Taste of Love Page 13

  "He's a character," Matthew told her indulgently as he joined her for a quick coffee before the lunchtime trade began in earnest. "But he knows food, and he's great to work for. It's a funny thing. Even though we trained as chefs together, he always knew he didn't want to cook for a living. He always wanted to open his own place. It wasn't supposed to happen for another ten years or so -- he never had much money -- but apparently an uncle of his died and left him everything, so this is what he decided to do with it."

  "I'm so glad for him," Janine said truthfully, concealing a pang of regret that things hadn't worked out so neatly for her. She wished she'd been able to make a success of Nan's restaurant. But it wasn't to be, and in her heart she knew she was happier working as a physiotherapist. It's what she'd studied and worked towards for years.

  "So," Matthew said. "Could you live out here, do you think?"

  The unexpected question made Janine gasp. She floundered in her thoughts. And then, as if from nowhere, her newfound calm reasserted itself. There was no point in saying things she didn't mean. Clear, direct, and to the point -- that's what she'd have to be. She'd already decided that. This was simply the first test of her resolve.

  "I probably could," she said. "But I'm not going to. I love York, and I love my work there. I've decided to stay."

  She glanced at Matthew, almost hesitantly, and was horrified to see that he was pale to the lips.

  "I'm sorry," she said before she could stop herself. "It's not that my work is more important than you. But it is important to me. I can't give it up, and I don't think it would do our relationship any good at all if I tried."

  "You're probably right." Matthew seemed to get a grip on himself. He was still pale, but that frozen expression began to leave his face. "I'll admit that was one reason why I was so happy to leave the country. I knew I couldn't work for you again. To be honest, it took me a while to work out that I could work with you -- that it was for you that was the problem. I don't take orders well."

  "I'd noticed," Janine said in a dry tone. "To be equally honest, I probably wasn't a very good boss for you. My feelings got in the way. I felt I couldn't be as decisive as I needed to be, and it made me resentful. Sorry. It wasn't your fault at all. It was me."

  "Chalk it up to both of us," Matthew said, in a weak attempt at humour. "We obviously don't work well together."

  "Well, we did at times," Janine argued. "I think we'd have done all right, in time. But it didn't come easy. And I don't think a long-distance relationship is going to come easy either. We're both pretty committed to our careers. I think this is something we're both going to have to work hard at."

  "You're probably right." Matthew ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, you're giving me a lot to think about. Can I ask you something? What do you want out of this relationship?"

  "Security," Janine blurted out, and immediately blushed. She hadn't meant to say that. "I mean I need to feel I can rely on you," she explained hastily, trying to cover her slip.

  "Of course you can." Matthew stared at her. He looked in equal parts surprised and annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

  Janine cast about for words. And then, with a clarity that comes only too rarely in any one lifetime, she realised that she wasn't being honest with Matthew, or even with herself.

  "I know I can." She took a deep breath. He deserved honesty from her, and she deserved it from herself too. "It's not really about you at all. It's about me. I've always been a bit insecure. I've had trouble believing in myself, trusting in myself. And I think on some level I've always been looking outside myself for the security I lack. Which is stupid, of course, because I'll never truly feel secure until I feel it in my heart." She touched her chest. She could feel the lack within her, like a physical hole in her heart, cold and dark. It frightened her.

  "Well, you're not the only one." Matthew gave her a rueful smile. "You do realise everyone feels like that, right?"

  Janine blinked.

  "No, I didn't. You mean -- " she barely had courage to meet his eyes -- "you get scared, too?"

  "Of course I do." Matthew took her hand. "Everyone does. But that's no reason to hide away. It's just life. You've got to go out there and live it, or what else is the point?" He leaned over and kissed her. "Anyway, what are you scared of?"

  "Losing you." Her heart beat so fast it hurt. She'd said it now, the words were out in the open, and there was no way she could go back on them again.

