Recipe for Disaster (19 page)

Jake stood up and put his arms in the air. 'Bloody bank
managers! I'd like to stick your heads down the waste disposal
unit – except, damn, Godfrey managed to block it
this morning; I must remember to fix it when I get back.
Anyway, I hate the lot of you! But you will not grind me
down! And neither will that bastard Harry Hunter,' he
added for good measure. He looked down. A carload of
Japanese tourists was gazing up at them with astonishment
and trepidation.

'It's all right, we'll tell them you were declaiming a Latin
poem for the souls of dead centurions,' giggled Kate. 'We'll
say it's a local custom and they might even pay you to do it
again. You could supplement your income by becoming an
aid to tourism.'

'Get back in the car, idiot. We have to see a woman about
a cheese.'

Beck Farm was down a long, winding, rutted lane. It was
the sort of road four-wheel drives were really made for, not
half-mile school runs in the middle of Hackney.

As they pulled up, a pack of collies with slavering fangs
came bouncing up, looking for some soft flesh to sink their
teeth into. They were followed by a woman with a truly
dreadful perm, wearing a flowery dress, a red and white
striped apron and ancient gumboots. She looked at them
with deep suspicion and called the dogs off grudgingly,
obviously quite prepared to unleash them again if she
didn't like what they had to say.

Jake advanced bravely, hand outstretched. 'Hello, my
name is Jake Goldman; I spoke to you on the phone last
week.'

'Aye, you did. You wanted to see my cheese.' She said this
with disbelief and disapproval, as if Jake was a man with a
strange fetish. 'You'd better come in, I suppose. Don't mind
the dogs; they'll do as they are told.'

She led the way into a large kitchen where a small wiry
man in shirtsleeves, and with a heavily weather-beaten face,
was eating his dinner.

'Geoff, this is the man about the cheese.'

Geoff shook his head as if he could never come to terms
with the peculiarity of foreigners, which probably
included anyone who lived further away than the lane
end. Both of them completely ignored Kate, as if she
didn't exist.

Jake and Kate followed the woman outside to the dairy,
passing a huge Alsatian busily chewing what looked a bit
like someone's thigh bone.

'This is our cheese – it's nowt special.'

Jake tried a sliver. 'Oh, no, Mrs Tomlinson, you are so
wrong. It is very special.' He broke off a bit and gave some
to Kate. It was cool and creamy and intense in flavour.

'This is fantastic. I haven't tasted English cheese like this
since . . .' It wasn't the right time to mention she bought all
her cheese, if she bought any, ready packed from a supermarket.
That might be a bad word round here.

'If you can provide me with one of these a week to start
off with I would be delighted,' said Jake. 'I've been
searching for a good local product like this for some time
now and I'm certain this is going to prove very popular.'

Mrs Tomlinson unbent a little in the face of this praise.
'We do our own hams as well,' she said.

'Please, lead the way.'

'This is as good as Parma ham, in its own way,' Jake said
later, with his mouth full. After that, there was no stopping
Mrs Tomlinson. They returned to the kitchen, followed by
the Alsatian, which seemed to be taking too much interest
in Kate's legs and were urged to try Mrs T's eggs, homemade
chutney, Cumberland sauce, damson jam and rum
butter, though – thankfully – not all at once.

'If you opened a shop selling this in a town, there would
be queues outside the door,' said Kate, a long time later,
wiping cream off her nose.

'Why would anyone want to do that?' asked Geoff. 'A
town is no place for sensible people.'

It was early evening now and the Tomlinsons' two sons
came in after a hard day chasing sheep. More food
appeared; what had gone before was evidently just a snack
and Kate and Jake were obviously expected to stay.
Although the Tomlinson sons were about six and a half feet
tall and built like steel girders, they were too shy to say
much in front of visitors.

'We don't get many people calling in round here, apart
from the wife's sister, and she's daft,' said Geoff.

'You look like you need a good meal. You're not much of
an advert for your own restaurant,' said Mrs Tomlinson,
producing an enormous casserole that had been simmering
in the Aga and what looked like a field full of potatoes,
smothered in butter. They all guffawed with laughter at her
wit and helped themselves to an appalling quantity of
cholesterol, which, despite what the doctors would say,
didn't seem to be doing them any harm.

