Читать книгу A Perfect Cornish Summer - Phillipa Ashley - Страница 8

Sam groaned. That was all she needed. ‘What?’

Chloe scrunched up her face. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s been declared bankrupt and his whole organisation’s gone into administration. He might even face tax evasion charges.’

‘Wow. I had no idea.’

‘No one did, but it’s true. His PA said he’s had to cancel all his future engagements for the next few months at least. It could be next year before his case comes up, if it gets that far.’

‘Crap.’ Sam pushed her hands through her damp hair in frustration. ‘Where are we going to get a new star chef at short notice?’

‘I’m sorry … it is a shock …’ Chloe brightened. ‘But the good news is that at least we’ve only paid part of his fee.’

Sam let out a groan. ‘Part of it is still a couple of grand. That’s money we can’t afford to lose. Plus we need to find the money for a new chef.’

‘Hmm …’ Chloe considered. ‘That’s not so good.’ She looked deflated, and if Chloe seemed beaten, they really were in trouble. The festival had grown from its early days and made a small profit but it was run on a very tight budget. There was no way they could afford to lose thousands of pounds.

‘I suppose there’s no chance of us recovering the money we’ve already paid him?’ Sam asked, clutching at straws.

Chloe wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, I did broach the subject with his PA and she said she’d try to see what she could do, but wasn’t hopeful. From experience, I think we’ll just join a long list of creditors and be right at the bottom of the pile. I doubt if there’s any point trying to sue.’

‘We can put it to the committee tomorrow evening,’ said Sam, giving herself a mental shake. They couldn’t let this setback, big though it was, ruin the festival, although she had no idea what she was going to do.

‘In the meantime, I’ll have a think about what we might be able to do. Perhaps we can get one of the local chefs to step in, although Kris was going to be a big draw and get lots of publicity. Thanks for trying, though …’ She slapped her hand on her forehead. ‘Arghh. We’ll have to change all the posters we just hung. They have Kris’s name splashed across them.’

‘Yes, we will.’ Chloe grimaced. ‘Although I suppose that’s the least of our worries now. I’ll phone around some of my contacts in the events world and see if anyone has any bright ideas. Give me a couple of hours?’

‘Anything you can suggest would be brilliant. Thanks, Chloe. I don’t know what the committee – or I – would do without you.’

Chloe beamed. ‘Ditto. It’s given me something to do since I moved to Porthmellow but you must let me know if you think I’m taking over?’

‘Don’t worry, I will but you’re not,’ said Sam, revising her opinion of Chloe being a little over-enthusiastic. She was very grateful for her help.

‘I’ll keep you posted.’

‘I’ll WhatsApp the rest of the committee and have a think while I get on with work. I’m late opening as it is and Stefan will be fuming.’

Sam and Chloe hurried off in opposite directions. In two minutes, Sam had reached the small unit on the mini trading estate on the outskirts of Porthmellow. The food festival was important, but she also had a business to run.

Stargazey was her bread and butter, or rather, her pie and mash. It had also helped to feed and clothe Zennor, until she’d finished studying and established her own successful graphics design company with Ben. The two of them had set up ZenBen Graphics in an old garage premises in the back streets behind the harbour and were doing well, in a modest way, designing websites, ads, publicity material and signs.

Sam pushed open the door of Stargazey, unhooked her apron from the staffroom door and started to wash her hands.

‘What time of day do you call this?’ Stefan stood in the doorway to the kitchen area, holding out blue latex-gloved hands dusted in flour. Stargazey made all its own crimped pie cases, using a traditional all-butter pastry that Sam had perfected over the years.

‘I’ve had a few problems, sorry I’m running late.’

‘You’re drenched.’ Stefan tutted and rolled his eyes. He was part right-hand man, part surrogate father to Sam and had been a friend of her mother’s. He acted as if he were the boss, could be snarky and sarcastic but he had a heart of solid twenty-two-carat gold, and Sam would have hated to lose him from her business or her life.

‘I know.’

‘Were these festival problems, by any chance?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. I was putting up posters—’

‘In this weather? Have I ever told you that you’re mad as a box of frogs?’

‘Many times.’ She smiled, thinking of Bryony’s barks almost toppling her off the ladder. ‘Sadly, the rain’s the least of my worries. Our headline chef’s pulled out.’ Sam tugged an attractive blue hair net over her mop of russet curls. She reached for a pristine white overall from the staff cupboard.

‘Kris Zachary?’ Stefan pulled a face. ‘Can’t say I’m devastated about that. He has far too high an opinion of himself, that man. Thinks he’s God’s gift to focaccia, though Kieran fancies him … says he has “twinkly eyes” and was hoping you’d introduce him. Personally, I’m always worried one of the hairs from his goatee will end up in one of his dishes.’

Sam burst out laughing, despite her worries about the festival. Kieran was Stefan’s husband. They’d been together for the past eight years. Kieran did the accounts for Stargazey and audited the festival finances free of charge.

