Chapter 15 #2
Clare didn’t get to finish her sentence, instead, James spoke over her.
‘James Gardner. It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Was there a hint of irritation in that final sentence? James pulled his hand from Clare’s and thrust it out for Tad to shake. Tad took it, his hand crushed by an unexpectedly robust grip, which reminded him of the time he’d shut his fingers in the hinges of a cupboard door.
Tad had to tilt his face to keep eye contact with him – the bloke was remarkably tall – and he could imagine being on the receiving end of the intensity of James’s stare in a courtroom. It was intimidating even in this relaxed setting. Tad swallowed, then countered James’s greeting.
‘Good to meet you, too. Although to be honest I’ve not heard much about you,’ he said, wondering why he felt the need to claw back some kind of superiority. ‘I look forward to putting that right,’ he added, immediately weakening his position.
James finally released his hand, but not his gaze.
‘As you probably know, Clare likes to keep her cards close to her chest.’
Tad frowned. Why was this man talking about Clare as though he knew more about her than Tad did?
‘Aye. I do know that.’
‘I keep telling her she’d make the perfect barrister.’ James raised a single eyebrow and for a second Tad imagined him in the lead role in a silent movie, twisting at his evil moustache.
Clare – a barrister? Did the man not understand her character at all?
Never in his life had Tad wished more intensely to be taller.
When the extra four or five inches needed to be able to stare down on James Gardner didn’t magic themselves into his frame, Tad sighed and settled for an unprovocative question. ‘How long have you known Clare?’
‘Never mind that,’ Clare said, reclaiming James’s attention. ‘What I want to know is how you’re here. I thought you had to work?’
‘Plans changed; the interviews aren’t happening for another couple of weeks. I wanted to surprise you yesterday at the airport. But the flight was full, so I caught the first plane out this morning instead.’
Clare slipped her hand into his again. ‘Well, this is perfect, James. I’m so glad you managed to make it after all.’
‘As am I, Beetle.’
Their focus on one another was intense, so Tad edged away.
But Beetle? Since when had Clare had a pet name?
And why was it such a weird one? Never mind the strangeness of Clare being named after a member of the insect family, more worrying was the fact that Tad could feel himself taking an instant dislike to James Gardner.
Tad cleared his throat and brought the rest of the guests’ attention to him.
‘Shall we make our way back into the teaching kitchen in, say, five minutes?’ he said.
With sous-chef, Matteo, still absent – although due to be back for evening service – Tad would have to move it to get everything ready for the students.
‘Maybe ten? We’ve still got plenty of food to prepare.
Pan-fried sea bream and tiny new potatoes, served on a bed of local cherry tomatoes and olives. How does that sound?’
* * *
The food planned for lunch sounded top-notch, and tasted even better, in Hugh’s opinion.
Especially with the latest development brightening the day.
He’d been as convinced as Amy, the previous evening, that all bets were off where Tad was concerned.
As they had sat at that restaurant table, in the twilight of the previous Mediterranean evening, he had felt Amy’s disappointment radiating out of her as strongly as the sun that had beaten down on them all day.
He hadn’t blamed her for leaving that restaurant. Who in their right minds would remain somewhere, having their nose rubbed in something unpalatable? And it had looked so much as though Tad and Clare were an item.
And now, today had thrown up a completely different reality.
‘I can read you like a book.’
Kathleen’s strident accent cut through his reverie as Hugh spooned the last cherry tomato and morsel of olive into his mouth.
‘Beg pardon?’ he said, words muffled by his food.
‘I said I can read you like a book. You’ve done nothing but stare at those young people since we sat down at the table.’
Hugh laid down his fork. ‘Have I?’
‘You know you have. Not everyone is fooled by your dotty old man routine.’
‘You mean you’re not fooled by my dotty old man routine,’ he retorted.
‘It took me long enough to wise up to people, but no, I’m not fooled. Why do you care so much about those kids?’ she said, setting down her knife and fork on her empty plate.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. Hugh slid his own cutlery onto his plate, then frowned.
‘I suppose I was lucky in love. When Brian died, I wished it had been me, not him, wished so hard he hadn’t left me behind.
To compensate for his loss, I think I try to look for love in the people I see around me.
And if I can help spin people together, why not? ’
Kathleen stared at him, then she frowned. ‘You have no idea how lucky you are,’ she said.
‘How’s that?’
‘Not everyone gets to be as fortunate as you are with your memories. Remember I told you about the woman back in Kalgoorlie who was always looking for the limelight? The one who moved to Perth?’
Hugh nodded.
‘Well, that woman is my sister,’ Kathleen said.
Hugh stared at her, waiting for the connection or the relevance to land. When it didn’t, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite—’
‘You don’t get it? Well, here’s the thing.
I have a rather different take on that fluffy nonsense they call love, because when she buggered off to Perth to follow her star, or whatever, she took my husband with her.
Apparently, they’d been having an affair almost all the time we were married, had spent years playing me like a bloody fiddle. ’
‘Oh. I had no idea. I’m so—’
‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry.’ Kathleen ran a hand through her silver bob. ‘I’ve been more than fine on my own. I just think you should leave those kids alone to find out in their own sweet time whether they’ve been lucky or not.’
‘Do you think that’s all it is, then?’ Hugh said, his focus now entirely on Kathleen’s frank expression. ‘Luck?’
‘I get that I’m a jaded old woman; you don’t need to say it. I’m simply saying there are worse things than going it alone.’
‘I suppose,’ Hugh said, then he jutted out his chin as Tad slid a portion of tiramisu in front of him. ‘But there’s nothing better than finding a soulmate, either.’
Kathleen allowed him a small smile. ‘You’re a stubborn old goat, Hugh, aren’t you?’
* * *
Tiramisu – equally delicious when shared, or eaten solo
400ml double cream
250g mascarpone
75ml marsala
5 tablespoons golden caster sugar
300ml coffee, made with 2 tablespoons coffee granules and 300ml boiling water
175g sponge fingers (savoiardi biscuits)
25g dark chocolate
2 teaspoons cocoa powder
Put the double cream, mascarpone, marsala and golden caster sugar into a big bowl. Whisk until the ingredients have combined and the mixture has the texture of thickly whipped cream.
Tad made everyone whisk by hand, and although Kathleen was determined to do it unaided, she’d have used her electric hand whisk if she’d been at home.
Pour the coffee into a shallow dish and dip a few of the savoiardi biscuits at a time until they are soaked, but not soggy.
Hugh half expected Kathleen to polish off hers at this stage, but she didn’t – not all of them, anyway.
Layer half of the biscuits you have left into a dish of appropriate dimensions, then spread over half of the creamy mixture.
Using the course blades of a hand grater, grate over most of the dark chocolate.
Hugh sampled some of his dark chocolate – one of his favourite treats – but he didn’t think anyone noticed.
Then repeat the layers, using up any leftover coffee and ending with a creamy layer on top.
To serve, dust with the cocoa powder and grate over the rest of the chocolate.
Kathleen told Hugh she didn’t need anyone to share her tiramisu with – in fact, anyone trying to elbow in on her dessert was promised a sharp kick to the shin, but Hugh would have loved to have been able to share his with Brian.