Taste of Love Page 3

  Janine put the phone down, forcing herself not to slam it. Then she did as she was told.

  She was in no better mood an hour and a half later when Stella arrived. Matthew's sister turned out to be the image of him, and as quick to let her feelings be known. She was displeased with her mother for calling her home, displeased with Janine for causing the accident, and probably displeased with life for being so against her in every way.

  "Why didn't you call Matthew?" she snapped -- at Janine, not at Mrs Sutcliffe. "He could have looked after her until tonight. I don't see why I have to be here."

  "I suggested that," Janine said. In fact, she had called the restaurant twice, but only got the answerphone. His mobile number was 'unavailable' -- she assumed he must have switched it off. "Your mother wanted you."

  Mrs Sutcliffe hadn't let Janine go to restaurant in person, either, to tell Matthew what had happened. 'You stay here and keep me company,' Mrs Sutcliffe had said in reply to every entreaty. 'It's the least you can do.' Janine was nearly wild with the effort of staying civil. She didn't remember this aspect of Mrs Sutcliffe's personality. She'd always thought of the woman as kind and cheerful, though rather loud.

  "Well, go and get him now," Stella ordered. "We can't carry Mum next door by ourselves."

  Janine bit her tongue. She could have observed that it was perfectly feasible for two adult women to carry a third, provided they used correct technique. But she said nothing. She wasn't confident Stella would follow her instructions to the letter, and she didn't want another injury to deal with. Besides, her back muscles still ached from the wrench she'd given them while stopping Mrs Sutcliffe from a second fall.

  "I'll go straight away," she said. "Please feel free to make yourself a cup of tea if you want to."

  She found Matthew surrounded by bowls of finely chopped vegetables: cucumber, red and yellow peppers, tomatoes, onions, and fennel. It smelled light and fresh. Behind him, on the stove, simmered a big pot of fish stock.

  He looked up when she entered, with a smile that quickly faded as he saw the expression on her face.

  "What's the matter?" he asked with genuine concern.

  "It's about your mother," Janine said. "Please don't worry, she's fine, but she's had a little fall and sprained her ankle. I'm afraid she blames me for it -- she was over at my house when it happened. Your sister is here, but we need you to help us lift and carry your mother across to her own house."

  "Stella's here?" Matthew gave her a puzzled look, then scowled. "You let Mum sit and wait until Stella could get back from Scarborough? What were you thinking of? You should have fetched me."

  "I offered," Janine said tersely. "And I phoned here twice. I couldn't reach you on the mobile. As for walking, she wasn't having it -- your mum, I mean. She wanted Stella. Anyway, we need to go."

  "Not now," Matthew said. "I can't leave the stock. If Mum's been waiting an hour already, she can wait ten minutes more."

  "Can't John or Tommy keep an eye on it?" Janine glanced around. "Where are they, anyway?"

  "I fired them," Matthew said calmly. "Are your hands clean? If so, pass me that skillet." He pointed to the wall behind her head.

  "Fired them?" Janine repeated, her voice soaring to a squeal. "What are you talking about?"

  "Kitchen discipline. They don't turn up on time, they're fired. They don't do the work they're given to do, they're fired."

  "But you can't do that," Janine protested. "I'm the owner. I should be making the decisions."

  "Not in my kitchen." Matthew reached past her and unhooked a heavy-based frying-pan from the rack on the wall. "I don't work with anyone who's either sloppy or lazy. If you can scare up a good worker, I'll take him, because it'll be hard work to do this menu all by myself -- at least if we get the numbers I'm hoping for. But I won't have those jokers in my kitchen again."

  "It's not your kitchen," Janine snapped back, her temper flaring. "I own this restaurant, and what I say goes."

  Matthew switched off the cooker. He took off his apron and threw it into her hands.

  "Then you can find a new head chef, too." He stalked out the door and into the street.

  Janine got her temper back under control with an effort. She flung the apron onto the nearest worktop and scurried after Matthew.

  "Where are you going?" she demanded.

