Second Thyme Around (14 page)
Oh dear. ‘I know about Janey and William.’ Her voice seemed to have gone up a couple of octaves, and it was a real effort not to squeak. ‘They wanted to go to this reunion very much. I know Janey wouldn’t have gone if she’d known about the Michelin man.’ Tension made her want to giggle as the picture of a large figure made of white car tyres appeared before her.
‘Well, Janey had better start job hunting. I’m not keeping her on after this.’
‘It wasn’t her fault! I said – she would never have done this if she’d known about the inspector. It was my idea. You can’t take it out on her!’
‘But I can’t sack you, can I? Because you don’t fucking work for me, thank God for small mercies.’
‘You can’t sack Janey either.’ Outrage at his injustice gave her courage. ‘Because if you do, I won’t let them use my house for the television programme.’
‘Oh, really. So that’s what your promises are worth, then? Never mind, I’m sure it won’t be hard to find another --
suitable
– location.’
suitable
– location.’
‘I did promise, and I’ll only take it back if you sack Janey.’
‘I don’t think the prospect of cooking in your kitchen is sufficiently alluring for me to keep on a member of staff who’s proved so outstandingly disloyal.’
‘She’s
not
disloyal! She worships you! You can do anything you like to me, but don’t take it out on Janey.’
not
disloyal! She worships you! You can do anything you like to me, but don’t take it out on Janey.’
‘Anything I like? Really? I’m almost tempted, but then again I don’t think there’s anything I can do to you, or for that matter, anything you could do to me, that would make up for me not getting my Michelin star.’
She bit her lip and closed her eyes. ‘Lucas!’ she pleaded. ‘Well, we’ll have to see, won’t we?’ he said after minutes had become hours. ‘If you do a good job, Janey can keep hers. But if you fuck up, Janey’s out of here. Fair enough?’
Relief restored Perdita’s powers of speech. ‘It’s not fair at all, Lucas. But that’s not such a surprise, is it? Fairness never was your strong suit!’
‘Then you’d better perform, sweetheart. Though what the hell I’ll find you to do, God knows. If you weren’t in your usual scruff order, I’d put you in the dining room, out of my way.’
Perdita had borrowed an apron from Kitty, and was wearing a clean white shirt and her newest jeans. Comparatively smart, she’d thought. ‘I’m quite tidy!’
‘No you’re not! We could find you a chef’s jacket but there aren’t any plain black skirts around.’
‘I could go home and get one!’
‘Oh no you couldn’t. For a start, I don’t believe you possess one, and secondly, if you think you are leaving this place before you know exactly how hard it is to work in a professional kitchen, you are in for a very nasty surprise.’ He looked up as the kitchen door opened, and other people began to drift in. ‘I need a sous for tonight,’ he said to the two men and two women who stood there warily. ‘You!’ he stabbed an accusing finger at a tall boy who looked very smart in his whites. ‘What are your qualifications?’ The boy mumbled something. ‘You’ll do. What’s your name? What? Tom? You’re sous.’
‘Yes, Chef. Thank you, Chef.’
‘The rest of you, familiarise yourself with the set-up. And, Perdita, keep your hair out of the food, please.’ He stalked out of the kitchen to the fridge, and started pulling dishes out of it.
Feeling very surplus to requirements, and having put her hair into a painfully tight ponytail, Perdita followed him, hoping to get her orders out of earshot of the others. ‘What shall I do? I could peel potatoes?’
‘The potatoes were peeled this morning, and I very much doubt if there is anything you can do which is the slightest use to me. Which is a shame, because Janey was shaping up very well and I’ll miss her.’
‘You can’t do this!’
‘Oh yes I can. This is my kitchen, and I can do what the hell I like in it. Now get out of my way and wait for orders.
‘Right! Listen, everybody. There’s a party of thirty due in at eight. Nothing is pre-ordered. I want them dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible. It’s a party of hoteliers. They’re not here on business, but they know about food and service, and I don’t want any cockups with their orders. Understood?’