‘I’m afraid Kieran isn’t going to be able to get a selfie with Kris any time soon. He’s facing a possible trial for fraud, apparently, and I guess that’ll be all over the web soon, as if we didn’t have enough to do.’

Stefan tutted. ‘You know I think you’re mad running the festival and this place at the same time. This town doesn’t know how lucky they are to have you.’

Sam allowed herself a smile. There had been a time when she’d felt she was on the verge of being her community’s worst enemy. Her brother had caused so much trouble and heartache in the village, and she’d always – and still did – felt partly responsible for that. She’d asked herself a few times if that was another reason why she’d started the festival.

‘Better get back to work. We’re behind.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ said Stefan, shaking his head.

‘OK. I get the message.’ Sam tied a plastic apron over her white overall, washed her hands again and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. In the kitchen area, Stefan resumed preparation of the pie cases, while Sam focused on the fillings. She was serving the spring menu at the moment and offering a choice of four flavours including two vegetarian and two meat. They used nothing artificial and she insisted on high-quality ingredients such as locally milled flour, local meat and fish, and the fresh vegetables grown in abundance in the mild Cornish climate. Even the quality pie tins were an investment. Sam knew her pies might cost a bit more than a mass-produced chain version, but she was adamant they were worth it and so far, her customers had agreed.

Competition in the artisan and street food industry had grown massively since Sam had started the business but she was proud of her product and loved coming up with new recipes to tempt hungry customers. So what if she had to work all the hours to survive? She was quietly proud of having grown the business.

She thought back on the weeks she’d spent helping to convert the horsebox into an eye-catching van that was a fixture on local market days, events and festivals throughout the year. She changed the menu to suit the seasons, and in summer, offered cold quiches, pies and savouries alongside pre-prepared salads. She even had some bookings for quirky weddings and evening parties and she loved devising a special pie to the couple or birthday person’s own requirements.

There was no event that evening so Sam and Stefan spent the day filling, lidding and egg washing pies, all by hand ready for their next event the following day. The time flew by and while Stefan took a lunch break, Sam called Zennor to talk about the news and the removal and redesign of the posters. She wished they hadn’t added Kris’s name in the first place, but every cloud had a silver lining because the bad weather earlier in the day meant that the other committee members hadn’t managed to post even half the leaflets. Ben and Zennor offered to remove as many as they could in their lunch break and after work, Drew had promised to join them.

Sam had tried her hardest to think of how they could get another headline name at short notice but was too busy with work to do anything more than mull it over in her head. By the end of the day, she’d resigned herself to running the festival without a big name and using local chefs – it would certainly be a lot cheaper, but not the ten-year anniversary celebration they’d been hoping for. She was cleaning down the kitchen with Stefan when Chloe rapped on the back door. Through the glass, Sam could see her waving her hands in the air and grinning like the Cheshire cat. Sam threw a used piece of paper towel in the bin and opened the door.

Her friend burst into the lobby like an excited spaniel. ‘You will not believe what I’ve come to tell you. It’s amazing.’

‘What’s amazing?’

Chloe held up a finger. ‘Now wait, you have to guess.’

Sam was weary after a day of climbing ladders, making pies and crushing disappointment but she couldn’t help but be infected by Chloe’s enthusiasm.

‘The festival has been given a lottery grant to fund it for the next zillion years?’

‘No … but it’s almost as good.’ Chloe smiled. ‘Go on, guess.’

‘Aidan Turner has agreed to open it by emerging from the harbour wearing only a mermaid’s tail?’

‘In your dreams. And he would have to be a merman, but, sadly, no. Try again.’

‘I can’t. I’m too knackered so please, please put me out of my misery.’

‘I’ve got another chef for the festival! And he’s massive – and cheap!’ Chloe did a jazz hands pose. ‘Ta da!’

‘Wow. That is amazing. It’s a bloody miracle. It’s fantastic! You’re a star …’ Sam rocketed from the depths of despair to sunny skies in the course of ten seconds. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘I thought you’d be pleased! I phoned a colleague in my events company for help and she’d worked with him at a big TV food show and said he might help. I couldn’t believe he was available, but it turns out he has links to the local area that go way back—’

‘Who is it?’ Sam demanded and a micro second later, icy little fingers plucked at her skin. No. It couldn’t be … it wasn’t …

Chloe burst into a grin, and actually jigged around on the spot with delight.

‘It’s Gabe Mathias!’ she trilled. ‘Can you actually believe that? Much better than Kris Zachary. More famous, and he’s Cornish!’

Sam’s stomach turned over. Every hair on her stood on end. With a massive effort she forced a smile to her face. ‘Gabe Mathias? Wow. Wow … wow …’ she kept saying like a toy dog whose batteries were running down.

She was just so shocked … so horrified; the penny had started to drop the moment that Chloe had mentioned local connections. God, why hadn’t Chloe found someone else? Sam would have welcomed anyone, anyone else with open arms. In fact, if they’d asked SpongeBob SquarePants to headline the food festival, rather than Gabe, she’d have snapped him up in a trice.