  "To your house, of course. Didn't you say Mum needed to be moved?"

  "Yes, but I -- " She almost broke into a run trying to keep up with him. "It's not urgent. I'm just concerned about moving her safely."

  "Good. You should be."

  "Why are you behaving like this?"

  He stopped so abruptly that she overshot him. It took a quick effort for her to swing around to face the angry glare he thrust at her.

  "I don't take orders from you," he snarled. "Or from anyone. In my kitchen, what I say goes. Don't try to run me."

  Janine made a conscious effort to stay calm.

  "If you don't like taking orders," she said, "you probably shouldn't be in paid employment at all. But as it happens, I didn't give you any. I simply said that the decision about terminating someone's employment is down to me. If you were unhappy with John's or Tommy's performance and wanted them fired, you should have come to me."

  "And you'd have done what? Made excuses and kept them on, thanks to that squishy little heart of yours. You can't run a restaurant like that. You can't run any business like that. You've got to be prepared to make tough decisions and stick by them. If you can't do that, maybe you shouldn't be an employer."

  They glared at each other. Janine found her voice first.

  "Maybe not," she admitted. "I certainly don't know much about running a restaurant. But I do have my own clinic in York, and I'm in charge there. Plus I spent a lot of time at the restaurant when I was little, and I used to do some waitressing during my summer holidays. I'm not completely ignorant."

  "Running around as a little kid getting under people's feet won't have taught you anything except how to be a nuisance. Working as a waitress, well, that depends on how good you were. My bet is you weren't very good. Few people are."

  "I was fine," Janine said, her anger heating up again. This man really did seem to have the knack of bringing her to the boil. "Nan was always happy."

  "She was your Nan, for f-- goodness' sake. She was happy just to see you there. She'd have been happy if you'd thrown breadrolls to the seagulls. Don't imagine you've learned what you need to know in order to run a restaurant. You know nothing about it. I do."

  "You're a chef," Janine retorted. "Not a businessman. What makes you think you know so much better than me? Other than your arrogance, of course."

  Matthew looked genuinely surprised.

  "I'm not arrogant."

  "Of course you are."

  "I'm just telling you the truth."

  "The truth as you see it, I'm sure. But that's not everyone's truth, and it's not the whole truth. We both bring different skills and different sets of knowledge. I think we should work together instead of fighting. I need you on my side." That last remark surprised her -- it came out more gently than she'd intended it to -- but she did mean every word.

  "Thanks." Matthew sounded calmer. "And in answer to your question, I do know something about running a business. At least, I know how not to run one. My parents had a fish and chip shop years ago. I used to help out."

  "I didn't know that." Janine kicked herself: she'd been dead wrong about him, as well as showing a great deal of arrogance herself. Not an impressive performance from someone who prided herself on her professional attitude. "I'm sorry. I really had no idea. Is it still going?"

  "No." Matthew started walking again. He didn't look back at her. "My dad made some bad decisions, and the place folded. I gave up school to work there. We all tried so hard. But in the end, it just didn't happen." He opened the door of the cottage and leaned in. "Mum? Are you there?"

  "I'm in the sitting room." Mrs Sutcliffe sounded rather mollified. Janine
quickly spotted the reason as she followed Matthew inside: a huge plate of chocolate biscuits. Stella's idea, probably, and a very good one too.

  "I'm glad you made yourself comfortable," Janine said. "We'll try to move you now, and you can have a nice lie down at home. Let me just check that your ankle hasn't swelled." She knelt down to scrutinise the chilled joint. It looked fine.

  "It's very sore," Mrs Sutcliffe complained. "I can't stand on it at all."

  "I'm sure it is," Janine reassured her. "And you shouldn't even try to walk on it. Your GP can probably arrange for some crutches. But let's get you home first, and you can wait for him there."

  "I've been waiting here for two hours already," Mrs Sutcliffe pointed out.

  "I'm sorry it took me so long to fetch Matthew," Janine said with forced calm. "We had some urgent matters to discuss. Let me help you up." She braced herself to take Mrs Sutcliffe's weight.

