Yes Chef, No Chef

chapter Twenty



“What a tosser!” Lisa shrieked. “Just because his world falls apart when Jessica turns his proposal down he decides to have a pop at the first girl that smiles at him…”

Sarah lounged back into a white bean-bag in Lisa’s flat and sipped her coffee while Lisa put Danish pastries onto a plate.

“I know,” Katie agreed. “And he was a horrible kisser…”

Lisa roared with laughter and Katie joined her. “Yeah, and if I say so myself it was the best beef bourguignon I’d ever made. I couldn’t believe Terry could be like that. I mean, he was always so pleasant and nice at work. Now if it had been randy James I wouldn’t have been surprised. But there again, I wouldn’t have made dinner for that creep.”

Sarah bit into a pastry. “I know Lisa is making it sound funny but, Katie, you must have been scared?”

“Well, I was at the time, but you know when I’d calmed down afterwards I knew I’d over reacted, and was probably just feeling vulnerable after Tim.”

“Vulnerable?” Sarah asked.

She broke a pastry in half. “Yeah, I mean if it had happened before I’d met Tim I’d probably have just brushed him off as a drunken slob. But once you’ve been part of a couple for a while any intimate contact with the opposite sex is alarming. I just need to get back to being a tough city girl again.”

Lisa shook her mane of long hair. “Yep, that bloody Tim sure did a good job on you,” she snorted scathingly.

“Hmm…” Sarah mused.

They ate the pastries and drank their coffee in companionable silence and then Lisa asked, “But at least you got paid, right?”

Katie rubbed her hands together. “Oh yes. When I got up this morning he’d pushed a grovelling, please forgive me, note through the door with his cheque.”

She was desperate to ask Sarah about the blonde she’d seen with Tim because now the shock had sunk in she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Who was she and how long had he been seeing her? And, could he have been seeing her when they were still together and were all his late nights at the restaurant excuses to see this blonde? The questions spun round and round in her mind day and night but she needed to be careful and ask in a way that wouldn’t upset Sarah again. Maybe she could casually ask who she’d been with in the restaurant that night and see what she could remember.

As luck would have it she needn’t have worried because Lisa, in her own tactless but endearing manner, asked Sarah, “So, talking about tossers, have you seen Tim the love-rat out with the blonde anymore?”

“Lisa!” Sarah shouted and then looked forlornly at Katie.

“What?” Lisa retorted innocently and winked at Katie. “I’m only asking. And, Katie’s fine with it – aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am fine about it,” Katie replied. “But I’d love to know who she is, Sarah?”

Sarah gently brushed some crumbs from her lap onto the plate. “I don’t know who she is,” she pouted. “But if I did know I’d tell you, Katie - honestly, I would.”

“I know you would,” she said soothingly.

She turned to Lisa. “Come on then, Miss Marple, how are we going to find out?”

“Ok.” Lisa pondered. “Sarah, tell us exactly what she looked like.”

Sarah shifted uncomfortably scrunching around in the bean bag. “Um, she looked about twenty five, was tall, about five foot eight, I’d say,” she swallowed nervously. “Oh, and very slim, probably a size eight.”

“And the blonde hair?” Lisa probed.

“Long, down her back, and strawberry blonde,” she said.

Leaning forward Katie asked, “Natural or dyed?”

“Looked natural, but I could be wrong?” Sarah tried to sound comforting.

“Eyes?” Lisa asked. “Blue or brown?”

Sarah forgot herself and enthusiastically said, “Oh, blue. A striking bright blue. It was the first thing I noticed about her.”

Katie groaned. “Great! Young, tall, size eight, naturally blonde and striking blue eyes, I mean, how the hell do I compete with that?”

“Oh Katie,” Sarah simpered. “She was probably just a one night stand.”

Katie slumped back down into the settee and wailed, “Shit, there’s no comparison is there? I mean, I’ve got boring brown hair and eyes, bigger than normal boobs and skinny legs!”

Lisa jumped up off the settee. “Now hold-up there sweetheart. I’m not having this! You have glossy brown hair, lovely hazel eyes and I’m not the only woman around here who’d kill for boobs like yours.”

She started pacing around in front of Katie wagging her finger. “And, I won’t have you putting yourself down like this. You’re a professional, confident, woman and you could knock spots off her any day of the week!”

