“Oh lord, you’ll never guess! They want me to play Gertrude in a musical version of Hamlet. Can you imagine? Dancing around at my age? I told them I’d only do it if they doubled my salary and gave me top billing, and now they’ve come back and agreed. So now I need to come up with some other excuse not to do it. Don’t suppose you could help me out there, could you?”
“No,” Susan says, laughing. “I’m a terrible liar. But you’re an actress; surely you can come up with something?”
“Yes,” Kay muses. “I suppose I can.”
* * *
“Chris, we have a live one!”
Chris’s head snaps up. The distraction makes him pause in his stirring, until Calum bellows, “Watch that—it’ll curdle!”
Chris yanks the pot off the heat just in time, beating the sauce with redoubled effort, simultaneously hissing to the hostess, “I thought you said we had no bookings at the chef’s table today!” He has nothing prepped for the chef’s table menu, and he’d planned to use this time to get ahead of some work for tonight’s dinner. This is going to throw his whole afternoon off.
“It was last minute,” the hostess replies. “She just walked in and insisted. Said she knew you and would have whatever you want to cook. You really want me to just turn someone away?”
Chris shifts to the side to peer around her, frowning. Knew him? God, not another friend of Lauren’s? They come in giggling packs and barely eat a thing, just stare at him, take pictures of the food (and him) with their phones, and whisper among themselves while texting and updating their statuses. And once some right little shite of a boy in frayed jeans and shoes that must have cost five hundred pounds came along and made a point of looking bored and quizzing Chris on the provenance of every. Single. Ingredient.
“Because it’s very important, you know, to be aware of where your food comes from and to make sure it’s not irresponsibly sourced,” the shite had mansplained, half to the girls accompanying him and half to Chris. “It’s our duty, you know, to protect the environment.”
Never mind that absolutely everything the kid was wearing was imported. Chris had never in his life taken such an immediate dislike to someone, which is remarkable considering he’s spent his whole career in television and high-end kitchens, both native stomping grounds of obnoxious, pretentious assholes.
But the woman perched expectantly at the counter at the opposite end of the kitchen is not one of Lauren’s preening friends.
It’s Kay.
His teeth clench as she lifts a hand and waves, smiling. Some nerve, he thinks, acting like we’re friends.
He’d like to tell her in no uncertain terms that she’s not welcome here. That’s the whole point of owning your own place, right? You can decide who stays and who goes?
Well, that’s the fantasy. The reality is you can’t turn away a paying customer. You definitely can’t turn away a paying customer who’s also famous. So he gathers up his knives in white-knuckled fists and approaches her.
“Hello, Christopher,” she greets him, folding her hands on the countertop. She’s settled her face into a blandly pleasant expression, and he wonders what she’s really thinking. He figures you can never tell with a gifted actress. It’s disorientating. He never has this problem with Susan.
“Afternoon,” he responds, unleashing his full Scottish brogue for perhaps the first time since he left for New York. She can have his food, but she isn’t going to get the posh, watered down version of Chris. She’ll get the Full Scottish. “Chef’s menu’s no’ available, I’m afraid. Ye’ll have tae order from the menu or take what I can gi’ ye now.”
She keeps her eyes on him, and her mouth edges upward in the very start of a smile. “That’s fine. Surprise me.”
Without looking away, he reaches for a whole rainbow trout and, in one swift movement, whacks the head off it with his knife. Kay’s smile widens and turns wry.
“Your restaurant’s beautiful,” she compliments, looking around as Chris gets to work.
“Oh, aye,” he agrees.
“You must be very proud of all you’ve accomplished.”
He grunts instead of answering.
She watches him work, then says, “I should have come in earlier, but the play kept me so busy. Still, I do love watching artists work. And you, young man, certainly are an artist.”
He concentrates on arranging some sea bass sashimi, fanning the fish—sliced translucently thin—over the plate so it resembles whitecapped ocean waves. He finishes it off with an equally artistic arrangement of trout and delicate sauces, and hands it over. Kay spends a few moments silently admiring the plate, then takes her first bite.
“Oh yes,” she murmurs, “you are an artist.”
An apprentice appears to remove the tools he used for the fish, and Chris gets started on the meat course.
“I can see now,” Kay continues a little louder, so he’s sure to hear her, “why she’s so enthralled by you. You understand.”
He can’t help it. He pauses in his cutting, and his shoulders tense. Enthralled?
Kay notices, but instead of commenting, muses, “It’s astonishing, really, how food can turn one’s head. I used to wonder what on earth my sister ever saw in that puddle of a man she married, and then I tried Elliot’s food.” She chuckles. “I think he wooed her far better than Bernard did. And while Bernard was a disappointment, I was never sorry that Elliot was such an important part of my sister’s life. And Susan’s. And yours.”
Without raising his head from the meat he’s working on, Chris looks her way. She’s toying with a fork, blinking a little too rapidly, and tensing her lips.
“I wish you could have known Marie better, before she was so ill,” she murmurs. “I wish a lot of things had been different. I think we both do.” She looks at him now, and he returns his eyes to the food, swallowing hard and trying to distract himself.
“My niece is very important to me, Christopher. The most important person in the world. You know that, don’t you?”
He laughs, a short, sharp bark. “I dinnae know any such thing,” he says, jerking his head up to look at her. He forgets that he’s still holding his chef’s knife, which glitters in the flickering light from the grill. Kay’s eyes drift toward it, and she gives him a look that seems to say, “Really?” He sets the knife down and walks over to the counter, leaning over it to hiss, “I think you are important to you. You are the most important person in the world. You care about you. And your image. You’re just like the rest of ’em.”
Kay actually cringes. “You cut me to the quick, young man. Please do not put me in the same league as Bernard.” She spits the name. “And you’re very wrong. I would have been happy—delighted—to have Susan stay with you if I’d really thought you were the best thing for her. Why do you think I’m here today?”
“I dinnae ken why you’re here today.” He crosses his arms. “So maybe ya’d better get tae your point, so I can get on wi’ my work.”
Kay sighs. “You are a prickly one, aren’t you? All right, then. Susan is in love with you, Christopher. Very much so. There might have been a chance that she’d move on, but with the two of you sharing the same city, same circles … well …” She throws up her hands. “No hope for it now. Not even Philip Simms could tempt her! Imagine! Now, I must confess that I tried to steer her away from you because I know things about you, don’t I?”