As the entire family had scant respect for Jake's career –
'A man cooking?' said one of the sons in disbelief – the
conversation turned naturally to sheep.

'Let me get this right – you spend all day taking the sheep
to one bit of hill; then get up at a ridiculously early hour to
take them to another?'

'Aye, that's about it. I went to the city once,' said Geoff,
leaning back and lighting a disgustingly smelly old pipe. 'It
seemed to me all anyone ever did was scurry around them
underground tunnels like lunatic ants.'

'Well, you've got a point,' admitted Jake.

'This is a great life. You can spend all day on the fell and
never see another living soul,' said one of the brothers,
pausing to consider whether he could manage another
morsel of ham, deciding that he probably could and cutting
himself a slice about three inches thick.

Jake managed to regain some lost ground by declaring a
passion for Herdwick mutton stew, but no one seemed to
want to say much to Kate – though they all enjoyed looking
at her legs. She wished she had worn her baggy jeans.

Regretfully, she refused a second helping of apple pie.
Another mouthful and buttons would start pinging.

By the time she stood up to go, a sliver of a moon was
hanging in an inky blue sky. They were urged to take home
presents of food, which Jake refused. 'You've been kind
enough already and your produce is so good it deserves to
be bought, not given away.'

They drove off to a chorus of barking, which Mrs T
assured them was just the dogs' way of saying goodbye.

'Any time you need a decent meal, you're welcome to pop
in,' said Geoff.

'That was totally brilliant,' said Kate. She was full of
admiration for Jake, for finding this cornucopia of gluttony
in the middle of nowhere. He had a journalist's ability when
it came to ferreting out anything worth knowing about.

'I think restaurateurs have an absolute duty to support
local suppliers. We still don't do anything like enough of
it in this country, though I suppose things are slowly
improving.'

They drove back over Burned Clutch Pass, which was
free of traffic but full of sheep. 'The road is warmer than the
grass – they like to sleep there,' said Jake.

When they were at the top, Kate said: 'Stop the car for a
minute.'

'Why? Have you left something behind? Because if you
have, it will have to stay there. It's nine o'clock and the
Tomlinsons will be tucked up in bed by now.'

'It's my turn to show you something,' said Kate.

'What? Where?' There's nothing to see – it's too dark.'

'Look up,' she said simply.

Jake looked. The night sky was empty of clouds, but jam packed
full of stars, more than he had ever seen in his life.
There were no other lights for miles around to hinder their
brilliance. 'I didn't know there were that many stars!'

'You don't, when you live in a built-up area. Look,
there's the Plough.'

'Where?'

'That group over there, shaped like, well, a plough. The
Americans call it the Big Dipper.'

'Oh, yes, I can see it!'

'And over there is Orion the Hunter – that's his tunic and
his sword hanging from his belt. And over there is
Cassiopeia – she was a fabulously beautiful queen, oh,
thousands of years ago.'

'Now that's what I call having your name in lights.' He
looked down at her. 'Thank you,' he said softly. 'I think that
is the nicest thing anyone has ever shown me.'

Although it was dark, she could see his eyes, glittering
with a light reflected off the stars. His face was very close to
hers. She wanted it to be closer. Then they both moved
together as if they were a pair of magnets. The touch of his
mouth on hers made a fire rise deep in her spine. Things
must have started happening in slow motion because she
could distinctly feel herself thinking – we shouldn't be
doing this because we will start something we can't stop and
there will be very complicated consequences, but, oh hell, I
really don't care; I just want this to go on and on. I want to
touch his mouth, his hair; I want to feel his heart juddering
against mine and I want to do things to him that will make
his eyes close in ecstasy.

For one wild moment she thought he would pull her
down with him into the bracken and she would get her
wish, but then they were both blinded by the lights of,
unbelievably, a motorbike, which pulled up with a roar
behind them.

'Broken down, have you?' said the rider, looking at them
with interest.

The moment had gone. Maybe it was better that way.

'Er, no . . . we were just looking at the stars,' said Jake
feebly.