Everyone nodded.
‘I have also heard a rumour, which might be quite unfounded, that there’s a Michelin inspector coming in. You won’t know which one he is, so I want everyone, but everyone, to receive first-class service. We’re a member of staff short tonight,’ he gave Perdita a glance which let her know she would never reach the status of ‘staff’, ‘so we need to keep our minds on the job.’ More nods. ‘OK, let’s party.’
Perdita went to the sink where a vacant young man with virulent acne was filling it with scalding hot water. ‘Can I do that? I’m not trained, you see. You could do something more demanding.’
The boy looked at her anxiously.
Lucas put his hand on her shoulder and yanked her out of the way. ‘That KP – kitchen porter to you – has learning difficulties. He can do the washing-up perfectly efficiently, but he can’t do anything else. You, I wouldn’t even trust with the washing-up.’
‘I think you’re taking this a bit far, Lucas,’ she said under her breath. ‘I’m not a complete idiot.’
‘Would you let me loose in your poly-tunnels? No? Well, this is my work space, and I’d rather do without a pair of hands than have someone who’s never even been in a kitchen under my feet! Now get out of my way!’
Perdita went and stood next to a boy who was boiling sliced potatoes in a pan. He was watching them anxiously, while darting glances at an aubergine which he was slicing into slivers you could almost see through. ‘Can I help you? I couldn’t possibly slice aubergines that thinly, but I could keep an eye on the spuds.’
‘OK, but don’t let them go too far. They’ve got to be sautéed.’
Perdita stood over them with a knife, poking at them occasionally. Then she heard a tiny scream in the corner and saw that a girl had dropped a cold poached egg on the
floor, and a bowl of them teetered on the edge of the counter. Perdita ran to rescue the bowl and help her clean up before Lucas noticed. Even she knew where the huge roll of blue kitchen paper was, and she was back with her potatoes within moments. But not before Lucas.
floor, and a bowl of them teetered on the edge of the counter. Perdita ran to rescue the bowl and help her clean up before Lucas noticed. Even she knew where the huge roll of blue kitchen paper was, and she was back with her potatoes within moments. But not before Lucas.
‘What are these?’ he demanded.
It was obviously a trick question and Perdita had no idea what to answer.
He picked up the pan and a sieve and took them over to the sink. He tipped the potatoes into the sieve, his eyes never leaving Perdita’s, then dumped the potatoes onto the floor. ‘Clear that up,’ he ordered her. ‘It’s complete mush. We are not running a pie shop here.’
Then he strode back to the boy whose potatoes they’d been. ‘If I had time to fart about I’d make you eat those potatoes off the floor. They were your responsibility, you had no right to off-load it on to that girl, who knows jack-shit about cooking.’
‘No, Chef, sorry, Chef.’
Perdita, having dealt with the potatoes, took a deep breath and went up to Lucas, who was scowling at a fillet of beef as if it were personally responsible for all his troubles.
‘I think I’d better just go,’ she said. ‘I’m just getting in the way here.’
‘You go, Janey goes,’ he replied, not looking up.
‘This is intolerable!’
‘You put yourself here. If you don’t like it, you can’t blame me.’ He sighed and looked up. ‘Keep out of the bloody way. Go into the corner and chop parsley.’
It’s nice to spend time with a friend, she thought, finding a bunch of parsley she’d grown herself, where she’d put it in the cold store. She took it as far away from Lucas as possible, found a board and a knife and started chopping.
A worried-looking waitress came in. ‘The party of thirty
are starting to arrive. They’re having drinks in the bar. Shall I take them menus now, or wait until they’re all here?’
are starting to arrive. They’re having drinks in the bar. Shall I take them menus now, or wait until they’re all here?’
‘Better wait. Now, are we ready, people?’
A hush fell over the usually noisy room. Tension and heat seemed to increase by the second. The newly promoted sous-chef wiped his brow, apart from that, no one moved.
Perdita shuffled deeper into her corner and crouched over her task.
