Читать книгу The Lavender Bay Collection - Sarah Bennett - Страница 19
ОглавлениеSam spent every night for the next week tossing and turning. When he wasn’t thinking about ideas for the skittle alley, he was haunted by images of Beth blinking up at him, her brown eyes blurred with passion, her lips plump from the force of his kisses. Stop it. He’d deliberately avoiding going anywhere near the emporium, a few more days of distance and he’d have everything back under control.
The more he thought about creating a restaurant in the skittle alley beneath the pub, the more excited he was about it. He’d always wanted a place of his own, initially in London, because that’s where most of the top-flight chefs made their mark. Working for Tim Bray had shown him there were other options. Tim’s restaurant had turned the small town of Alderstone into one of the most popular places in Suffolk. What if Sam could do the same for Lavender Bay?
At first glance, the alley wasn’t the most inviting of spaces, but he could turn that to his advantage. The lack of windows would allow him to design the perfect lighting system, which together with the right décor would create an other-worldly atmosphere. He wasn’t in the market for a run-of-the-mill eatery, he wanted it to be a totally immersive experience, something people would talk about for days afterwards.
And it wouldn’t be all style and no substance. The food itself would have to be exquisite. The very best of local ingredients, including lavender straight from Gilbert’s Farm. A lavender and lemon sorbet to refresh and cleanse the palate between courses, or some delicate lavender shortbread bites served with coffee at the end of the meal. Though he loved all types of cooking, desserts were what truly made his heart sing. His training in Paris had included a placement at one of the top patisseries where he’d been taught to craft tiny morsels of perfection. The rest of the menu would be traditional dishes with a unique twist.
With hard work, and a dollop of good luck, he might even create a venue to catch the eye of the Michelin judges.
Dragging himself out of bed, he made a quick pass through the bathroom to brush his teeth, and his hair before dragging on his gym kit. Contrary to his best efforts, his mind was still fixated on Beth as he jogged downstairs ready to start his morning run. It was early, so she’d probably still be in bed. He bet she was a pillow-drooler, or a quilt-hog, or even worst of the worst, one of those women with permanently cold feet who insisted on sticking them against a man’s back. He’d never been in the market for a serious relationship; after long hours at work the last thing he’d wanted was to go out to dinner, or make a fancy meal which too many girls expected when dating a chef. He definitely wasn’t going to start now.
‘What are you smirking at?’ His mum asked as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. Something had obviously woken her up because her hair was completely flat on one side and sticking up on the other. She tugged the belt of her dressing gown more firmly around her and he couldn’t help but grin more.
‘Why are you up?’ She’d still been in the kitchen prepping lunches for today when he’d staggered upstairs after closing the bar the previous night.
She glanced towards the door, then swallowed hard. ‘Your dad’s in the yard.’
His good humour vanished. ‘Doing what?’
‘He said he wanted to tidy up, was fed up of it being a mess out there.’
‘For God’s sake, why didn’t you stop him?’
‘Watch your tone, young man, he’s still your father.’ Annie tugged on her belt like she was considering removing it and throttling him with it. He’d seen her quell more than one potential fight with a steely-eyed glare and a strategically twisted ear, but he couldn’t help his frustration.
He leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go and see what he’s up to and see if he’ll let me help him.’
His mum nibbled her bottom lip, worry written large on her face. ‘Be gentle, darling.’
‘I promise.’
Taking a deep, calming breath, Sam swung open the back door and stepped out into the yard. A stack of empty barrels stood against one wall, waiting to be returned to the brewery. There were some wooden pallets nearby, scavenged by Sam because his mum had talked about adding some planters to the front of the pub and he’d had some idea he might be able to make them himself. A couple of broken chairs waited a trip to the local dump along with some other bits and pieces of rubbish. Not spotless, but nothing that anyone needed to worry about on a chilly morning.
Sam zipped up the neck of his tracksuit top and wandered over to where his dad was poking around in the junk pile. ‘You’re up early, Dad,’ he said with his best smile.
Straightening up, Paul eyed him as though waiting for him to start fussing, but when Sam remained silent, he nudged the pile with his foot. ‘Got fed up of looking at this crap, and waiting for you to do something about it.’