The rider grinned at them. 'I'll leave you to it, then. They
are up there, by the way.' He pointed upwards again,
winked at Jake and roared off. The darkness swallowed him
up and they were alone, but the moment had passed, for
Jake, anyway.

'It's late – we'd better get back,' he said curtly, getting
back into the car.

Damn, damn, damn, thought Kate, following him
reluctantly.

Kate felt so rigid with sexual tension she thought she would
snap. In her head she had replayed their kiss under the
starlight so many times and with much more satisfactory
endings that she could probably give up journalism and
take up writing Mills and Boon novels instead. To get her
mind out of this loop, she went out and bought herself a
frighteningly large amount of chocolate to give her strength
while she worked.

She unwrapped her third chocolate bar of the morning
and was thinking so hard she didn't hear the doorbell ring.
It was Lydia.

'My God, it looks like you've raided the Cadbury factory!'

'Don't be silly,' mumbled Kate, trying to unclamp her
teeth from caramel and nougat.

'So, why the descent into sugar hell? What part of your
life do you hate at the moment?'

'Pretty much all of it,' sighed Kate, and went off to brush
her teeth and make tea.

Lydia followed her into the kitchen. 'Tell me everything,
you know it helps.'

'Well, actually it usually doesn't. You have been the provider
of some truly appalling advice in the past, you know.'

'You've either cocked up a story or you want to sleep with
someone and can't.'

'How do you know?'

'These are the only two things that make you bad tempered
and drive you to chocolate. So who is it? I am
assuming it can't be Jonathan.'

'My God, did I really sleep with him? What a terrible
mistake. No, you're right – that's all firmly in the past.'

'Well, it must be the chef, then.'

'Oh, Lydia, I've gone and caught him. Like measles.'

'How very inconvenient. Shall I prescribe a darkened
room and a cold compress?'

'A large dose of "come to your senses" pills, if you have
any,' said Kate glumly.

'I think I'm being a bit stupid here, but what exactly is the
problem?'

'Hmm . . . let me see. Oh, yes. I've woven such a tissue of
lies about myself to Jake that when I tell him the truth I'm
scared he will see a stranger. That is, if I can ever summon
the nerve to come clean. And you know, I don't think I can
now. I am a serial liar.'

'Tell me about the dreams.'

'Trust you! Well, if you really want to know, last night I
dreamed that he and I were swimming naked in a sea of
raspberry coulis.'

'That just sounds sticky, not sexy.'

'Lydia, if you used your fridge for anything other than
keeping your gin cold, you would know that food can be
very sexy indeed.'

'Well, as Freud would say –'

'Oh, does he write a column for
Heat
magazine? No, I
thought not. You have absolutely no idea what Freud
would say about anything. Ever.'

'OK, Ms Cleverer than Me Clogs, tell me just why is it you
always fall for men who put work before any serious
commitment to their private lives?'

'Oh, that's easy,' sighed Kate. 'It's because my work is
important to me and they are likely to understand. The
good thing about Jonathan was that he would even interruptus
coitus for a story. The awful thing is that Jake would
definitely understand, except that he doesn't know exactly
what sort of career I've got.'

'So tell him.'

'I have tried, honestly. But fate keeps stepping in and
stopping me. I don't know why. Oh, yes, it's because I'm a
complete coward. He is so full of integrity. And whenever I
think I've plucked up enough courage, he has to rush off
because the carrots are curdling, or something. Or because
my tongue had suddenly become superglued to the roof of
my mouth.'

'Ouch.'

'Exactly.'

'Maybe you just need to sleep with him to get him out of
your system, like you did with Jonathan.'

'But I don't think I can. I don't think I want to. Really,
it's quite simple. All I've got to do is write a totally brilliant
story with Jake as the hero, not the villain. It has got to be
gripping enough for Jonathan not to notice that it's completely
different from my original brief. Then I hypnotise
Jake into forgetting I ever lied to him about . . . oh dear, so
many things. Then I tackle the supermodel. Don't know
quite how yet, but if I survive all the above it should be easy.'

'What are you waiting for?'

'Oh hell! I have started lying to you now. I said I had
caught Jake like measles. But really it is much more serious
than that,' said Kate sadly.

