Second Thyme Around (27 page)
She pulled on the first summer dress she found which didn’t need ironing, and went to join Lucas and Kitty.
‘Darling, you look lovely, doesn’t she, Lucas?’
‘Much better. Clean, even.’
‘Isn’t he kind? Lucas is going to take you out for a nice meal so you can get away from the sick room for a bit. Now, do you want a drink first? So much cheaper than paying those ridiculous prices in restaurants.’
‘Well, the poor little orphan girl would hate to cost the kind gentleman a penny more than absolutely necessary, so perhaps she’d better have a drink with her kindly benefactress.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lucas. ‘If you and Kitty start gossiping we’ll never get away. I want to check out a colleague’s place over towards Oxford, so we have to leave now.’
‘It’s only six thirty!’ protested Perdita. ‘I haven’t said hello to Kitty yet.’
‘Oh, do what the man says,’ said Kitty. ‘I’ve spent all day being sociable, I really don’t have the energy to talk to you.’ She smiled fondly, making the words into a caress.
‘Very well, you grumpy old woman.’ Perdita kissed Kitty’s cheek. ‘But I’ve got my mobile. If you need me, get Beverley to give me a ring, and I’ll come straight back.’
Once in Lucas’s leather-seated car, Perdita knew she should lay into him on the matter of his overbearing nature, or some such, but she didn’t have the energy.
‘I hope you’re not expecting scintillating conversation, or anything, Lucas,’ she said, with her head back and her eyes closed.
‘Well, I was rather hoping for an evening of wit and insight, followed by exotic sex on a tiger-skin rug, but she was out, so I asked you.’
Perdita chuckled, her eyes still closed. ‘Wake me up when we get there.’
She woke up of her own accord before they got there, feeling refreshed after her nap. One of the advantages of getting so little sleep during the night was that she could sleep almost instantly if any other opportunity to nap presented itself.
‘So, where are we going? Our local restaurants not good enough for you, then?’
‘Not good enough for
you,
my sweet.’ He laughed at her surprise. ‘Don’t worry, I just want to call on an old colleague of mine who’s just taken over a little place in the Cotswolds.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, he took it over months ago, but I haven’t had a chance to go and visit him before now.’
you,
my sweet.’ He laughed at her surprise. ‘Don’t worry, I just want to call on an old colleague of mine who’s just taken over a little place in the Cotswolds.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, he took it over months ago, but I haven’t had a chance to go and visit him before now.’
‘Oh. Well, I hope I don’t embarrass you with my plebeian habits, asking for ketchup and stuff.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t let you do that.’
He took her to a market town which didn’t look as if it could support anything too way out and gourmet in the way of restaurants. L’Escargot was tucked between an antique shop and a shop which sold gingham napkins, rope angels and shaker-style hatboxes. From the outside the restaurant looked small, hardly bigger than a tea shop, but inside it was much bigger, and although it was a weekday, the place was nearly full.
Lucas murmured to the beautiful woman who came to greet them. She hurried away and came back with an elegantly dressed man who greeted Lucas with hugs and back slapping and a lot of language inappropriate for the surroundings.
‘You’ve made it at last, you old bastard! About bloody
time! And who’s this lovely woman you’ve brought with you?’
time! And who’s this lovely woman you’ve brought with you?’
‘This is Perdita. She co-starred with me on the TV programme. This is Bruce.’
Bruce grinned. ‘Actually, it’s Anthony, but they call me Bruce because I come from Australia. Names always get changed in kitchens. It’s lovely to meet you, Perdita.’
‘And you, Anthony.’ Perdita stopped worrying about her faded cotton dress and gave him a warm smile.
Bruce, or Anthony, took this as an invitation. He embraced her warmly, ending with several firm kisses on the cheek and one on the lips.
‘Put her down, Bruce, she’s spoken for.’
By this time, two other couples had arrived, and the small reception area was filling up.
‘Pity,’ said Bruce, ‘I suppose I’d better find you guys a table. Follow me.’
‘Well, he seems like a nice man,’ said Perdita, twinkling and feeling girlish for the first time in months.
‘He’s married. Or doesn’t that put you off?’
‘Oh, it puts me right off, Lucas. Is he going to bring us some menus?’
