‘Please.’ Fabian smiled across at me, grateful, it seemed, for any support, and I stood, more than happy to be where I knew I belonged – in the kitchen.
‘Wow, what a kitchen.’ I stared round at the stainless steel and granite. ‘Hell, I could fit ten of my kitchen into this. How could anyone not want to cook with all this at their fingertips?’
‘In a week or so we’re going to be fitting the kitchens in The White House. Kamran and I have made initial lists and plans, but we need your input, Jess.’
‘Oh, right.’ Pleasure at being included, being at the forefront of this new venture, had me forgetting I’d definitely decided I wasn’t going to have anything to do with the new restaurant; that I was going to stay where I was safe: as manager of Hudson House care home.
‘What do you mean, “oh, right”?’ Fabian frowned. ‘I’m not doing this without you, Jess. It was always going to be you and me before Kamran came along.’
‘It’s just…’
‘Stop it!’ Fabian dropped a kiss onto my head before turning to the six-door Aga where two huge dishes were ready to be taken out. ‘Here, make yourself useful.’ He threw me a shiny metal colander, which I caught deftly in one hand. ‘Drain the veg, would you, and add the lime and garlic?’
‘Ooh, samphire and green beans.’ I looked round. ‘Is that it? I knew you were keeping it simple… Oh wow… Look at that…’ I stared at the dish Fabian had taken from the Aga before bending to retrieve its twin.
‘Fish pie! That’s all. You can’t get much simpler than this.’
‘Oh, come on, Fabian!’ I breathed in the golden melting and bubbling Gouda-topped potato ecstatically. ‘This isn’t justanyfish pie,’ I went on, sounding like an M&S ad.
‘This is a recipe I started playing about with at the cookery school in The Cook’s Atelier in Beaune when I was there in my year off from uni.’
‘Oh,of course.’ I nodded, remembering. ‘I forget that you’ve actuallyhadsome formal training.’
‘Instinct more than training.’ Fabian laughed, but I could see he was more than pleased with his main course.
‘So, what’s in it?’
‘Here.’ Fabian took a spoonful, feeding me the contents.
‘OK: lobster tails, salmon, pollock…’
Fabian shook his head. ‘Nearly – monkfish.’
‘OK, monkfish. Cream, mustard… and…’
‘Go on… nearly there…’ Fabian was laughing. ‘Hang on, try a bit more…’
‘Dill,’ I said. ‘It’s dill, isn’t it…?’
‘You all right in here?’ Robyn, followed by Mum, brought in the remainder of the used starter plates.
‘I tell you, Robyn, this man of yours is one hell of a cook.’ I smiled as Robyn leaned in to kiss Fabian. ‘If he serves up food like this, The White House just can’t go wrong.’
5
When I went to retrieve my place at the table in the dining room, I found George’s seat taken by Harry’s wife, who’d obviously seen her chance to be reunited with Ash’s wife on George’s left, and seized it.
‘Oh, have we lost George?’ I said for something – anything – to say to the two women who, huddled together in whispering conversation, obviously came as a pair.
‘Lost him?’ Suzy Sattar (now that was a name to juggle with) turned somewhat unwillingly in my direction, looking me up and down as she did so, her eyes resting for too long on the just visible trainers beneath the white starched tablecloth. Suzy uncrossed and recrossed her legs pointedly, her black Louboutins flashing their smirking red soles in my direction. ‘George is a law unto himself.’ She sniffed. ‘He’s probably left, gone clubbing or something. Out on the pull anyway.’
‘I’m not convinced he’d be able to pull anything, the amount of alcohol he’s put away this evening,’ I replied, smiling.
‘He’ll have gone hunting for Mina,’ the other sister-in-law said, her thin red lipsticked mouth pursed in a moue of disapproval.
‘Mina?’ I leaned forward: I might as well be in on the Sattar family gossip if I was going to be working with Kamran.
‘Model. Youmustknow Mina.’ Rachel’s eyes were wide, her voice scornful. ‘Everyoneknows Mina.’