She was worried that things would be awkward between
her and Jake so she dawdled getting ready. Then her tights
developed a ladder and it took her another five minutes to
find an unholey pair, so she ended up being late for work
and barely had time to apologise before rushing into the
restaurant.

Then she stopped short so suddenly, Kirsty cannoned
into the back of her.

'Blimey! You could have given me some warning! You
can't have run out of energy yet – we've only just started.'

'Sorry,' Kate said absently. A sweat of fear started to
trickle down her back. Sitting at the bar was a familiar,
lanky figure: her archaeologist, Jim.

'Well! Look what I've uncovered! What on earth are you
doing here?' he said, beaming.

Kate opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out
except an anguished squawk. This was really too much. She
cast around in her mind for something to say, given that
Hans was standing nearby, polishing a glass and trying not
to look nosy. 'This is a friend of mine from college,' she said,
practically manhandling Jim off his bar stool and over to the
most distant table.

'Why aren't you in the States counting all the bones you
dug up? Surely there were enough of them?'

Jim looked bemused. 'And it's nice to see you too!'

'Oh, look – I'm sorry, but everything is very
complicated,' she hissed. 'I can't explain it all now, but' –
she glanced about anxiously, but no one was listening –
'I'm not Kate the reporter; I am Kate an ex-PR person,
who is working as a waitress while writing her first novel,
OK?'

Jim took this in, then a huge grin spread over his
handsome, open face. 'You mean, you're undercover?'

Oh crap. She'd forgotten he was absolutely addicted to
the American series
24
. Give him half an inch and he would
have cast himself in a Kiefer Sutherland role. The only
problem with this was that he would make a complete hash
of it. There was no side to Jim. Angelica would do a better
job of working as a double agent.

Grabbing a menu he scanned it briefly, then, giving her
a huge wink, he said: 'I'll take the steak, as bloody as you
like – as long as I don't have to hack my way through it –
know what I mean?'

Kate sighed. And this was just the start of the evening.
What the hell could she possibly do that would take his
mind off her? Alcohol might work on most people, but not
Jim, given his capacity for prodigious consumption. Then
she grinned. Yes, that might just work . . .

In the privacy of the loo she dialled quickly.

'Lydia, thank goodness you're in. Listen, I don't care
what you are doing, I need you down here fast and in your
best frock.'

'Hold on, just reaching for a pen, sweetie. Right, who am
I seducing?'

'An archaeologist, an American – the best sort – very
bright, energetic and good-tempered. He loves history,
whisky and intelligent women. What on earth do you need
a pen for?'

'I'm taking notes, of course, so I can dress appropriately
for the occasion. Fortunately for you, my hair and nails are
always immaculate. Honestly, you are lucky that I'm always
primed for action, so to speak. See you soon.'

Kate glanced briefly in the mirror and shuddered. Her
hair hadn't seen the attentions of a professional for months
and, as usual, smelled of kitchen. The strains of living a
double life had caused her to start biting her nails again.
Probably the only way she could seduce someone would be
during a blackout.

Fifteen minutes later Lydia made her entrance. She was
as tall as Georgia, but wider, and tonight she had gone for
the Valkyrie with a PhD look. She wore a very short skirt
teamed with a smart black blouse demurely buttoned all the
way up. Lydia was rigid about sticking to the 'boobs or legs
– never both together' rule. She was wearing the glasses
again. She was also carrying a copy of
National Geographic
and looked as if this was always what she read when she
popped out for dinner. She did a very credible impression
of looking surprised to see Kate and just the right amount
of interest tinged with caution when Kate drew her over to
Jim's table and introduced her.

'Please don't feel you have to compromise your evening,'
said Jim, standing up and guiding her to a seat.

'Oh, this?' Lydia waved the
National Geographic
airily. 'I
was going to catch up with the latest on the excavations at
Santorini, but it will keep.' She flashed him her warmest
smile.

'So you're interested in archaeology then?'

'Yes, in my spare time. I must say, I'm thrilled to meet a
professional. Kate says you've finished a major dig?'

'Well, it's not on the scale of Santorini, but I think it's
quite important . . .' and Kate watched with admiration as
Lydia began to reel him in.

'What are you up to?' asked Jake, back in the kitchen.

'Er, nothing. Why?'