Okay then. Propping one heel against the wall behind him, Sam folded his arms across his chest. ‘This has to stop, Dad. You can’t bitch at me for doing stuff without running every tiny detail past you then blame me if something doesn’t get done on my own initiative.’
His dad snorted in disgust. ‘You don’t have to ask me if it’s okay to make a trip to the dump.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Sam closed his eyes for a second and reined in his flash of temper. ‘I want to help you, Dad, that’s the only reason I came back home—to help you.’
‘I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t ask you to walk away from everything you’ve worked so hard for to end up behind the bar of some no-mark, backwater pub…’ His dad trailed off into a fit of coughing, and Sam hurried over to offer him his arm to lean on.
When he was waved off, he reached instead for the pocket in his dad’s sweatshirt and pulled out his inhaler. ‘Here, use this.’
He backed off again, turning his attention to the pile of rubbish so his dad couldn’t see him wincing at every harsh rack and sputter. The tension in his shoulders eased at the familiar puff of the inhaler and the ragged indrawn breath behind him. As he waited for his dad’s breathing to settle down, he mulled over those angry, bitter words. Dad had always loved The Siren, had taken over the place from Pops with the delight of a man who was exactly where he wanted to be. To hear him denigrate the place broke Sam’s heart and gave him a fresh insight into the problem between them.
Keeping his back turned, he traced the rough surface of the red-brick wall. ‘I came home because I wanted to, Dad. Because I love you and Mum, and you needed some help.’
‘You shouldn’t have had to, though.’ A familiar weight settled on his shoulder, and he reached up to pat the hand his dad placed on his shoulder.
Unable to bear the guilt in those words, Sam turned to face his dad. ‘Shit happens. Life happens, and it’s beyond our control. The only thing we can control, is how we deal with it.’
His dad shook his head. ‘You put me to shame, lad.’
‘Not really. I should have talked to you about this before instead of letting things fester like a prat.’
‘I hear it runs in the family.’ They both looked over to find Sam’s mum standing on the back step shaking her head. ‘If you’ve finished making a fool of yourself, Paul Barnes, perhaps you can apologise to our son and the two of you can come inside and talk things through properly.’
His dad laughed, not in the least bit offended, and slung his arm around Sam’s shoulders. ‘The boss has spoken, best we obey.’
They followed Annie back inside, but when his dad would have turned left to go upstairs, Sam stopped him. ‘Can I show you something?’
‘Of course.’
Sam led them through the bar to the side door leading down to the skittle alley. Flipping the lights on as he descended, he tried to keep a lid on the excitement bubbling inside him. After making his way to the centre of the narrow room, he turned in a circle arms raised to his sides. ‘Welcome to Subterranean.’
The discussion with his dad about the restaurant couldn’t have gone much better and he ran it over and over in his mind as his feet pounded out the regular route of his morning run. In his excitement over the potential new venture, Sam had forgotten all about his early morning thoughts of Beth until he was almost back at his doorstep and found her leaning against the shop doorway with a steaming cup in her hands. She looked better than the last time he’d seen her—the dark circles under her eyes had faded to soft smudges, and although her hair was pulled back, it was glossy in the morning sunlight. Full of exhilaration, he couldn’t help but tease her. ‘Waiting for me?’
She laughed. ‘Only if you’re in the mood for stock taking.’
Sam lifted his heel back to stretch his calf before his muscles cooled too much, ‘Are you trying to lure me into the back room with you, Miss Reynolds?’ God, he shouldn’t be flirting with her, but it was too much fun watching the colour rise in her cheeks.
‘I only want you for your body, Mr Barnes.’ Losing grip on his raised leg, he almost toppled over in shock. Beth shook her head. ‘Don’t get excited, there are some boxes on the top shelves which I can’t lift down. Goodness only knows how Eleanor got them up there in the first place.’
‘So, I’m to be a beast of burden, is that it?’ Sam grimaced, pretending to be disappointed. Or maybe he was only pretending to be pretending, he didn’t know anymore.
Beth nodded. ‘Pretty much.’ She raised her mug and drained the contents. ‘Oh, and bring me something tasty, while you’re at it, those macarons are long gone. Don’t take long, there’s a lot to get through.’ On that imperious instruction, she turned on her heel and marched back into the emporium without a backwards glance.