  "I'll do that," Matthew objected.

  "It will take two of us," Janine explained. "One on each side. If you go on her left and mirror what I'm doing, we'll get her across safely. Stella, could you open each door in turn for us, please?"

  They made with remarkable ease, and only a limited amount of grumbling from Mrs Sutcliffe. She seemed rather glad to be back in her own home.

  "I suppose I should offer you a cup of tea," she told Janine. "You've been quite helpful, all things considered."

  "Thank you," Janine said, thawing under the compliment. "I'd love to, but I have to get back. I've got two more loads of washing to do."

  "Is that what the reek was?" Matthew asked. Janine silenced him with a look.

  "You know you're wasting your time," Matthew told her as they emerged into the street again. "Splashing lemon juice around won't make the place fill up."

  "It gets rid of the stains. You said the stains bothered you."

  "I said the décor was crummy, and gave the stains as an example. It's not just the tablecloths. Face it, no one likes tablecloths in a fish restaurant. They just look dingy and unhygienic. Plus there's the wallpaper and the lighting and the way the tables are arranged. It's all wrong."

  "I'm sure it's wrong for a fish and chip takeaway," Janine said tartly, and regretted it immediately as she saw the closed expression on his face. "Not that I meant -- there isn't anything wrong with fish and chips. Done well, they're fabulous. But it's not what my Nan's restaurant was ever about."

  "It's your restaurant now," Matthew pointed out. "And you'll have to change it, one way or other, if you want it to survive."

  CHAPTER 3

  Janine looked around the empty restaurant and sighed. Her freshly laundered tablecloths adorned every surface. Each table held a lit candle, a small vase carrying a fresh flower, and an arrangement of sea shells. It was exactly as it had always been, as she remembered it from her childhood.

  Except that it was empty.

  It never used to be. Once upon a time, when her Nan and Granfa were both alive, it had been bustling. Of course, she remembered it as it had been during the summer holidays. In the winter, on a gloomy Thursday evening, it was bound to be quiet. But this quiet?

  She gazed out of the window at the darkness outside. The sea was up: she could see glints of white far outside the black line of the eastern pier.

  She went to the door and glanced out. A couple in matching jackets strode along the pavement, hurrying with heads bent against the icy breeze. Janine smiled at them, but they didn't seem to notice.

  This wasn't what she'd dreamed of. As a child, when she promised herself she'd run the restaurant one day, she'd imagined it full and friendly, as it always had been in her own living memory.

  She hadn't realised until now how strongly her memories of childhood happiness were tied up with this place. It was as if she had never been truly joyful anywhere else. Not at home, with her Mum and Dad always too busy with work to notice her. Not at school, where she was too bright to fit in but not brilliant enough to be the teachers' pet. Not anywhere but here.

  And it was all gone now. It had died with Nan, every last scrap of it.

  Janine's eyes filled with tears. She dried them with an angry swipe of her sleeve, and forced herself to smile. That was what you did, when you worked in a service industry. You smiled and smiled and smiled, and pretended everything was just fine.

  The couple crossed the road and leaned against the rail, watching the dark sea. They stood close together, huddled against the wind. The man pointed, and the woman nodded. They stood for a while longer, watching the waves.

  Janine walked away from the window. She did no good staring out like a plaintive puppy. Instead she busied herself pretending to clear a table that was always pristine. She forced her shoulders to relax, her movements to be unhurried. This was important, too: conveying the appearance of being perfectly content where she was.

  On instinct, she glanced up. The couple were standing outside the window now, studying the menu. They looked doubtful. Janine shot another smile their way, in case it might help.

  It didn't. The woman pointed to some item on the menu and laughed. It looked like a sneer to Janine's overheated emotions. The man shook his head. They both wandered off, arms around each other's shoulders.

  Janine walked into the kitchen at the back. Matthew stood leaning against a counter top, idly munching on a salad. Sarah, the only remaining waitress, stopped chatting to him and hurried out into the main room to replace Janine as front-of-house.