There was a stillness, while everyone stood at their places waiting to spring into action. No one could do anything until the first script came in, but the moment it did, they would be flying to get the order cooked, plated and garnished as quickly as possible.
Lucas, in the middle of the working area, was conductor, director, but also lead singer. The light shining down on him enhanced his jutting nose and strong chin, making him look devilish under the bandanna knotted into a rope and tied round his head, to catch the sweat. Perdita was glad Janey couldn’t see him. Even to her jaded gaze he looked dangerous and extremely attractive in his double-fronted white jacket. Then she realised Janey must have seen him like this dozens of times, and hoped fervently that William looked half as good in his dinner jacket, otherwise this evening in Hell’s Kitchen would have been for nothing.
Soon the waitress came in with the orders.
Perdita didn’t allow herself to look over her shoulder often, but when she did, Lucas seemed to be everywhere, shaking pans, pulling lights down over plates, creating delicate towers of rösti, aubergines, pureed swede, which he heaped about with slices of crimson lamb or duck, and then drizzled with gravy. Every serving had to be as pleasing to the eye as it was to the palate, every detail of every plate had to be checked by Lucas.
He seemed to know what was going on in every pan and where each order had got to in its preparation. He
shouted commands in a voice which would have turned Perdita to jelly if she hadn’t been jelly already. His temper, like the ovens, seemed to get hotter and hotter without ever actually exploding. His orders were loud and almost continuous.
shouted commands in a voice which would have turned Perdita to jelly if she hadn’t been jelly already. His temper, like the ovens, seemed to get hotter and hotter without ever actually exploding. His orders were loud and almost continuous.
‘Get that fillet out of the pan, now! You’re not at McDonald’s now, and he wants it rare.’ ‘Table eight has been waiting ten minutes for their starters. Not good enough. Get it done.’ ‘Is that fingerprint on the plate edible? If not get it off!’
Perdita kept her head well down in her corner. She couldn’t see properly and her knife wouldn’t slice butter without an argument, but she was out of the way. Her survival instinct told her that if she made her presence felt, she would be on a plate, rare, with a beef and Madeira jus, roasted garlic and a garland of rosemary and pak choi before she could say Michelin Star.
Then the waitress who’d been dealing with the dining room and the dirty plates came into the kitchen. She was in her twenties and very experienced, but she cleared her throat nervously.
‘The dishwasher’s broken down!’ she called, then stood well back and looked ready to duck. Up until that moment, Lucas hadn’t used physical violence, but it felt like just a matter of time.
He took this news surprisingly coolly. ‘Right, John, you stop doing pans and start doing plates. The glasses can wait. Perdita! Where the hell are you, when you’re wanted? There’s a number on the board. Ring the company and get them to come out right away.’
‘There won’t be anyone there at this time of night!’
‘Don’t argue. It’s supposed to be a twenty-four-hour service. John, change the water, please.’
A few moments later, Perdita had to break the news that the dishwasher couldn’t be mended until tomorrow, certain that this time Lucas would surely throw
something, or somebody, probably her. But he didn’t.
something, or somebody, probably her. But he didn’t.
‘Right, you keep the draining area clear for John, Perdita. Becky will give you drying-up cloths. Have you chopped that parsley, yet?’
‘Yes, mountains of it.’
He swooped into her corner and picked up some parsley between finger and thumb and tossed it into his mouth. He spat it out. ‘Gritty.’ Then he swept the whole lot onto the floor with his hand. ‘You didn’t wash it, did you? Wash, dry, chop. Just as well we didn’t need it until tomorrow. Clear it up and then help John.’
Perdita had spent a good fifteen minutes on that parsley, while the
Danse Macabre
on roller blades had been performed around her.
Danse Macabre
on roller blades had been performed around her.
‘You can’t do that! You can’t treat me or anyone like that! It’s inhuman and barbaric!’ she steamed, her rage just under the surface, but ready to erupt. ‘I have spent hours chopping that parsley. You never told me to wash it! How was I supposed to know you had to?’
