The Secret Ingredient (25 page)

‘You're a chef, right?' she said to Andie.

‘Yes, I am.'

‘We could use you over at the coalface, so to speak. Despite what they say, you can never have too many cooks,' she smiled.

‘Sure. Nice meeting you,' she said to Mitchell and Kirsty. ‘All the best with the baby.'

‘Thank you.'

She followed the coordinator to the other end of the kitchen area. A bank of ovens filled the entire wall, and volunteers were lined up at the facing bench, turning vegetables in baking pans or basting joints of meat.

‘The team leader is over this way,' she said to Andie. They walked up behind a tall man in a chef's jacket. ‘Brought you more help,' she said loudly.

He turned around. And Andie's mouth dropped open.

‘You,' he said.

‘It's Andie . . . Chef.'

He considered her for a moment. ‘I told you, it's Dominic outside of work.'

‘So you two know each other?' the coordinator said cheerfully. ‘I'll leave you to it then.'

‘What are you doing here?' he asked.

Andie blinked. She didn't know what to say to that. ‘Well, I think it's pretty obvious, isn't it?'

‘Did you know I was going to be here?'

Whoa, Andie wasn't sure if that was fuelled by ego or paranoia. Either way . . .

‘No, I had no idea you were going to be here,' she assured him. ‘A friend signed me up, or signed herself up, and then she couldn't make it, and I had nothing better to do.'

‘On Christmas Day?'

He looked as though he found that highly dubious. So what was he doing here? This was a very odd conversation.

‘Yes, that's right,' Andie replied. ‘But looks like you don't either.'

Now he looked confused.

‘You don't have anything better to do on Christmas either?' she clarified for him.

He shrugged. ‘I do this every year.' He glanced around. ‘Okay, let's get on with it then. Over there, vegetables onto baking trays, there should be some tongs around somewhere.'

Andie found tongs and started to load up the trays, trying to decide if this was a good thing or not. It was strange, and certainly unexpected, she knew that much. At least it was a chance to work closely with him, in the same vicinity anyway, prove she was competent and capable and hardworking. As long as she didn't stuff up. But there was nothing she could stuff up here – baking meat and vegetables did not require a great deal of expertise. But then maybe he'd think that was all she was good for?

Sometimes her powers of negative thinking surprised even her.

Despite her direst predictions, Andie picked up the system almost immediately, and worked quickly and efficiently, without having to be told every second thing. In fact, she ended up supervising some of the less experienced volunteers. She was astounded at the scale of the operation, that somehow, this disparate group of trained and untrained volunteers, most of whom had probably never worked together before, managed to serve up an impressive Christmas lunch to such a huge number of people. And although it was nonstop, it didn't feel as pressured as working in a regular restaurant, certainly everybody was enjoying themselves a lot more. Even Chef seemed to relax, cracking a smile now and then. It occurred to Andie that he wasn't bad looking, actually, not bad looking at all. His eyes were quite dark, so they had always seemed a little foreboding, but when he smiled they softened to a warm brown. His whole face softened in fact. She supposed she'd been too intimidated before to notice . . . Then again, he didn't smile all that often . . . Then again, Andie had not really dwelled on a man's looks for some time . . . Wait, he wasn't a man, he was her
boss
. She shouldn't be dwelling on anything about him, and certainly not his eyes or his smile.

They were finally left with a line-up of full plates, and no one left to serve, so the coordinator said they should finish up now and have something to eat themselves. They each took a plate of food and picked their way amongst the tables to find an empty seat. Andie was surprised when Chef came up behind her and touched her elbow. ‘Over this way,' he said.

She allowed him to lead her to a table and he took a seat opposite her.

‘So, no family?' he said, tucking into his lunch.

‘Pardon?' said Andie.

He looked up. ‘You don't have anywhere to go on Christmas, so I'm assuming that means no family.' He paused, but before she could answer he added, ‘Oh, that's right, your father died only recently, didn't he?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's why you have nowhere to go?'

His style of questioning was a bit blunt, for want of another word. Another word like ‘rude', for example.

Andie squared her shoulders. ‘I have a sister, a niece and a nephew, friends . . . I had invitations, I just preferred to do this.'

He nodded.

‘What about you?' she asked.

‘What about me?'

‘Do you have any family?'

He was concentrating on his plate, scooping food together with his fork. ‘I told you, I do this every year,' he said, without looking up.

‘That doesn't actually answer my question.'

He glanced at her then, with a faint smile. ‘No, I suppose it doesn't.'

They continued eating, and left the chitchat to other people at the table, who were clearly a lot better at it than they were. But Andie was intrigued now. What was Mr Gerou's story anyway? That name was French, she assumed, and he could pass for French, or European anyway, with his dark hair and eyes. But there was that trace of an English accent . . . Maybe he'd been educated in England? Maybe all his family were in Europe and he didn't have anyone in Australia? He said he volunteered here every year. Didn't he even have any friends?

When Andie was almost finished her meal, more volunteers started bringing around plum pudding and custard.

‘Oh, should we be getting back to the kitchen?' Andie asked.

Dominic shook his head. ‘There'll be a whole new team in there taking care of dessert,' he explained.

Andie got to her feet. ‘Well, I couldn't fit pudding in anyway. I'll go see if I can help.'

‘You know, you don't have to stay,' Dominic said to her. ‘Fresh volunteers arrive every couple of hours. They'll be starting the clean-up soon.'

Andie shrugged. ‘I read in the pamphlets that the clean-up is the biggest part. Can't hurt to have another pair of hands.'