She chuckled at her friend’s fierce barricade and felt her cheeks blush. “Cheers, I’m that good, eh?”

“She’s right, Katie,” Sarah added. “And letting you go is probably the biggest mistake of his life. It’s his loss, honey.”

Katie thanked them both and left to go home because this was going to be her baking day. She was putting together dishes for the picnic booking and had decided to bake a large batch of saffron bread to freeze which would be economical in the long run to use for future bookings.

Pulling up outside the flat on Grafton Road she called out a greeting to her next door neighbour and he stopped to chat. He told her his name was Sam, and he ran a home grown vegetable business supplying local restaurants, cafes, and delivering vegetable boxes to houses in the area. He looked around forty she guessed, and when Katie told him about her new business he suggested she should come out to his garden plots one day to see if she wanted to place a weekly order.

Agreeing and thanking him, she went inside and started immediately in the kitchen, placing bowls, tins and scales onto the island, weighing out flour and salt into a large bowl and then mixing the dried yeast in a small pot with a little warm water and sugar, and watched it begin to bubble. Instead of using the electric dough-hook on her mixer she decided to knead the dough by hand. The white flour was fine and cool as it ran through her fingers and when she made small additions of tepid water the mixture got stickier and stickier. The dough was finally stiff enough to lift half the amount out onto the floured board. Coating her hands with flour she worked the dough into a round and began to firmly knead and pummel it into shape. She pushed her hand into it, stretched it away from herself, and then lifted and threw it back down onto the board.

Strawberry blonde, eh, she thought. Blue eyes, and size eight is she? She ranted and drove her clenched knuckles into the dough. Boy-oh-boy, that felt so good. She was consumed with jealousy about this blonde and for the first time since the week she’d walked out, she began to question her actions.

She knew she could be stubborn and one of the charges Michael always levelled against her in family arguments was that she was too proud for her own good.

Wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand she reckoned, in hindsight, that she could have handled the break-up better. At the time though she’d felt he hadn’t left her any choice by being so abrupt and impersonal on his emails but maybe she should have taken Sarah’s advice and at least gone to talk to him. Lifting the dough up from the board she slapped it back down again but her energy was spent and she slumped down onto a stool.

She remembered being a teenager and having a conversation with her dad because she’d stubbornly refused to make up with a friend at school.

“It’s always easier to be stubborn and proud, Katie,” he’d said. “And not giving in might make you feel stronger at the time but in the long run it doesn’t work out.” He’d draped his big strong arm around her and squeezed her tightly. “And you might even think swallowing your pride and losing control is a weakness but the other person sees it as forgiveness and it’s not lacking in any way”.

Oh God, she wailed, there was that bloody ‘control’ word again and a lump of grief came into her throat remembering his wise words. She knew if he’d been alive he would have agreed with Sarah and told her to go and talk to him.

She’d been so certain at the time that she was right and he was wrong but now maybe it was time to accept that some issues in life were more ambiguous and complicated. Was this what people called grey areas she wondered? Deciding unhappily that it was far too late now, she knew she had to accept some of the blame for the fact that he’d obviously met someone else. Feeling flat and deflated she poked a finger into the dough and remembered her mum’s words when she’d been staying in Claire’s flat about giving up a talented guy with a good job and a lovely apartment, and furthermore the comment that men like Tim didn’t grow on trees. She sighed heavily; if only she could have thought like this during that first week then maybe they could have sorted something out but now he’d been snapped up by a younger model and she’d no one to blame but herself.

Suddenly there were three loud raps on the front door and dusting some of the flour from her hands she hurried along the hall. Opening the door she gasped in shock – it was Tim. Oh my God, her mind screamed, it’s him! Her heart was thumping so hard she felt sure he must be able to see it through her thin silk shirt. The sight of his big arms and shoulder muscles in a T-shirt tucked into tight blue jeans made her stomach churn and flip with excitement.

There was a delicious smell permeating along the hall and Tim decided it was yeast, her gentle eyes were wide with shock and surprise, she looked flushed, warm and inviting, and oh God, so lovely that he could feel his knees trembling.

He knew his excuse for calling with post was going to sound lame now but didn’t care - it was just so good to see her again. “Hi, you’ve got mail,” he said waving two envelopes in his hand. “And well, because I was passing I thought I might as well drop them off.”