Lucas took a moment to consider this. ‘Yes, I suppose it was unreasonable of me to assume you’d behave like any other human being. But I just forgot, for a moment, that you have your own rules about cleanliness, food and hygiene. Foolish of me. Still, it won’t happen again. Could you dry the plates and stack them, that is, put one on top of the other, in the pantry? Thank you so much.’
This quiet sarcasm was so much worse than his shouting had been. If only Janey hadn’t been so wedded to this job Perdita would have walked out. But she couldn’t trust Lucas to play fair. He’d rather lose a good sous-chef than not carry out a threat.
Becky, the waitress, came in excitedly. ‘I think I’ve spotted the inspector,’ she said. ‘He’s balding, has got a French accent and is alone. Apart from the party, there are only three other tables occupied. Do you want to do his order first?’
Lucas turned on the poor woman. ‘What the fucking hell are you thinking of? No way do we take orders out of sequence! Every service has to be as if there’s an inspector out there and every customer has to be treated as if they are one! All the customers have paid good money to come here. I can’t ask them to put up with crap service in case the man with his hair dragged over his bald spot doing Inspector Clouseau impressions really is an inspector! Now do the job you’re being paid for!’
Becky scurried away, accustomed but not inured to such outbursts.
The evening went on, too fast for Perdita to follow. Becky brought in pile after pile of plates, so that it seemed that John washed and Perdita dried enough plates for each customer to have used ten of the things. When Becky finally came in and said, ‘That’s the last of the plates. It’s just cups and glasses now,’ Perdita’s relief was enormous. She’d gone through dozens of tea-towels, and her feet, ankles and legs were aching badly.
The pace of the kitchen slowed. Now it was only coffee, various types of tea, and plates of hand-made chocolates which were going out, although there was a lot of cleaning-up going on.
‘The party were very happy with their meal,’ said Becky. ‘They gave me a massive tip!’
‘Well, don’t feel obliged to include Perdita when you share it out,’ said Lucas, knowing full well that Becky hadn’t intended to share it at all. ‘You and the other girl are the only members of staff they see, but not the only two involved.’
What seemed like hours passed, then at last, Lucas seemed satisfied with the state of the kitchen.
‘OK, you lot, you can push off now. Bring me your time sheets. Good service. Tom?’ He patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘Not bad at all. Work with you again. John, you
go home now. You’ve done very well.’
go home now. You’ve done very well.’
Tom took this faint praise as the accolade it was, blushing and stammering his thanks. John just smiled. By this time Perdita was no longer surprised that Lucas didn’t properly thank or congratulate his staff on doing so well under trying circumstances. The kitchen porter was the only member of the team he treated with any consideration at all. She limped to the passageway where she had hung her coat, pulling her hair free from its band.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Lucas, hands on hips, made her feel like a cat burglar, stealing into the night.
‘Home. Everyone else has gone.’ Quickly, she took off her apron. ‘I’ve done my night’s work.’
‘No you haven’t. What about the pans? The glasses?’
‘You said those could wait.’
‘They have waited. Now you’ve got to wash them.’
‘But the dishwasher’s going to be fixed tomorrow! I’m shattered! I’m not going to stay here all night to do something a machine can do in the morning!’
‘The machine can’t do pans, and I’m not risking the man not coming. It’s Sunday tomorrow: twenty-four-hour service or not, he may not turn up. Get back in here.’
Without bothering to replace her apron, Perdita hung her coat back on its hook and stormed back into the kitchen. There was no point in protesting further; he would only threaten Janey again. William would have to be showering her in diamonds, bathing her in asses’ milk and giving her multiple orgasms to make this agony worth while.
Lucas stayed in the kitchen, tidying up, writing notes and cleaning the ovens, more, Perdita was sure, to make sure she didn’t slacken than because there was work to do. But by the time she’d got to the glasses, he had finished, and was leaning against the worktop, watching her.