‘I doubt it. I expect he’ll bring us some aperitifs and some canapes, and then whatever they’ve got that’s best. Bruce and I used to cook together years ago, but he got fed up with the hours, and decided he’d rather run a restaurant than cook in one. I wonder who he’s got cooking for him?’
‘You mean, I won’t get to choose what I eat? Supposing they give me something disgusting, like sweetbreads, or brains?’
‘You must learn to educate your palate. After all, you might become a cooking celebrity.’
‘Might I? Why? It was just a pilot.’
‘Wait until you see the programme. They’re seriously considering doing a series, with us both.’
‘I shall demand a huge increase in salary, then.’
‘But you’d do it?’
‘Oh, I’ll do anything for money.’ She laughed, knowing he would think she was joking, and realising how serious she was. If she had to buy her poly-tunnel land, she’d need every penny she could get. ‘Ah, here come the drinks.’
Although certainly not a gourmet, and not usually very interested in food, Perdita thoroughly enjoyed herself. Eating with Lucas brought out her wickedest streak, a streak she’d almost forgotten she had.
Lucas had been right when he’d told her the L’Escargot people would just bring what they thought were their best dishes. After the tiny squares of Welsh rarebit which came with their pre-dinner drinks, they moved to the table. Once seated and draped in enormous scarlet napkins, their gin and tonic glasses were whisked away and the feast began.
Perdita never thought she’d manage to eat it all. Starting with hand-dived scallops and finishing with an assiette of puddings, there were about seven courses in all. They were all tiny, beautifully presented, and in Perdita’s opinion, with the exception of the salad which she pronounced unimaginative, it was all delicious.
Bruce brought each dish to Lucas, and stood over him while he tasted it. Lucas chewed each first mouthful with the concentration of a man who was reading something it was imperative that he understood and remembered. Bruce stopped his wisecracking until he had received the verdict. After he had worked out what all the ingredients were, and decided if they were good combinations or not, Lucas was surprisingly generous with his praise. Perdita had expected him to be critical for the sake of it, but while he didn’t hold back if he felt something would have gone better with something else, on the whole he was very appreciative.
After the first time, when Bruce had gone away, smiling broadly, Perdita said, ‘I’m surprised you were so polite about that. I thought you’d be really picky. You’re so bloody fussy in your own kitchen, and dead snooty on the cookery programme if they suggested anything you didn’t like.’
‘Because I have high standards, it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate other people’s good cooking when I come across it.’
‘Glad to hear it. Although personally, I think these scallops are a bit chewy.’
He narrowed his eyes over his wine glass. ‘Oh really? Well, don’t tell the chef, he’d be heartbroken.’
She chuckled, enjoying herself more and more. Bruce joined them whenever he could and his presence took away any awkwardness Perdita could have felt about being alone with Lucas. Their relationship was so strange nowadays. They weren’t quite ‘just friends’, although ‘friends’ most nearly described their relationship, and they certainly weren’t anything else.
For tonight, Perdita put all such complications, all other concerns, aside. Both men flirted with her shamelessly, making her feel witty and attractive, she enjoyed the food, and the attractive surroundings. She forgot all about the many responsibilities she had left behind her. Just for tonight she could be young and frivolous, and carefree. She ate langoustines, truffles, and home-made pasta, chocolate fondant, pistachio parfait and glazed passion fruit tart, and a whole lot of other things.
While they were toying with the cheese, finishing up the last of a very good red wine, Lucas pronounced himself impressed with the meal.
‘All in all it was very good, although I thought the veal was a little overwhelmed by the tomato vinaigrette.’
As Bruce was momentarily absent, Perdita felt free to protest. ‘Veal! You didn’t make me eat veal! I’m morally opposed to it!’
‘Don’t worry. I know Bruce gets all his meat from a farm which guarantees everything is humanely reared. If more people ate kind veal, there’d be no need to export the calves to places where they keep them in the dark and feed them nothing but milk.’
‘Oh.’ Perdita had, by this time, had rather a lot to drink. Each course had been accompanied by a different wine, and as Lucas was driving, he only took one critical, crunching, swilling sip from each one. She had happily consumed a full glass each time. Now she gathered up a few biscuit crumbs with her finger, suddenly melancholy, aware that her freedom from responsibility was nearly over. ‘It was so kind of you to bring me, Lucas. I’ve had a lovely time.’