He was gazing up at her with a bemused expression, Andie detected perhaps even a tiny hint of approval in his eyes. Good. She made her way back through the tables to the kitchen area, but it was at capacity. Dessert was under control, and a small army had already started cleaning the baking trays and pans and utensils. Andie looked around. She noticed people weaving in and around the tables collecting rubbish into garbage bags, and so she approached one of the coordinators and asked where she could find the bags. Clearing up was easy, and she wasn't that tired, no more tired than after a shift at the restaurant. But there was something very uplifting about this. Andie was glad she'd done it; chalk one up for new experiences.

She didn't come across Dominic again for the next hour or so, he seemed to be staying put in the kitchen to help with the clean-up there; something he certainly never had to do at Viande. Andie enjoyed wandering around the tables, the guests who remained were in good spirits, and so full of gratitude, Andie found it humbling.

Finally the original coordinator approached Andie. ‘Hey, you've been at it all day,' she said. ‘We don't want to wear you out. You should feel free to go any time.'

The place really was starting to empty; perhaps the organisers appreciated some time together to debrief at the end of the day. Andie didn't want to outstay her welcome, so she dumped the last full garbage bag into a skip bin at the rear of the building, and went back inside to the change room. She took off her apron and pulled the cap from her head, shaking out her hair, before gathering up her things and walking out the door, and almost straight into Dominic Gerou.

‘I was looking for you,' he said, taking a step back. ‘I thought you must have already gone.'

‘No, just leaving now.'

‘Is there somewhere you have to be?' he asked.

‘Oh, no . . . um, they said I should go, there was nothing much left to do.' She slipped her bag off her shoulder. ‘Why, do you need some help?'

He was shaking his head. ‘No, that's not why I was asking. I'm finishing up now as well.'

Andie nodded, waiting.

He took a breath. ‘I was thinking, if you didn't have to be anywhere . . .' He seemed oddly nervous. ‘Well, maybe you'd like to get a drink? You know, for Christmas.'

That was quite possibly the last thing Andie had expected him to say. ‘Um . . .' she hesitated.

‘Never mind, it's been a long day.' Now he looked embarrassed.

‘No, no, it's fine,' she said quickly. ‘Sure, why not? Let's go for a drink.'

He seemed relieved now, and there was the hint of a smile in his eyes. ‘Good then. Give me a minute to clean up, and I'll meet you out front.'

‘Okay.'

Andie stood waiting on the footpath outside the main entrance. Why did she say yes? This was going to be excruciating. Going out for a drink with Chef . . . Dominic . . . Chef . . . She groaned. If she didn't even feel comfortable calling him by his name, how was she going to sit across a table from him for half an hour . . . though it would probably be longer, wouldn't it? More like an hour. And how would she excuse herself politely? He was her boss, she couldn't just say to him, well, I've had enough of you, time to go. Not that she'd say it like that of course, she wasn't that stupid, but however she put it, he was going to know that's what she was thinking. It would be like when you got stuck talking to someone you didn't know at a party, and you ended up having to make some excuse, like getting a drink or going to the loo, when it was quite obvious that you'd exhausted the conversation and you really just wanted to move on.

She sighed inwardly. What was wrong with her? Where was her confidence? It was just that she hadn't dated in a long time . . .

Hold on, she was getting way ahead of herself here. This wasn't a
date
. Why did that term even come into her head? Chef . . .
Dominic
. . . he was a colleague. All right, normally he was her boss, but today they had been coworkers, and they were simply going out for a friendly drink after work. This should be no more awkward or strange than staffy's on a Sunday night.

Yeah, right.

‘Andie?'

She looked up. He was standing right in front of her, waving his hand in her face. Oh God, what an idiot, she must have been a million miles away.

‘You were a million miles away,' he said.

As she suspected.

‘Sorry,' said Andie, with an apologetic smile. ‘Are you ready?'

‘Yes.' He'd discarded his chef's jacket and was wearing an open shirt over a T-shirt and jeans. Okay, that helped, he looked like a regular person.

‘Do you know anywhere around here?' he asked.

Andie shrugged. ‘I wonder if anything'll even be open on Christmas Day?' She also wondered if her tone was giving away that she hoped there wouldn't be.

‘Oh, there's sure to be something open up in the Cross,' he said.

Dandy.

They walked in the direction of the main drag making very small talk, minute talk, in fact. He was really not an easy person to talk to. Maybe his position made it difficult for him to fraternise . . . Oh, why did that particular term have to come to mind?

Anyway, he was the one who had extended the invitation, he was only trying to be friendly, so Andie really needed to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he'd relax over a drink, let his guard down a little. She might even get to know Dominic the man, rather than the chef. Then she might even manage to actually call him Dominic without breaking into a sweat.

He led the way to a bar off William Street. Andie was relieved when they walked in. It was small, but not so small as to feel intimate; quiet, but not so quiet they would have to huddle and speak in hushed tones; there were enough people to mask any potential awkwardness, but not so many that it was crowded. It was just right. Andie was beginning to feel like Goldilocks.

And now she was thinking of bears. Dangerous predatory bears, not cute ones you cuddled in bed.

And now she was thinking of cuddling in bed. She really had to stop thinking.

Dominic went to get the drinks and Andie grabbed a table smack in the middle of the place, well-lit and right out in the open. She watched Dominic at the bar. He wasn't bear-like at all; he was tall, but slim, not skinny. Andie wasn't keen on skinny men. Though what that had to do with the price of fish . . . Sometimes she wished she could just stop the voice in her head from prattling on. It always got worse when she was nervous. He was heading towards the table now with their drinks, thank God, Andie was in dire need of some Dutch courage. She snatched up her glass as soon as he set it down, taking a healthy gulp. Dominic looked a little disconcerted. She probably should have waited for him to sit, raise their glasses. Oh well, faux pas the first, the way she was going it was unlikely to be the last.