive down after Friday night’s service.

It will be fun – walks on the beach, dips in the sea . ..’

Listening to his enthusiasm, she warmed to his plans.

They walked in silence, the kind that settles between people who’ve known each other long enough to be comfortable with their own thoughts.

The sounds of metal lids clanging shut and the rumble of engines faded behind them, leaving only the soft shuffling of their steps.

A stray newspaper page tumbled across the ground, rustling against Fiona’s bare ankles, before skittering away into the shadows carrying yesterday’s headlines into tomorrow.

Just being with Ru and Ivy for a week would recharge her batteries.

Allow her to get yesterday in perspective.

She sighed. ‘What are we going to say to them tomorrow? You know ... about ...’

He grasped her hand. ‘Leave that one to me, pardner .’

His voice was so reassuringly firm that she felt the stirrings of hope. Maybe her failure wasn’t such a big problem after all.