‘He was that,’ Shirley said proudly. ‘And Harif and Asher were in banking and finance before they came into the business.’
‘Interesting that you gave Asian names to your first three boys,’ I said, smiling, ‘and yet George can’t be a more solid English name.’
‘They’ve become Harry and Ash,’ Shirley said pointedly, trailing off as Beau appeared behind us offering a choice of two starters.
‘A tartlet of duck pâté with fig and almond,orroasted scallops with truffle and parmesan emulsion,’ he announced proudly.
‘Haveyoumade these, Beau?’ Shirley asked, patting his arm.
‘Helped put them together. I want a job at this new restaurant once it’s up and running. Uncle Kamran says I can.’
‘You get yourself finished at school first,’ his grandmother admonished. ‘Your dad’s determined to get you to that there Oxford or Cambridge.’
My mouth watered at the sight of the starters and I physically dithered, wanting to try both.
Kamran, finally coming in from the kitchen and sitting down, grinned in my direction. ‘Tell you what, Jess, I’ll go halves with you. Half of each for us?’ He began carefully cutting up the tart in front of him, passing down one half, past Shirley to me. ‘Let’s see if Fabian’s up to scratch? We can be a bit like Jay Rayner onMasterChef.’
Glancing across at Fabian, who’d also finally joined the table, I could see he was nervously watching as the guests oohed and aahed at the presentation of both dishes before helping themselves to the fragrant warm bread and tucking in. My heart went out to him – this was the first time he’d cooked other than for family and friends, apart from the stint on Yorkshire TopChef – and I determined I was going to shower praise upon both him and his starters.
I offloaded one of my scallops with its accompanying dressing onto Kamran’s plate, passing it back up the table before lifting my own fork, closing my eyes at the utter deliciousness of the sweet, buttery, and slightly briny mouthful, its texture succulent and tender. I chewed, swallowed and immediately looked across at Fabian, who appeared too anxious to make a start on the plate Beau had placed in front of him.
‘Divine,’ I mouthed. ‘Utterly ambrosial.’ And it was.
‘And the tart?’ he mouthed back, his shoulders beginning to relax in relief at my praise.
‘She’s pretty hot as well.’ Dean, catching the conversation, guffawed loudly before turning back to the blonde.
‘Hang on.’ I glared at Dean before attempting to ignore him completely. Feeling myselfexactlylike a judge onMasterChef, I broke into my portion of the shared tart, knowing Fabian was watching me intently. There was absolutely no way I needed to make anything up to put him at his ease. The buttery pastry was crisp, the flavours of the filling perfectly balanced, the texture velvety without a hint of that overpowering liver taste that can ruin an otherwise fabulous pâté.
‘Sublime.’ I actually moaned the word out loud, then, realising what I’d done when those around me turned to stare, to laugh even, I hid my face in the glass of white wine that had been poured for me.
‘Darling.’ George, who’d returned to the table, turned, whispering into my ear, ‘I do hope you orgasm with as much reverence as you’ve given that duck paste. Or,’ he added, ‘is it the chef himself who’s turning you on?’
Scarlet-faced, I was saved from any response – if I’d even been able to think of one – by Dean leaning over and hoovering up the blonde’s untouched tart, shoving it wholesale into his mouth. ‘Bloody good pie, is this, Fabian, lad,’ he finally managed to get out. ‘Nearly as good as the steak and ale down at The Green Dragon.’
I closed my eyes on my husband’s bulging cheek, not daring to look at Fabian.
The man had to go.
* * *
‘I thought you were keeping it simple?’ Mum was smiling across at Fabian, who, at the collective praise for his starters, appeared to be finally relaxing.
‘Went a bit overboard with this first course, Lisa, but the main is very simple. And Kamran and I made the puds together.’
‘Kamran’s actually a good cook, isn’t he?’ Mum said proudly. ‘Can’t believe I’m surrounded by all you fabulous chefs and I’m rubbish myself!’ She laughed, patting her stomach appreciatively. ‘But you do know, Kamran doesn’t want to be involved in the kitchens. He’s part owner and management. Leaving it all to you and Jess.’
‘Not quite, Lisa.’ Fabian shrugged. ‘Jess and I don’t have the experience needed in running a fine-dining restaurant. Kamran and I might have equal ownership of The White House, but we’ll need a head chef to tell us what to do.’
Mum frowned. ‘That’ll eat into your profits.’
‘Tell me about it. I don’t think we can hope to turn the place around and be making any profit for a year or two.’
‘Really?’ Mum stared. ‘I suppose I imagined you and Jess at the forefront, cooking away and being in line for a Michelin star almost immediately.’
‘In your dreams.’ Fabian patted Mum’s shoulder before heading for the kitchen once more.
‘Let me help you, Fabian.’ I was desperate to get away from the obnoxious brother, more of Shirley’s tales of her dead husband and their four sons as well as from Dean who, squinting slightly now from the effects of the free booze, was almost in the blonde’s lap.