  "Not likely." Matthew squeezed her hand. "We'll just have to find a way to make this relationship work. You're right -- it won't always be easy. But it's worth it, don't you think?"

  "Of course it is," Janine said, and threw her arms around him.

  CHAPTER 9

  "I don't know." Janine rubbed her fingertips over the join between her eyebrows, trying to release some of the tension from her face. "We've got so much work on."

  "I know," David said. "And I haven't been pulling my weight lately. I know that, too, and I'm sorry. But going part time is the only reasonable solution for me right now."

  "We can't keep getting locums in," Janine protested. "It's too expensive. Before we know it, there won't be any profit at all. And while we do have a cushion, it's not enough to take the risk of running at a loss. I won't endanger the clinic. I'm sorry, David, but I think you're going to have to leave us."

  "I thought of that," David admitted. "But I'd like to stay. I enjoy working here, and working with you. So Ann, my wife, came up with a solution. Hear me out, and let me know what you think. Since the kids started school, she's been getting back into practice -- a bit of private work, covering for maternity leave, that sort of thing. Well, if I were to work part time, I can look after the kids when they come home from school. That means Ann could take a full time job. Would you consider offering her a place here? Obviously, you'd want to look at her CV and give her a proper interview and all that. But she'd be very keen to come. And because she's been out of the profession for a while, she says she'd be happy to take a lower salary to begin with. I thought we could try it out for six months or so, and see how it goes. What do you think?"

  Janine was all set to say no. Then she asked herself why. David's -- or rather, Ann's -- suggestion was the perfect solution. And if they agreed right from the start to a limited trial period, there shouldn't be any problem about ending the arrangement if it didn't work out.

  "It's a good idea in theory," she said cautiously. "You're right: I'd want to do a formal interview with her, and I'd like to see how she interacts with the patients." Janine pondered for a while longer. The more she thought of it, the more she liked the idea. "Has she done any back rehabilitation work? There's the classes Tuesdays and Fridays -- if she could take those for a start, that would free me up a lot more."

  "She'd love to do it," David said. "She's a qualified Pilates instructor as well. Shall I ask her to phone you?"

  "Please do," Janine said. "I'd love to talk to her about this."

  ***

  "It's wonderful," Janine told Matthew three weeks later. "Ann is the answer I've been looking for all this time. She's taken over all the rehab classes, we're talking about starting a follow-up Pilates class for anyone who wants to come, she's a wizard at the paperwork -- she's just so happy to be back in the profession, she laps up everything I give her. I wish her kids had started school sooner."

  Matthew laughed.

  "You can't blame them for that," he said. "It sounds like the perfect solution. How's the money side working out?"

  "A bit tighter than I'd like, but we're nowhere near posting a loss, and most of our equipment is pretty new, so I don't expect any major outgoings. Fingers crossed. But to be honest, we were spending so much on cover for David in any case, it's worth every penny. I'm glad I didn't have to fire him, though. He's very good with geriatric care."

  "Sounds like someone I know," Matthew said, squeezing her hand. "Listen. I've got some news of my own."

  "What's that?"

  "I'm le
aving my job," Matthew said. "Don't get me wrong, I've loved every minute of it, and I was sure I'd stay there for years. But an opportunity came up that's just too good to miss."

  "That's great," Janine said, but her heart was sinking. In the privacy of her mind, fateful names echoed: New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong.

  And in a flash of sudden knowledge, she realised exactly what she wanted: to be with him, anywhere on the planet. She didn't care where, just so long as they could be together.

  "Where are you going?" she asked, and marvelled at how controlled her voice managed to sound.

  "York," Matthew said.

  Janine turned to him and opened her eyes. He was looking right at her, with a glitter of sunlight in his eyes. A faint touch of a smirk touched the corner of his mouth.

  "You're not serious," Janine said. She felt as if she were falling through some twilight chasm that had no end. "You're having me on."