‘Kind! Not at all. I wanted you to come.’
Perdita shook her head. ‘Let me tell you how it was. You said to Kitty, “It’s my evening off. I’m thinking of visiting the restaurant of an old friend of mine in the Cotswolds.” She said, “Do take Perdita. All she gets to see nowadays is the sick room and those damn polythene tunnels of hers.”’
She watched him closely. She didn’t resent him for taking her out, out of kindness; she had enjoyed herself, and his company, but she wanted to know the truth.
‘Nearly right. I said to Kitty that I had the evening off and had a good mind to take you to visit the restaurant belonging to an old friend of mine, in the Cotswolds, and did she think you’d come, or would you be too tired?’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She said you’d probably jump at the chance because anything would be better than eating fish in sauce in front of the television again. Needless to say, I was flattered.’
Perdita laughed. ‘I don’t know whether or not to believe you, but thank you anyway.’
‘Why shouldn’t you believe me? Why wouldn’t I want to take an attractive woman with me to see an old friend? It does me credit.’
‘After the telly programme is out, you won’t need the likes of me. You’ll have women after you in droves.’
‘Then I’ll beat them off with a big stick. I don’t want women after me in droves.’
‘Of course you do. All men do.’
He shook his head. ‘No. Some of us just want a lifetime of commitment with the right woman.’
The sudden seriousness of his tone unsettled her. She took refuge in sarcasm. ‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes, really. People do change, you know. Years pass, stuff happens, people want different things.’ He looked at her intently and frowned. ‘Don’t look so anxious. I’m not about to make any embarrassing declarations.’
‘I’m not looking anxious,’ she lied. ‘I’ve just got indigestion. I’ve had more to eat this evening than in the last fortnight put together.’ This was probably true.
‘I know you never eat. That was one of the reasons I wanted you to come. Here, Bruce!’ When Bruce came over he said, ‘Perdita needs a
digestif.
Do you have any mint tea? Or just some mint you could make it with?’
digestif.
Do you have any mint tea? Or just some mint you could make it with?’
‘Too much to eat, eh?’ said Bruce. ‘Well, a spot of mint tea, followed by a crème de menthe, should sort that out. Go on through to the lounge and I’ll bring coffee for Lucky Lucas, and some mint tea for you.’
‘Lucky Lucas, eh? Why does he call you that?’
‘It’s a long story. Come on through to the lounge. You’ve got home-made petits fours to eat now.’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘You must.’
With the tea and coffee came a young man in checked trousers and a tomato-spattered chef’s jacket. ‘Thought you’d like to meet the lad,’ said Bruce. ‘This is Oliver, Olly, so we call him Stan.’
‘Of course you do,’ said Perdita. ‘But whatever your name is, that was the most fantastic meal I’ve ever eaten in the whole of my whole life.’
Stan flushed and stuttered. Lucas murmured that Perdita had had rather a lot to drink.
Bruce raised his eyebrows. ‘Lucky Lucas lost his touch, then. He was a mean chef when I knew him.’
‘He’s still a mean chef,’ said Perdita quickly, resenting Lucas’s comment about how much she’d had to drink. ‘I haven’t eaten at Grantly House since he’s been there.’
‘No,’ said Lucas, ‘but you’ve worked in the kitchen. Word of advice – however stuck you are for staff, don’t let Perdita into your kitchen. She throws things.’
‘All the best chefs throw things,’ said Bruce. ‘Isn’t that right, Lucky?’
‘So, why do you call him Lucky?’ Perdita asked. Bruce might tell her what Lucas wouldn’t.
Bruce shot Lucas a glance. ‘Haven’t you told her? He once threw a cleaver at the kitchen door, just as someone came in. They weren’t killed, but they bloody nearly might have been. He didn’t even get the sack. He’s been called Lucky ever since.’
‘Enough of this reminiscing,’ said Lucas. ‘Stan, that really was a very good meal. If ever you can’t stand working for Bruce any longer, or want a slightly bigger operation, let me know.’
‘Steal my staff, would you? Bastard,’ said Bruce good-naturedly. ‘Now, do you want a liqueur, on the house? Or Perdita could stay here and talk to Stan while he chills out, and I’ll give Luke a guided tour.’
Perdita sat with Stan while he drank his coffee. As he had made them, and wanted her opinion of each one, she had to try the petits fours. She nibbled home-made fudge and drank mint tea while Stan told her of his hopes and dreams.