‘Cheeky cow.’ Sam said to the empty spot in the doorway, a grin splitting his face from ear to ear. Feeling incredibly buoyant after such a great start to his day, he headed back to the pub for a quick shower. Her timing was perfect, he’d be able to lend her a hand and tell her all about his latest plans.
Showered, changed and bearing a new Tupperware box containing half a dozen chocolate truffles and the same amount of peppermint fudge bites he’d made as sample ideas for petit fours, Sam cupped his hand to his eyes to peer inside the emporium window. Spotting Beth behind the counter, he tapped on the glass and she hurried over to let him in with a smile. ‘I’ve been trying to make sense of the order books. I didn’t get involved with a lot of that side of things when I worked for Eleanor, and her system is best described as unique.’
She locked the door behind him, then led the way back to the counter which was covered in a variety of ledgers, supplier catalogues and a couple of ring-binders. ‘I want to convert everything to an electronic database, so I think I’m going to have to start from scratch and do a full stock count. I’ve started a spreadsheet so I can link everything to a supplier and make sure I have their correct stock reference codes.’
Sam pointed at the laptop, and when she nodded he pulled it closer to study the rows and columns she’d set up. ‘Dad uses a software package the accountant recommended. It’s probably geared up more towards the licensing trade, but she can probably point you in the direction of an off-the-shelf system that could work for you.’
‘Thanks. It’s on my list of things to look into, but I need to gather the raw data together in a way that makes sense to me.’ Her hand waved over the open books and folders. ‘I definitely need to get some professional advice on where things stand with the business though.’ She sighed. ‘I assumed I would be able to walk in and figure it out, told myself it couldn’t possibly be more complicated than what I’ve been used to doing. Running a place like this single-handed is a lot tougher than I realised. I feel like I owe Eleanor an apology.’
‘I know what you mean. It was a real eye-opener when I understood everything that went into running the pub. My folks always made it look so easy.’ He chucked her under the chin. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Beth. It’s a steep learning curve, but nothing you won’t be able to handle.’
‘There you go again, finding exactly the right thing to say.’
Sam grinned. ‘Let me try to go two-for-two, where’re these boxes you want shifting?’
When they trooped into the stockroom, it was clear she’d been hard at work already. Boxes were stacked in neat piles with an A4 sheet detailing the contents of those she’d checked and counted stuck to the top of each one. She pointed out those she wanted help with, and Sam could only be relieved she hadn’t tried to move them herself when she carried over a rickety looking stepladder. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’
She nodded. ‘It’s the only thing I could find. There used to be a little set of steps we could wheel around, but I can’t find them anywhere.’
Testing the ladder, he found it more stable than appearances might suggest and risked climbing up another couple of steps. The shelves weren’t too high for his six-foot frame, and he could reach the boxes with a rung to spare. He glanced down into Beth’s anxious eyes. ‘Just brace the bottom for me, will you? I want to see if any of these are heavy before we try and do anything with them.’
Beth leant her weight into the bottom of the ladder, pressing against the back of his legs. ‘Like this?’
‘That’ll work, thanks.’ He checked each carton, found them light enough to move without straining and began to transfer those in easy reach to the shelf directly below. It might take a little longer, but would save him climbing up and down. Some still bore the label from the supplier so were easily identifiable as T-shirts, fridge magnets, that kind of thing, but a handful were unmarked.
They worked steadily for about half an hour until everything had been cleared down to a height at which Beth could access them for herself. Ignoring the labelled boxes, she settled cross-legged on the floor beside an array of mystery cartons, including one with just the word ‘inflatables’ scrawled across it. ‘With any luck I’ll be able to find something to replace that sorry-looking crocodile in here,’ she said as she slit the seal with a safety knife.
Sam folded the ladder and set it away in the far corner to give them a bit more room, then hunkered down opposite her. The first box he opened was full of tea towels folded inside clear plastic bags which had been sealed with a supplier’s sticky label. Following the system Beth had started, he counted the contents and wrote a detailed description on a sheet of paper which he then stuck to the top of the box. ‘Like this?’ He showed her, and she glanced up from the packages in her lap.
‘Yes, perfect. Themed souvenirs are on the bottom shelf behind you, can you add it them?’ She held up one of the sealed packages. ‘I can’t work out what these are, I suppose I’ll have to open them.’