‘These are smeary,’ he said, picking up a glass from the side. ‘And this one’s got lipstick on it. Would you like to be given a glass with someone else’s lipstick on it? Empty the sink and do them again. And this time, wash and rinse them in really hot water.’
Perdita didn’t think her hands could stand any more exposure to boiling temperatures and detergent that may have been a virulent green, but was certainly not kind, either to the environment or to her skin. ‘For God’s sake, Lucas! The dishwasher’ll be fixed tomorrow. Just put them all through it and stop nagging me!’
‘I’m sure Janey wouldn’t have put her job on the line if she’d known you couldn’t even wash up competently.’
That was it. Perdita had kept a lid on her temper all evening, but now there were no witnesses she could let rip without inhibitions. ‘Janey did not put her job on the line, you did! You are so fucking contrary, you’d rather lose a good and loyal member of staff than lose face! Well, I’ve had enough. You can wash the rest of the glasses yourself!’
She stood, still clutching a glass, waiting for the explosion. She was in the mood to throw things.
‘Listen, you silly cow! If you play games with other people’s lives, you’ve got to stick to the rules! You set up Janey and your friend to try and stop her having a crush on me! Well, Janey and I don’t need your interference! If we choose to have an affair that’s our business, and if I choose to sack her, that’s mine. But we neither of us need you to poke your silly little nose into things about which you know nothing! Now get on and finish those glasses. Some of us have to work in the morning.’
The glass left her hand, sailed through the air, glanced off his shoulder and landed with a satisfying smash on the floor. ‘You are such a bastard! I believe you’d seduce Janey, break her heart, just like you did mine, just to spite me! Well, I’m not going to stand by and let you!’
‘So what are you going to do to stop me? Shower me with shards of glass which you’re going to have to pick up off the floor? Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to do it. Janey’s a very pretty girl, very like you were. I think I might like to have her, after all.’
His row of knives, neatly laid out by his chopping board caught her eye. One appeared in her hand without her knowing how it had got there. She rushed at him, not sure what she intended other than blood letting and violence, but he caught her wrist, causing the knife to join the broken glass with a clatter.
‘Oh no you don’t. You’re not murdering me in a fit of pique.’
She kicked his shin as hard as she could, wishing that like him, she was wearing steel-capped boots, not just trainers.
‘Bitch!’ He grabbed her waist and pulled her to him. ‘Don’t you dare kick me!’
She kicked out again, but he was ready for her, hooked his leg behind the one she was standing on, making her lose her balance. She pulled him down on top of her as she fell, trying to roll so that he was underneath as they landed. Instead, she fell heavily on her shoulder, winding herself. Lucas lay on top of her. They were inches from the broken glass and both breathing hard. Perdita felt a deep, primitive satisfaction in grappling with him physically, releasing her anger by inflicting as much pain as possible. The thought that he might cause her an equal or greater amount of pain was irrelevant. Her anger would give her the strength to overpower him.
She tried to move but couldn’t. Lucas was looking down into her eyes, not moving, not letting her move. She could see the knife out of the corner of her eye, it was quite near. With a huge effort she heaved upwards against Lucas so she could shift herself enough to put the knife within reach.
He saw her glance at it and adjusted his own position so she was totally immobile. ‘Oh no. I’m not having my new jacket ruined because you can’t keep your temper.’
‘You,’ she said, breathless from the weight of his body on hers, ‘are the biggest, most bloody, most hateful bastard in all the world.’
‘And you, in spite of being the most useless, irrational, temperamental woman I have ever had the misfortune to have in my kitchen, still drive me to distraction.’
She closed her eyes, not wanting to see if there was desire or just exasperation in his, but when she felt his breath come nearer, she said, ‘If you try to kiss me, I shall bite you.’ She looked up as she said this, defying him to take advantage of her.
His eyes widened as he met her challenge. ‘Wait until you’re asked! I have no intention of kissing you, wildcat, and if I did, you wouldn’t be able to do a thing I didn’t want you to do.’
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