  "No. I am serious." Matthew grinned at her. "What's the matter? Do you think it's a rotten city to live in? I've heard good things about it, but I'm willing to be persuaded otherwise."

  "You're really moving to York?" Janine landed on spongy ground, expecting at any moment to fall again. "Why?"

  "Do you need to ask?" Matthew took both of her hands in his. "I want to be with you. I've realised that, these past few months. Don't get me wrong, I've loved the work, but my life just lit up every time I saw you. I want to feel like that every day. I want to see you every day. And since you won't move to Paris, I decided I'd just have to move to York."

  "Are you sure, though?" Emotions tumbled over each other inside Janine's chest. Joy, fear, delight, concern. She was gloriously happy for herself, but she was deathly afraid that Matthew was making a big mistake. "I'd love to have you with me all the time, too. But I don't want you to take a job you're not happy with. I know how much your work means to you -- just as mine does to me."

  "It's extremely important to me," Matthew admitted. "But it's not as important as being with you. If I have to compromise a little bit, I can live with that."

  Happiness rushed through Janine in a flood of sunshine.

  "I'm so glad," she said.

  ***

  Janine placed a small bunch of hyacinths on her Nan's grave. Their heady, euphoric scent swirled around her. The day was cold and damp, the ice of winter hard in the air. But the hyacinths, forced for Christmas, glowed with the promise of spring to come.

  "Why hyacinths?" Matthew asked. "Did your Nan like them?"

  "She loved them," Janine said. "And she always got them in for Christmas. I remember her house in winter, smelling like perfume. I just wanted her to have some."

  "They'll die out here," Matthew said.

  "I know. It's a shame. But I wanted her to have them."

  Matthew was silent for a while. Then he said:

  "My dad's grave is over there. And my brother's. I don't go much -- Mum and Stella look after that sort of thing. But I'd like to go over there for a while, if you don't mind waiting."

  His face was earnest, his eyes gazing over to the far corner of the cemetery. His voice seemed distant, as if he was already in the process of forgetting she was there.

  "Of course I don't mind," Janine said. "I'll meet you by the entrance in half an hour or so."

  "Make it a quarter of an hour," Matthew said, "or you'll freeze."

  "Fine." She watched him go, his stride long and easy among the graves.

  "I'm sorry, Nan," Janine whispered. "I just wasn't very good at running a restaurant. And it just didn't seem to want to happen. But Stella will look after it." She felt a strong sense of presence, as if she were being gathered in a loving embrace, and she remembered how Nan had always supported her ambition to train as a physiotherapist, had kept telling her she could do it even when the workload seemed insurmountable, had been so proud and happy at every success and commiserated so passionately with every failure.

  There was a photograph on Janine's TV set at home in York, taken on the day she opened her clinic. It showed Janine herself, of course, standing proudly in front of the shining white entrance door, holding her key in one hand and her certificate in the other. Mum and Dad had both been there, setting aside their work long enough to come and celebrate. But the person who'd taken the photograph was Nan.

  Janine could see her now, as clearly as in real life. The windblown white hair, always a shade too long to keep its curl. The black woollen coat, carefully buttoned all the way to the top, with just the hint of a crimson scarf peeking out. And the smile that was like sun and wind and sky all rolled up together.

  She hadn't really looked at that photograph in a long time.

  And in that moment, Janine suddenly realised that she had it all the wrong way around. Nan didn't want her to give up the clinic and take over the restaurant. Nan had willed the restaurant to Janine because she trusted Janine to make sure it went to someone who could run it, and run it well. The last thing Nan would want was for Janine to give up a career she'd worked so hard and so long for -- and which Nan had been so proud of her for launching -- in order to sink her time and energy into a struggling business that wasn't hers to build.

  Nan had always meant for her to pass the restaurant on. Janine had been a temporary trustee, nothing more.

  It was so obvious now. It floored her how she could have deceived herself all this time.

  "Stupid girl," Janine muttered under her breath, the same way Nan always berated herself when she'd done something foolish. And at that thought, Janine began to laugh.

