‘Yes, Chef! Let me know if you need any help clearing.’ He walked off and she went over to hand Milly her glass.
‘Just bring the whole bottle over, would you, hon?’
Sofia obliged, thinking back on the days that she too would polish off a bottle of wine in a single sitting. She sometimes missed the numb warmth of it and then she would remember how the world took on a cooler edge afterwards. Walking back to the kitchen, she took the scenic route around the deck, marvelling at how bright the world looked these days.
Chapter Eleven
For dinner, Sofia had settled on a simple caprese salad for starters. The tomatoes she had were at their peak ripeness, and she could no longer resist the allure of the buffalo mozzarella bathing in a tub of brine in her fridge. For the main course, she had a couple of seabass she was going to roast whole, and dessert would be apricots poached in sweet wine with rosemary syrup and a dollop of crème fraiche.
As had become the usual, Petra dropped in to ask about the menu, and Sofia thought she saw a frown briefly flit across her face at the mention of the main course.
‘Whole seabass? Any chance you might be able to fillet them?’
Sofia felt herself getting defensive and tried to calm herself down. ‘Well, in terms of the flavour profile, roasting it whole just really does preserve the taste of the fish.’
‘You’re the chef,’ said Petra, looking relieved when her radio crackled and she was summoned upstairs. ‘To table in forty-five minutes,’ she called over her shoulder as she raced out of the kitchen.
Sofia was ready, the salads sitting on the counter when Declan arrived, wearing what could only be described as a ‘white pinny’ around his waist.
‘Well isn’t that a charming look,’ said Sofia, trying to suppress a giggle.
Declan looked as close to grumpy as she had ever seen him. Somehow it made him even more endearing, like a toddler threatening a tantrum. ‘It was Petra’s idea,’ he mumbled sulkily. ‘She said that I’m too clumsy and she can’t spend all her time washing my uniform.’
Sofia gave him a teasing pat on the back. ‘I think you look very cute.’
Declan cracked a smile, despite himself. ‘Cute isn’t exactly what I was going for, but from you I’ll take it.’
She’d stepped right into that one, and she berated herself for not being more careful. It was Sofia’s turn to be saved by the radio.
‘Service in the main saloon please.’
‘That’s your cue,’ she said to Declan, her back to him as she finished preparing the seabass.
Twenty-five minutes later he was back, salad plates empty, and waiting for the seabass.
‘They said they really enjoyed the salad.’
‘Oh, good, nothing beats a raw salad when the ingredients are that fresh.’ Sofia beamed. ‘Seabass is ready to go.’
‘Eeeesh, would you look at the eyes on that.’ Declan was staring at the plate she had handed him.
‘Not you too – it’s just a fish.’
‘Can I give you some advice? Not trying to mansplain or whatever.’
Sofia rolled her eyes. ‘Advice is not the same as explaining something, Declan.’
‘Right, yeah, OK so basically, I’d say, cut the head off.’
‘You really think they’ll be put off by seeing a fish head on their plate? Surely they know where the fillet comes from.’ Declan shrugged, but Sofia was feeling defiant. ‘If they say something, bring it back and I will replate it, without the head.’
‘OK.’ Declan stood there for a moment, opened his mouth to say something, and then promptly bit his tongue, turned on his heels and walked out.
Sofia pitted the apricots and put them in a pan, simmering with the dessert wine. She had expected to have the next twenty minutes at least to herself so she was caught by surprise when the kitchen door swung open again.
She turned to find Declan with his head bowed, holding the two plates, untouched.
Sofia felt a jolt of embarrassment. He had been right about the heads and she had been too stubborn to listen. ‘They didn’t like the heads then?’ she said quietly, taking the plates from his hands and transferring the fish to a large chopping board.