‘Of course, I want a star of my own. This place has got its star, but they’ll test it again while I’m cooking to make sure the standard hasn’t slipped.’
‘Lucas was tested quite recently.’
‘Oh, he’ll get a star, no problem. Bruce tells me he’s one of the best. If he’d gone into it as a boy, he’d be very famous by now.’
‘The television programme will probably make him famous.’
Stan looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure about all these television chefs. Sometimes they forget how to cook for themselves, and you can lose your star, you know. If they think you’re spending too much time being a celebrity, and the food isn’t of the standard, they’ll take it away.’
‘Lucas said something of the sort.’
‘But I’m sure he’d never let that happen. From what Kangaroo Kate tells me … Bruce?’
‘Oh, you mean, Anthony?’
Stan nodded. ‘Lucas is very good. He’ll be after his second star the moment he’s got his first.’
Perdita laughed. ‘I expect you’re right there. He’s very ambitious.’
‘So, how did you get to know him? It’s hard for chefs to have a social life, unless they get together with someone they work with. The hours are so long, and not many women can take staying in on their own almost every evening.’ He said this with feeling.
‘I can see it would be hard, but Lucas and I met years and years ago, before he was a chef, and – well, we’re not going out together or anything. We’re just friends. We don’t see each other that much.’
‘I didn’t think you looked like the sort of woman to go to clubs, which is where I meet my girlfriends.’
‘You go clubbing after a night in the kitchen? You must be very fit.’ She had been shattered after her one experience, although that might not just have been tiredness.
‘Oh, I’m fit. You have to be, or you couldn’t do the work.’ He grinned at her, his teeth very white in the stubble which was emerging from his chin.
Perdita was just coming to the conclusion that there was definitely something about chefs when Bruce and Lucas came back.
‘Just as well Lucas doesn’t want to take me clubbing,’ said Perdita. ‘I’d never have the stamina.’
Lucas’s look of horror earned him a beatific smile.
Perdita slept all the way home. When she got out of the car, and they were both standing by the gate, she forgot it was Lucas, forgot all the many complicated strands of their relationship, gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Thank you, that was absolutely wonderful. I had a brilliant time.’
Although his arms came round her, he didn’t hold on when she pulled away. ‘So did I, Perdita.’
He sounded wistful, as if he had been dismissed.
‘You don’t want coffee, or anything? I mean, it’s two o’clock in the morning.’
‘No. I don’t want anything, Perdita. Just you go in and try to sleep well for what’s left of the night.’
She tiptoed in to check on Kitty and found her awake.
‘Not waiting up for me, I hope?’ said Perdita.
‘Of course not. You’re old enough to stay out as long as you like. I just want a bedpan.’
While she was dealing with Kitty, Perdita realised that her skin felt warmer than usual.
‘Do you feel all right?’ Perdita hoped she’d get her head bitten off, and be told off for fussing.
‘No, I’m fine,’ said Kitty, unconvincingly.
‘Let’s take your temperature.’
Kitty made token grumbling noises while Perdita searched for the thermometer, but she didn’t protest when Perdita stuck it under her tongue.
‘Now, while it cooks, I’ll tell you about this evening. The
food was superb! I think I could get into this gourmet life style.’ She chatted on, fetching the bedpan, lifting Kitty onto it and afterwards straightening the bed and plumping up the pillows. When she came to look at it, the thermometer told her she was right, Kitty’s temperature was up.
food was superb! I think I could get into this gourmet life style.’ She chatted on, fetching the bedpan, lifting Kitty onto it and afterwards straightening the bed and plumping up the pillows. When she came to look at it, the thermometer told her she was right, Kitty’s temperature was up.
‘OK,’ she told Kitty. ‘I can either wake Beverley, who’ll know if I can safely give you a couple of paracetamol with all the stuff you have to take anyway, or I can just pop you a couple of pills, and see how you are in the morning. What do you think?’
Perdita was extremely tired, but that wasn’t the reason she didn’t want to wake Beverley. Beverley would probably want to call the doctor, which would upset Kitty dreadfully. She didn’t like the doctor being called during ordinary hours, and the thought of him being rung in the middle of the night would horrify her, and convince her that she had but moments left on earth.
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