  "I'm sorry, Nan," she said again. "I got it all wrong. Hopefully it's straightened out now. Sleep well, wherever you are." She touched the hyacinths, and imagined Nan sleeping peacefully, deep under their exhilarating scent.

  "I've got to go." Janine rose, scrunching up the plastic bag she'd been using to protect her knees from the damp earth. She could see Matthew some distance away, wandering slowly towards the cemetery entrance. "But I'll be back."

  ***

  Matthew rolled over in bed. He loved to feel Janine's lithe body next to his own. She fitted so well beside him, in the new bed they'd bought together as a celebration of their new joint life.

  They hadn't talked about marriage. Neither of them seemed willing to raise the topic. Matthew wasn't sure if Janine even wanted to get married. He knew she believed in commitment: she'd told him so in her usual forthright way, with the simple honesty he'd come to admire so much. But she hadn't gone on to speak about marriage. And he hadn't asked.

  The truth was, he didn't want to get married. It was too big a commitment. Deep inside, he was terrified of the responsibility. A relationship wasn't a job you could walk out of if it went sour. It meant far more than that. And to make the promises, then fail to keep them -- that was something Matthew knew he would never be able to forgive himself.

  'Until death do us part.' Matthew shivered. He wondered if his father had brooded over those words, so long and so darkly that in the end, death had seemed the only way out.

  He promised himself that no matter how bad things might get, with Janine or anything else, he would never ever take that route to escape.

  At least there wouldn't be children. Matthew knew that, and accepted it, though deep in his heart an ache grew and lingered. But it wouldn't be fair on them. He and Janine were totally committed to their careers. Neither would be prepared to scale back on work. That being the case, bringing children into the world with prospect but parental neglect would be worse than irresponsible -- it would be cruel.

  It hurt him, though, to think he'd never have the chance.

  For a moment, the thought wafted through his mind that he could be the one to cut back, even if Janine didn't. But he shook his head. It wouldn't happen. He knew himself to well to imagine it would.

  Besides, he was too scared. He couldn't bear the thought of failing his children the way his own father had failed Matthew and Stella.

  Because his father had failed. Not by letting the business do
wn, or by not bringing in enough money, but by running away and leaving Matthew to deal with the consequences.

  That was betrayal. It hurt Matthew, even now, and it made him angry as hell.

  "Call yourself a man," he muttered, and was startled to hear his own voice. Beside him, Janine shifted and mumbled something about posture.

  Matthew's fierce mood evaporated. Instead he raised himself on his elbow and gazed down at Janine, smiling. She looked so trusting when she slept, so totally at ease. He loved that about her.

  He loved everything about her. Except perhaps her dedication to the clinic. He hated to admit even to himself that he was jealous.

  Of a business. He should probably get out more.

  At that thought, he grinned and eased himself out of bed -- gently, so as not to wake Janine. He had half an hour for breakfast and a shower before he needed to be at work.

  She was up by the time he came out of a shower, and was standing in the kitchen making herself jam on toast. He watched her for a while in silence, admiring her sleek figure, and then said:

  "What do you think about having children?"

  Janine started, so sharply that she dropped a slice of toast on the floor. Jam side down, of course. Matthew passed her some tissue paper.

  "Why?" she asked, wiping up the mess.

  "I was just wondering. We're both so busy, I can't see either of us taking the time off to be with them. So we shouldn't have any."

  "I suppose not," Janine said. She threw the tissue into the bin and turned to look at him. Her eyes were dark and accusing. He didn't know why. "If you don't want to, that's OK with me."

  "Is it?" Matthew asked. He felt hurt and relieved, both at the same time. "Are you sure?"

  Janine pulled a face. Then she shook her head.

  "No," she admitted. "I'm not sure at all. I don't think people should have children if they're not prepared to look after them -- and that means putting the child's needs and welfare ahead of their own ambition. But I'd still like to, some day."