Making the mistake of looking into his green eyes and feeling his intense smouldering stare made her heart skip with happiness and her legs feel wobbly.

She took a step back and managed to croak, “Oh thanks, come in.”

“Were you busy?” He asked hesitating slightly and looking down at her hands which were covered in flour.

Her heart slowed and she felt her legs steady and looking at her hands she giggled. “I’m baking bread,” she said. “But come through to the kitchen and have some coffee.”

He stepped into the hall and looked around. She closed the door behind him catching the subtle spicy smell of his aftershave that she remembered so well and felt quite giddy with excitement.

“Just down here,” she said walking down the hall in front of him. “I’ve got a picnic booking on Friday and thought I’d make a large batch of saffron bread to freeze.”

She walked to the bench and switched on the kettle while she saw him looking around the kitchen. This, after all, was his area of expertise and she wasn’t sure why but suddenly it seemed really important to her that he approved and liked it.

“Cool,” he said walking around the island in the middle of the room. It was a good sized kitchen and he could tell she’d thought the layout through very carefully. But there again, that was just like her, he mused, “They’re good sized freezers and fridge. And you’ll certainly need them if you’re cooking ahead for bookings.”

She nodded at his comment and busied herself setting the coffee mugs ready while peering at him as he leaned against her shiny new island. The sun streamed through the window onto the side of his thin smooth face and his bright green eyes danced with amusement - he’d always had the knack of looking like he was smiling into the lens of a camera. His handsome face filled her with happiness, there was no other word she could think of to describe him, but handsome. Not rugged George Clooney or smooth Tom Cruise but just manly attractive. “So, how’ve you been?” she asked as casually as she could, although really she wanted to scream who the hell is this blonde?

He smiled and stared into her eyes. “Fine thanks, and you?” he asked, but he really was desperate to know if she was seeing anybody. He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her and wanted to go on drinking her in forever. It wasn’t until now that he realised just how much he’d pined for her and all the memories that he’d held inside for the last two months just paled in comparison to the real thing. They did no justice whatsoever to the feelings coursing through him.

Her cheeks flushed at his intense stare and her palms started to sweat. Picking up the boiling kettle she felt it slip a little in her trembling hand but he was by her side in an instant, took the kettle from her and poured hot water into the mugs.

Rubbing her hands down the side of her leggings to try and dry them, she said shakily, “It’s the flour.”

He poured milk into the coffee and set them on the island top. “You should try and keep them cool,” he murmured arching an eyebrow at her. “It’s no good having hot and sweaty hands for baking bread and pastry.”

Wiping them thoroughly with a towel she agreed. The sun was streaming through the French doors onto her face and she could feel her shirt sticking to her back with perspiration, or was it because he was standing so close to her? Her mind was racing but she knew she had to try and stay calm - after all, there was no reason why they couldn’t be friends, was there?

Playfully she replied, “Yeah, I need to keep the flour cool because heat is no good for bread flour because of its high-protein wheat and the ascorbic acid. I won’t get as much gluten strength to increase the volume and texture if my hands are warm.”

It was a flashback to their old bantering sessions about the difference between her job as a food technologist and his a chef.

He could feel his insides weaken and soften when he remembered the gentle camaraderie during their first few dates together. And although she knew her food science, he was just as much an expert in his own field.

He grinned back at her rising to her challenge. “Of course you do,” he teased. “But which flavoured oil were you thinking of giving the picnickers’ to dip the bread into?”

“Well…” she faltered, “I was going to look it up later. But seeing that you’re here - can you recommend one?” she asked tilting her head provocatively.

That was it, he thought looking into her eyes; that was the look that had always driven him crazy - it made him want to take her there and then. He watched her lift the mug with her slim fingers meeting around the china as if to comfort herself. The steam from the liquid seemed to cast moistness on her parted lips and the desire rampaged through his body. He’d never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her but cautioned himself to stay calm, mainly because he wasn’t sure of the reception he’d get.

Moving in closer to her, he said, “Um, let’s see. If you don’t know your client’s likes and dislikes I’d probably stay basic and use Italian oil with oregano, rosemary, basil and garlic.”

She smiled her thanks and looked up at him for what seemed like an eternity. She’d forgotten how gorgeous he was with his dark, thick hair flopped over his bushy eyebrows, but it was always his smile - that very first smile which had knocked her sideways.