  "Nothing?" Matthew asked, sounding as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  "Not so far," Janine admitted.

  Matthew passed her a plate. Cooked crab meat lay piled on top of a medley of finely diced vegetables.

  "You might as well eat something," he said. "You're looking pale."

  Janine tasted the crab. It was beautiful: fresh and moist, tangy with a hint of lemon rind. The salad underneath was lightly dressed with a lemon and tarragon vinaigrette.

  "One of your new recipes," she observed in a dull tone.

  "It's nice, isn't it?"

  "Oh, very well." Janine felt like throwing the plate at him, but she restrained herself. Adults didn't behave like that. "You win. We go with your ideas. Close for refurbishment for a week, repaint everything, tear up the floor, throw out the tables. I don't know where I'll get the money from, but I'll manage. We'll give it a try. Why not? It's not like people are beating down the door to get in."

  "Calm down," Matthew said mildly. "The floor is fine. We can keep the tables for now, just don't clutter them up with rubbish that nobody needs or wants. And I'll get to work on designing the menus. We shouldn't have to close for more than a couple of days -- long enough to paint the walls and ceilings and let them dry."

  "And let the fumes air out."

  "We'll get fume-free paint. It's good: I've worked in places that used it." He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll save this place. I know how much it means to you."

  Janine turned away. She was ashamed to display her emotions so openly, for all to see. But she checked herself. She'd wasted enough time and energy trying to avoid a connection with Matthew, and it had got her precisely nowhere. It was high time she started regarding him as an ally and a friend.

  "Thank you." She held up the plate. "This really is good. What do you call it?"

  "Crab salad," Matthew said. It make them both laugh. "Listen, you can cheer up. We have a little time to make a go of this. Even if it all falls through and you're left with nothing -- you'll survive. Mum and I and Stella did. It's hard, but it can be done. And you've still got your cushy job in York to go back to."

  "I wouldn't call it cushy," Janine retorted. "We're ferociously busy, which is great, but it's also hard work. And I'm concerned about one of my colleagues. He's on sick leave half the time, so the rest of us end up having to cover for him." She stopped herself. She hadn't meant to discuss the clinic or her concerns with Matthew. It felt deeply unprofessional.

  "Colleagues?" Matthew queried. "I tho
ught you ran the place."

  "It's a partnership. I'm the senior partner."

  "Get rid of him, then. If he's not pulling his weight, he's no use to you."

  "I can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  "I believe in giving people a chance."

  "One chance, fine." Matthew's voice was hard. "A second chance, maybe -- if you really believe in them. After that, you're just being a doormat."

  "I disagree." Janine dug out her cool manner and put it back on. "In any case, I don't think it's something I should discuss with you -- certainly not before I've talked to the person concerned."

  "Fair enough," Matthew said. He grinned suddenly. "You should move to Whitby and start a practice on your own. Treat people like my Mum."

  "I'm not sure she'd want me to," Janine said. "She's not best pleased with me at the moment. I don't understand why -- it was a straightforward accident."

  "Mum's like that," Matthew said. "I think she just wants attention, to be honest with you. She's never really been the same since Dad died. When Stella moved away, Mum made such a fuss that I had to come back to live here. She seriously said she'd die if she was left all alone."

  "But Stella is only in Scarborough."

  "I know. Mum probably sees more of her than she does of me. But there you go. She'll guilt you into popping around to look after her and cosset her and make her feel special." He shook his head indulgently. "You'll fall for it. You're the type who takes in birds with broken wings and nurse them back to health."

  "I've never done that in my life," Janine protested, annoyed and embarrassed.

  "If you haven't, then you've wanted to. You probably just couldn't find any broken-winged birds."

  Janine had a sharp reply all ready, but her attention was drawn away by the sound of the main door closing. She dashed out, trying to look like an attentive waitress.

  It was the couple in matching jackets. Janine greeted them eagerly and whisked them away to a corner table by the window. She handed them the new menus, and gave the couple a fetching smile as she took their drinks order.