‘I’m just trying to do my job. I’d appreciate it if you could do yours without requiring my undying gratitude,’ she said coldly.
There was a long pause. Jack seemed to be talking himself down from saying something else. ‘I’ll get out of your hair then,’ was what he settled on, before walking out. He didn’t look back.
Chapter Six
Sofia decided on pasta for the crew’s first dinner. She wanted a gentle warm-up in the kitchen and, well, Italy.
She lay a luscious bunch of cavolo nero on the counter. She chopped eight plump cloves of garlic, shredded the dark, spongy leaves and then started on the guanciale, cutting the lump of fat into small nubs and throwing them into a smoking hot pan. She watched them shrink as they hit the aluminium, oozing with grease. The pork was laid to one side, and in went the garlic and cavolo nero, until the leaves had wilted, glossed with a film of fat. She boiled a large vat of pasta, heavily salted the water and grated the parmesan. When everything had cooked, it all went in with the pasta, along with a big dollop of crème fraiche.
Before she called Petra in to help serve it up, she took a moment to admire her work, dipping a fork into the skillet and swirling the creamy pasta around its prongs. It had been so long since she had cooked an entire meal for someone. Not just chopped the onions, or made the roux, or seared the fillet. She had been part of a machine, a highly efficient one to be sure, but nevertheless a cog among cogs. Now she was the whole operation. Each dish, her very own masterpiece.
‘Petra, can I get a little help?’ She was still getting the hang of her radio, and she felt goofy using it, like a kid playing make-believe.
A harsh crackle and then: ‘Heading right down now.’ Mere moments later Petra was standing on the opposite side of the counter. ‘Smells bloody delicious,’ she said. Sofia offered her a mouthful. She chewed appreciatively, her eyes widening. ‘Damn, is that bacon?’
‘Guanciale.’
‘I have no idea what that is, but I want more.’
Sofia ducked her head to hide her blush at the compliment and hurried herself serving up. Petra dutifully picked up the first three plates and disappeared out the door.
‘The masses are starving,’ she called over her shoulder as the door slammed.
Sofia made up another four plates and radioed in after waiting a couple of minutes, with no sign of Petra.
‘Err, Petra, I think I’m going to need a hand with the final plates.’
‘No need, our poor little Tabby cat will not be eating anything tonight.’
Sofia thought she could hear laughing in the background.
Then the voice of Captain Mary came through. ‘What Petra meant to say is that Tabitha is having some trouble finding her sea legs and has had to retire for the evening.’
When Sofia walked into the main saloon, where the crew were allowed to eat only before the guests arrived, the boys were already eating. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Stuart?’ Captain Mary gestured to a nervous-looking man as she laid down the final three plates.
Stuart was startlingly blonde for a man of his age, although she had to admit she wasn’t entirely sure what that age was. He had pale grey eyes and a patchy arrangement of facial hair that didn’t quite converge at the tip of his chin. He was not an unattractive-looking man, but he was an odd-looking one. She smiled in his direction. ‘I’m Sofia.’
He hastily wiped his mouth, which was spattered with flecks of crème fraiche, and swallowed emphatically. ‘Yeah, um Stuart, like the captain said, I’m the engineer,’ he said, the last syllable rumbling from his throat in a strong Scottish accent.
‘Pleasure,’ said Sofia with a bright smile. ‘Hope you’re liking the food.’
He flushed, and the pink spread from his cheeks all the way down his neck, and all the way up to his hairline. ‘Sorry, I wanted to wait, but I was starving.’
‘No worries, I was warned by Petra.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible for the man to get any redder, but at the mention of Petra’s name, he sunk into an even deeper shade of scarlet. Sofia understood – the head stewardess seemed to intimidate everyone. Sofia sat down and joined the rest of the table in their ravenous swallowing, feeling a pang of pride that her food was being so thoroughly enjoyed. She looked around the table and caught the eye of Jack, who was slurping a length of spaghetti. He winked at her.
‘Great stuff, Chef Harlow.’ She was disconcerted by the sincerity, and the cheeky tone. The hot and cold of their interactions was unsettling and she resolved he was doing it on purpose.
She was mulling over a retort when Captain Mary spoke. ‘Good work today, everyone. I feel like we’ve got ourselves in a suitable position ahead of tomorrow, and a special thanks to Petra for stepping up to the plate and covering for Tabitha, as well as getting on top of her own duties.’
‘What’s wrong with Tabitha anyway?’ This came from Declan, who had already scraped his plate clean.
‘Turns out she’s only worked on docked boats, and she’s seasick.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Honestly, Captain, where do you find these people?’
Almost immediately it was clear to everyone around the table that he had crossed a line. The rowdy table went completely silent.
Sofia had yet to see the captain be anything other than friendly, in a professional, measured sort of way that Sofia admired. When she responded, her tone was still measured, but there was a coldness to it that oozed with authority. ‘I go to great lengths to carefully select a crew that I believe will work well together, and whose skills and experience complement each other to give our guests the best experience on board.’
Jack, too, seemed to grasp that he had stepped out of line. Sofia noticed the withdrawing in his eyes she had seen earlier, and he replied in an equally steady tone. ‘Of course, Captain, I meant no offence.’