“And that dough needs to be proving or it’ll spoil,” he said and lifted it into another bowl, covered it with a damp cloth and put it into the warming part of the oven. She watched his fluid movements around her kitchen, his confident steady hands as he switched on the oven, and how carefully he laid the cloth over the bowl. She knew his culinary skills would fit naturally into any kitchen in the country because it all came so easily to him – it was part of his charm. When they’d been together in the apartment she’d spent hours simply watching him cook and had decided because he did it so effortlessly and was so good at it she would always feel well looked after. She sipped her coffee sighing in contentment at his physical closeness.

“And that second batch should be kneaded,” he said, trying to mock her in a disapproving manner but his insides were tumbling with happiness. Try to get involved with something in the kitchen, he thought rapidly because his coffee was nearly finished and the thought of having to leave her again so soon was unbearable.

“Oh, I’ll see to that later,” she muttered feeling as though she could faint with pleasure – she didn’t want to be distracted by anything.

He gulped at the dregs of his coffee, maybe he should start apologising and explaining now, but there again, it would bring all the upset back into their minds and he was enjoying himself far too much. “Well, there’s no time like the present,” he offered silently praying for more time. “And, as Lois Bromfield says, bread is the king of the table and all else is merely the court that surrounds the king...”

Smiling at his quote she turned her attention back to the floured board, put the lump of dough into the centre and began to knead.

He stood behind her looking at the curve of her back, the nape of her neck, and her small pert bottom. Desire raced through him and deciding it was now or never; he moved in closer behind her sliding both his arms around her waist, and although she gasped in shock she didn’t pull away from him.

He breathed hard in her ear. “Christ, Kate, I’ve missed you so much.”

She groaned at his touch and his husky voice saying her name. He was the only person who ever called her Kate, it had been his own special name for her and she flushed with happiness hearing it again.

Nervously and not knowing what was coming next, she stuttered, “M…me too.”

She wasn’t sure what to do and quickly decided to go with the flow and carry on kneading the dough.

Thank you God, he thought, knowing she couldn’t be with anyone else or she’d have pushed him away and snuggled up closer to her inhaling her smell. It wasn’t a perfume or scented smell; it was just a clean wholesome, sexy smell that he’d always found impossible to resist.

He started to kiss the side of her neck. “Great action you’ve got going there, Kate,” he whispered punctuating each word with a kiss.

His lips were wet and soft on her neck and she could feel the belt on his jeans digging into the small of her back as his yearning for her became obvious.

Loving the feel of him behind her again she played along. “It comes with practice, darling,” she teased.

The thought of her full breasts was driving him mad and he couldn’t stand it any longer - in one swift move he pushed his hands up inside her shirt and cupped one in each of his hands. Squeezing and gently kneading them he realised she hadn’t stopped kneading the dough and began to copy her actions until they were in unison. She responded to his touch instantly and groaned in ecstasy as he felt her nipples harden, and when he tweaked them between his fingers she threw her head back on his shoulder moaning and shuddering in pleasure. She felt powerless to break away from him - his hands were soft but firm and longing flooded through her body while they kneaded together at the same pace and rhythm. Every nerve in her body ached and screamed for him. She’d reached the point of no-return, her inner thighs were trembling and she thought her knees would buckle, and then for some strange reason the image of the size eight blonde came into her mind and she shuddered thinking of him doing this to her.

She stopped kneading and her shoulders stiffened with doubt while taking a deep breath to steady herself.

He stopped abruptly. “Darling?” he crooned. “What’s up? Don’t you want me?”

“Yes,” she blurted out and gabbled, “b…but maybe the young blonde that Sarah saw you with wants you just as much!”

“What?” he roared and stood back from her. He couldn’t believe it. She’d pulled away from him again. His desire flattened but his temper rose. Were they spying on him? And, did she really think so little of him?

“I mean, if you’re seeing someone else, I don’t want to, well…”

His eyebrows were drawn crossly together and his face was red with temper, or was it embarrassment because he’d been found out? She wasn’t quite sure but decided it was probably the latter.

“Christ, you’re unbelievable!” he yelled storming down the hall.

Hurrying along behind him, she shouted, “Tim, wait. Can’t we talk about it…” but the next sound she heard was the slam of the front door.