'I don't know. You have a look about you. I –'

'What on earth is that, floating in the beans?' asked Kate
wildly, but it worked. By the time he was satisfied there was
nothing in the beans but what should be there, two more
big checks came in and he had to concentrate on cooking.

The next time Kate went near Jim's table, Lydia was
saying: 'And the role of women in the Minoan culture – now
that's very interesting, isn't it?' and Kate knew she could
have served steaks while wearing a balaclava and he
wouldn't have noticed.

Another successful mission completed, she thought
smugly, later. Jim and Lydia were still deep in conversation
over their coffee. Lydia had taken the specs off and was
leaning her chin on her hand so she could look intently at
Jim as he spoke. It looked like the evening might not end
with the meal. Kate went over to refill their cups, and
looked up, startled, as Jake walked in. He glanced round
casually and then headed towards them. Kate could see he
had recognised Lydia from that awful drunken evening
when they had first turned up at the restaurant.

'Hello,' he said to Lydia, 'I believe we've met before,
haven't we?'

'Delighted to see you again,' said Lydia with a perfectly
straight face. Kate was glad someone was enjoying
themselves.

Of course Kate had to introduce everyone then. Jim
congratulated Jake on the superb meal. 'Please, let me buy
you a drink.'

'Well, that's very nice, thank you,' said Jake, sitting down,
while Kate gaped at him in horror. She was sure she had
heard him saying earlier how tired he was.

'I thought you wanted to get an early night?'

'I did, but I haven't met any of your friends before. Well,
not properly,' he said, smiling at Lydia.

Oh, great. Well, it was, in a way: it was always a good sign
when a guy wanted to meet your friends. But why these
friends and why now? Her mission was being sabotaged and
now Jake was asking: 'So, how did you and Jim get to know
each other?'

'Oh, we've known each other since we were kids,' Kate
burst out. 'I'll take those cups, shall I?' she continued.

'But I thought we were going to have more coffee?' said
Jim in surprise.

'I'd quite like a brandy,' and Jake turned round to call
Hans over.

'Good idea. Make mine a whisky. And perhaps even a
cigar. It's not a vice I indulge in very often, but it's been a
very special night,' said Jim.

'Excuse me,' said Lydia, and got up as if to go to the
loo. Outside: 'What the hell? You've "known each other
since we were kids"? Where did that come from? And why?'

'Oh, hang on, I know – I was fresh out of good lies. There
is a limit to how many I can tell in a week. Oh, Lydia, I don't
think I can do this any more! I've told so many stories, my
nose should be about two feet long. I'm tired and my feet
hurt even more than my brain does.'

'Whoa! Calm down, woman. We'll get through this
somehow. Just, well, try not to talk. It's not your strong
point at the moment.'

They went back and sat down. Jake was pouring some
brandy from what looked to be a very old and precious
bottle.

'It is,' he grinned, when asked. 'My former boss gave it to
me. It's from somewhere deep in rural France – the guy
only makes a few bottles a year and, no, I don't know his
name, so I'll probably never get another one. But this is a
special occasion.' He looked round happily and Kate had to
conjure up a cough in order to disguise a groan. She knew
what was happening here, and in other circumstances she
would have welcomed it. Jake liked her, so much so that he
wanted to get to know her friends. In other circumstances
this would have been great. In these circumstances – well,
now she felt that she could write a pretty damn good article
on what it must be like to face a firing squad.

Oh, no – first bullet! 'So, where did you two grow up?'
asked Jake, looking puzzled.

'God! That was so long ago!' said Kate brightly. The men
looked at her in surprise, as if she had suddenly changed
before their eyes into a very old woman. 'Well, you know
what I mean,' she began, hastily.

'No,' said Jake.

'I just think that talking about our childhood is best left
for the therapy sessions you lot are so fond of,' she said,
looking at Jim.

'Well, it is supposed to be the one place where you have
to be honest,' said Jim, meaningfully. 'You know, if you
were living a double life –'

'Jim, tell us some more about the Romans,' suggested
Lydia, and Kate looked at her gratefully. Why hadn't she
thought of that? Jake was fascinated by them, she knew, and
it was a subject that Jim could talk for hours on. Not that she
was going to let him.