The first course looked very good.On the plate.Decorative.Green cucumber rinds and the pink of the shrimp made an appealing contrast in colour and texture, so he was told.He complimented Ben and took a bite.His throat froze.His eyes actually started to water.To cover, he rose and fetched a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge, staying with his back to the room longer than necessary in order to swallow.Suddenly, he heard gagging noises, and Ben rushed to the sink, spitting.“Fucking hell!What is this?”
Nikolas had to agree: what was it indeed?Upon consultation, they decidedtspdidn’t mean the large stirring spoon Ben had ladled the hot chilli sauce in with.It was the only explanation.That course was cleared, and after splitting the bottle of wine companionably between them, they were able to face the next.Obviously, if he started with red wine, it didn’t count on his three-glass limit if he then switched to white.Besides, he was only drinking to keep Ben company, so that didn’t count anyway.The lobster promised to be very good.They both ate a lot of lobster, as Nikolas rarely ate meat and could afford to eat what he liked when they went out.He took a forkful enthusiastically, prepared for it to be not as good as at his favourite restaurant, but…not for it to spring back when he tried to bite it.And spring again, like a little piece of rubber in his mouth.Ben was poking his, talking knowledgeably about choosing the right lobster.Nikolas murmured his agreement, but delicately and unobtrusively spat his chewy hunk into his napkin.He clicked his fingers for Radulf who, getting that stealth was required, slithered unobtrusively from his basket and came over.Nikolas dropped the offering to the floor.Radulf snapped it up.A second, larger piece went the same way.All Nikolas got was jaw exercise and some cold, congealed butter to savour.
“…so, anyway, I decided I didn’t really need one.”
Nikolas took a long (very long) swallow of wine and asked politely, “Sorry?What?Need what?”
“A thermometer.I didn’t have one.Said thebeurre montehad to be just the right temperature or the meat would be chewy.Pretentious crap.”He took a large mouthful.Nikolas watched with interest out of the corner of his eye as he prodded the vegetables.He wasn’t an expert, but he’d eaten at the finest restaurants most of his life, and he was fairly sure snow peas couldn’t be substituted with normal peas still in their pods.Hey ho.He eyed Radulf, but the dog was still trying to swallow his third offering of lobster.Ben was still trying to chomp through his first—until that went the way of the shrimp, with a similar explosion of profanity.Nikolas normally didn’t let Ben swear—not because it bothered him, but because he liked telling Ben off—but he let it go this one time.He felt like saying fucking hell, too.
Ben cleared it all away and produced hispièce de résistance.Again, Nikolas was no expert, but even he could have told Ben that soufflé was ambitious for a beginner—and chocolate?Ben didn’t even attempt to explain it away.They just stared at it for a while.Nikolas was tempted to point out that he’d seen similar things on pavements.
“You opened the oven?”
Ben nodded.
“Although it cautioned not to?”
Again a nod.“I had to see it, didn’t I?”
“Apparently not.Shall we adjourn to our favourite restaurant?”
Ben pouted but nodded.He glanced at his watch and sank lower in his seat.“Four hours.”He stared at the kitchen and sank his head into his hands.Nikolas readjusted his wilting flower.Then he chuckled.
“What?”
“I was just trying to imagine Nigel and Justin attempting to pass themselves off as Special Forces…”
* * *
Ben had cheered up considerably by the time they got home, as had Nikolas, because, obviously, wine drunk at restaurants didn’t have to get added to wine drunk at home when calculating your three-glass limit.That was so obvious it shouldn’t really need explaining.Nikolas had even managed to sneak up to his office in the glass tower and smoke a couple of cigarettes on the pretext of fetching some paperwork.The taste of the congealed butter had finally gone away.
It was unfortunate, therefore, that he padded back down to the kitchen in bare feet later that night.He was averting his eyes from the mess, concentrating on finding a clean glass for some water, when he stepped in it.
The lobster hadn’t agreed with Radulf either, only its effects had taken longer to work on his digestive system.
* * *
Chapter Six
The course was in Lancashire.Not a county either of them knew.It was a four-hour drive, possibly five, depending on traffic, and Ben settled into a nice steady ninety in the outer lane of the M1.He was quiet.He hadn’t put Radio 1 on yet.He hadn’t started commenting on everyone else’s crap driving.Nikolas cast him a furtive glance, smiling privately, but insisted seriously, “It doesn’t matter, Ben.It’s only a cover story.Don’t take failure so personally.We can’t all be good at everything.”
“No, that’s exactly—” He stopped and glanced over.“Oh, very funny.”He tapped his fingers on the wheel for a while then added more thoughtfully, “But don’t you think it’s weird?I mean, I can read, so why can’t I follow a simple instruction and get it right?”
“I’ve no idea.I had no problem with my flowers.I’m almost a black belt in flower arranging.”
Ben had radar for Nikolas-bullshit and clearly recognised the tone.Nikolas knew Ben never listened beyond the first words of any such pronouncements and, true to form, Ben ignored him now and carried on with his own train of thought.“I’m going to master it.I’ve decided.We’ve got that bloody great big kitchen in Devon, and we’ve never even taken a pan down off the rack.”
Nikolas thought of his gleaming chrome kitchen in the glass house and then of the kitchen last night (and this morning, as he’d left Radulf and the kitchen to Kate to sort—sometimes his punishments for insubordination were masterful) and had a vision of things to come.He thought back to the perfect calm of Philipa’s house.The meals produced by unseen hands and offered on the finest china; of intelligent conversation; his library; his unrestrained enjoyment of whiskey and wine.He turned his head and considered Ben.He tugged the studded earlobe.He had Ben Rider-Mikkelsen.What else could he possibly need?“Good idea.You know how I always advocate a healthy diet.I would very much like to see you producing one for me.”
Ben sent him an eye flick of derision but apparently went back to his elaborate plans to become a master chef.
After a few more miles, Nikolas sighed.“We need to discuss our strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Hmm.We are there to discover why some of the participants remain for a further three weeks, no?So, we need to make sure we survive the first week by sticking to our cover stories.I don’t believe this course will be what either of us has experienced before during covert operations.”
“Why?”
