Chapter 8
Limoncello – a classic Italian liqueur, sharp bitter top notes based on a sweet syrup
T he interviews were not going well. So far Livvy had seen three young lads, none of whom could string a sentence together or add up; and Brittany, who was slightly more promising.
Livvy recognised the brittle posh girl facade; she’d been to school with the type.
Rich parents, no attention. In fact, Brittany could have been her ten years ago.
Having failed her cabin crew training, Brittany moaned her mother had threatened to throw her out unless she got some kind of job.
The only problem she was desperate to go travelling as soon as she had funds so Livvy wasn’t sure how long she’d be around.
She’d have to ditch the impractical fake nails, Livvy thought, but, from a poor choice, she seemed the best on offer.
Livvy had told her she’d think about it and, once Brittany had gone, had looked gloomily through the other applicants.
No one suitable for cellarman or chef. The phone rang, startling her.
It was Jason. Bearing in mind what Mark had said about him, even so, when she’d replaced the receiver, her spirits were in a much better state.
He had the number of a chef she could use.
He came highly recommended and was available straight away.
It seemed too good to be true, but she was desperate.
Sitting in the pub kitchen two hours later Livvy began the interview. She hesitated and re-checked the online form the man had completed. ‘Fabio, is it? Could you summarise your experience please?’
As the man talked, without a hint of the Italian accent his name suggested, Livvy studied him. Early thirties, ridiculously good-looking with luxurious dark hair and limpid brown eyes. It would be a shame to hide him in the kitchen.
‘Catering college of course,’ he was saying. ‘Samphyre in Exeter, Rolandaz in London, spent time in the States cooking for celebs.’ He named two of the biggest film studios.
He was certainly well-qualified. Overly so. She was suspicious. ‘You said you’re originally from the west country. What brings you back? And would you really be happy cooking in a small pub? Will we be able to offer you the challenge you so obviously need?’
Fabio’s eyes gleamed. ‘I could make it so much more. That would be the challenge. Building from nothing to something. To a destination eating experience!’
Livvy suppressed a smile. She liked the arrogance. ‘Putting aside the insult that The Runaways is nothing, would cooking here be enough for you? You’re obviously very ambitious. How would I know you’d stay?’
‘Livvy, I’m back here as my mama is ill.
I want to spend some time with her.’ For a second tears shone in the dark eyes.
‘While I can. Cooking for you would be a gift. If you trusted me to do what I want in the kitchen, then I’ll promise you I’ll stay as long as it suits us both.
And, by the way, my real name’s Fred but Fabio goes down better with the clientele.
’ He gave a shrug. ‘Mama is Italian but I’m from Honiton. Devon boy, me.’
Livvy stared at him. He seemed, the name thing aside, to be genuine. But she didn’t want to rush into anything and make the wrong decision, no matter the urgency. ‘Fabio, would you be prepared to cook for me as part of your interview?’
‘Of course! It would be my pleasure. But mostly yours. And the menu – is that up to me?’
‘Entirely up to you. Just let me have the bill for the ingredients so I can reimburse you.’
He smacked a forefinger and thumb to his lips in a gesture so overtly Italian, it made Livvy want to hire him then and there. ‘Then I shall prepare a tasting menu, the likes of which you have never had. Will it just be for you?’
The thought of eating this promised banquet all alone had Livvy’s mood plummeting. ‘No,’ she said, as something occurred to her. ‘There’ll be two of us.’ After Mark’s kindness over the auction, she owed him a favour.
‘Then it will be a meal per due ,’ Fabio said with a flourish and grinned. Then he added, ‘Leave it with me, my lovely,’ rapidly resorting to Devon.
Having possibly appointed a chef, it became apparent the need for other staff was paramount.
It was a risk to take them on when she hadn’t got the business up and running but so was opening on a shoestring.
Better to start off how she meant to continue.
Fabio would need a sous chef and she and Brittany would need help behind the bar and, at this her feminist principles rebelled, someone strong to look after the cellar was vital. Barrels of beer weighed a ton.
Her saviour came, once again, in the unlikely form of Pete.
With the kitchen operating, she’d kept the skittles alley open.
She could offer limited beer and cider, and burgers.
It went down well with the players but was surprisingly hard work.
After the Wednesday match, a local derby bitterly contested between teams from The Runaways and The Toad and Flamingo, the locals’ pub on the other side of town, he stayed back to help clear up.
To her surprise, Mark popped by and offered his help too. ‘Was driving home and saw the lights on,’ he said. ‘Thought you might need a hand.’
Livvy sighed out her gratitude. ‘Thank you, Mark.’ There was something about his presence she found reassuring.
‘The lass is doing too much,’ Pete grunted from the far end of the alley where he was carefully, and at a glacial speed, stacking chairs. ‘Take that empty barrel out, will you?’
Mark grinned, saluted him and rolled his sleeves up. Tipping the barrel over on its side, he rolled it out to the car park. Returning he said, amazed, ‘How much do that lot drink? There’s five barrels out there.’
‘I’m not complaining. Keeps my income ticking over when I don’t have anything else coming in.
’ Livvy began to collect the empty pint glasses and then gave up; she’d leave it until the morning.
‘And thank you for taking the barrel out. I’m looking for staff but apart from one girl called Brittany who I’ll think I’ll take on, and a possible chef, I haven’t found anyone else suitable. ’
‘Wish I could help. But I can’t think of anyone looking for work. Lullbury is like most seaside places; the young move away, the retired rarely want to commit to regular paid work again. You’ll have more joy in the summer when the students come in looking for seasonal work.’
‘Except I can’t wait that long. I want to launch when the refurb is done and open with a fireworks party.’ She gave an exhausted grin. ‘Open with a bang if you like. And there are going to be times when I can’t be here. I need someone reliable, someone trustworthy to take my place.’
Pete shuffled towards them. ‘You need a good cellarman. Do the grunt work. Someone good behind the bar an’ all.’
‘Nothing wrong with your hearing, Pete,’ Mark said.
‘I’ll ignore that,’ the old man muttered. ‘There’s Young Karl. Just been made redundant, he has.’
‘Oh come on, Pete,’ Mark answered before Livvy could get a word in. ‘Young Karl is sixty-three. He’s not going to want to hump barrels around.’
‘And still going to the gym. Don’t tar everyone with the same brush, they’m not all pen pushers like you. Young Karl’d take out three of them barrels to the one you just rolled out.’
‘Touché,’ Livvy put in. ‘Thanks, Pete. I’ll certainly consider Karl for the job if you think he’d be interested. How can I get hold of him?’
‘Give me here that beer mat. I’ll jot down his mobile,’ Pete said, a little surprisingly. Peering down at the piece of cardboard, he scribbled down a number. ‘He’d be glad of the work, ’specially with Christmas coming up. Expensive time is Christmas.’
‘It is,’ Livvy said faintly, feeling steam-rollered.
‘I’ll say my good nights then.’ Pete whistled to Skip, who got stiffly to his feet and trotted after his master and out through the door.
‘Thank you for all your help, Pete,’ Livvy called after him. In reply, he put a hand up.
‘Pete, do you want a lift home?’ Mark asked, receiving a curt no in answer. He watched him go. ‘It’s a cold night. I hope he’ll be okay. It wouldn’t have been any trouble to drive him back; he doesn’t live that far from me. Think he likes the stroll back up the hill though.’
Livvy tucked the beer mat into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘I’m in danger of staffing the place completely by personal contacts. Saves on the cost of an ad, I suppose.’
‘It’s the way it works in small towns. Everyone knows one another and everyone knows one another’s business.
’ Mark gave a tight grin. ‘Can get claustrophobic at this time of the year without the tourists to dilute the mix a little. If it gets too much for me, I disappear up to London. A few days in the Smoke usually reminds me why I moved to Dorset.’
‘I’m sure it does.’ Livvy looked at Mark thoughtfully, pondering why he had become the brunt of local gossip. Getting back on topic, she said, ‘Maybe I’ll give Karl the benefit of the doubt.’ Shrugging, she added, ‘I mean, what have I to lose? Thank you for your help, Mark. Again!’
‘You okay to lock up?’
‘Absolutely fine. You go home. Perhaps you’ll catch Pete up on your way.’
As she heard the Mercedes’s familiar growly engine start up, she wondered where Mark had been coming from. None of your business, Livvy my girl, she reprimanded herself. The headlights swept the car park and left her in the dark.
A gull keened mournfully overhead and far below her, the sea shushed and murmured. After the busyness of the skittles match it seemed very lonely. The car park yawned, empty, into the darkness and to the beer garden beyond.
On the other side of the pub was attached a three-storey Georgian town house but the car park faced onto the blank back wall of an office block.
Its metal escape stairs rattled in a sudden blast of wind.
Wishing she hadn’t been so hasty as to insist Mark go, she turned to lock the door of the skittles alley and then stiffened.
Sensing rather than knowing, she felt someone was watching her.
A prickle of fear traced down her spine.
Keys shoved between her fingers, she braced herself and then turned back to face the car park.
‘Hello? Anyone there?’ The security lights flared on, temporarily blinding her.
There might have been a shadow, maybe a figure flitting the far end, towards the road, but it had gone before she’d really registered.
Unnerved, she ran to the pub’s side door, unlocked it and ran in before the security lights cut out again.
Her hands shook as she locked the door and double checked it was secure.
Her heart pounded into her throat. Ridiculous to be so spooked but she was convinced someone had been out there, watching.
Probably bored teenagers. Leaning her forehead against the door and deliberately calming her breathing, she made a note to get the security lights fixed.