Sam moved his checked box then started on a second one, not paying close attention to Beth until she spoke again. ‘What the hell is this?’ She smoothed the plastic shape flat on the floor in front of her, then stared up at him with a puzzled frown. ‘A sheep? What on earth does a sheep have to do with the seaside?’
Staring at the bright-blue make-up around the sheep’s eye and the glossy red mouth, Sam started to get a bad feeling. An old school-mate had invited him on his stag-do the previous year and had been given a blow-up sheep, complete with accessible orifices as a gag. They’d carried Flossy around all bloody night, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, he was currently eye-to-eye with one of her flock mates.
‘What’s this pink one, do you think it’s a pig?’ Beth undid another package and shook out the crinkled pink plastic before he could stop her. ‘Is that…? Oh my God, it is! It’s a bloody blow-up doll!’ She shrieked and threw the thing on the floor as though she’d been touching something contaminated.
The doll stared up at him with wide blank eyes making him want to look away, but it was hard to know which direction. Certainly not to his side where he could feel one of her flat, plastic legs draping over his hand, or downwards at the wrinkled circles of extra plastic which could be inflated to an impressive bosom. His shoulders started to shake with the force of holding in his laughter. What on earth had Eleanor been thinking?
There’d been some talk over the winter about whether the town should try and market itself towards the ever-growing trend for hen and stag weekends. The consensus had been against it, fearing the increase in noise, rubbish and potential for trouble would drive away their loyal patrons, some of whom were now bringing their own grandchildren for a traditional seaside getaway. The debate had raged for several weeks, and he’d gone as far as sitting down with his mum to discuss accommodation packages they might offer if the mood swung in that direction. Maybe Eleanor had done her own research… Oh, no, no, no! He was not going to think about his erstwhile neighbour with her penchant for florals and flannel contemplating the purchase of novelty sex toys.
Sliding the cold, clammy material off his fingers, he risked a peek up, worried he might burst out laughing. He found Beth studying the back of another package, reading what appeared to be a label. ‘Somehow, I don’t think this has anything to do with chickens, do you?’
She tossed the package into his lap and he stared down at the description. ‘Fighting co—’ he swallowed the last word with a snort. A hazy image from the stag night, one he’d long since banished, surfaced and he scrubbed a hand over his face to try and dispel the sudden blush heating his cheeks. ‘Ah, no. Definitely not chickens.’ He bit the inside of his cheek but there was no way to hold back the laughter. A strange wheezing noise escaped his throat, echoed by a squeak from Beth and the two of them collapsed.
‘I…jus…where…oh, God,’ Beth’s failed attempt to form a sentence set them both off again.
Gasping for breath, Sam grabbed the deflated doll and posed it in front of him. Waving one floppy arm he held the limp head in front of his face and put on an affected falsetto. ‘This is not in keeping with the Lavender Bay Improvement Society regulations. Just wait until the Major hears about this!’
‘Don’t, oh don’t, please!’ Beth covered her face with her hands, almost crying now.
Their mirth subsided eventually, and Sam made a vague attempt to fold up the doll, nose wrinkling at the stale, plasticky smell coming from it. He stuffed it out of the way then rubbed the tips of his fingers together to try and dispel the lingering feel of the cold material from his skin. ‘Ugh, these things are gross.’ He leaned back, bracing his weight on his hands behind him and folded his legs at the ankles. ‘Want to hear something interesting?’
Beth snorted. ‘Not if it has anything to do with a box of unmentionable inflatables!’
‘Ha! Definitely nothing along those lines.’ He explained to her about how his day had started and the subsequent discussion with his dad.
‘Subterranean?’ Beth’s eyes were wide as saucers and he could see it had captured her imagination.
‘I was trying to find something to fit the location, what with it being down in the basement. I want it to be more than a dining experience, I want it to be something that stimulates all the senses.’ Grabbing a sheet of paper and the marker pen, he drew a rough sketch as he continued to talk. ‘I want to cover the walls in some kind of simulated rock effect, stud them with crystals and mineral samples which will catch and refract the light from some uplighters studded in the floor.’
She edged closer, their heads almost touching as they peered at the piece of paper between them. ‘Go on, what else?’
Sketching a long rectangle down the centre of the page, he added a dozen circles on either side. ‘I want to divide the room with a fish tank. It’ll provide additional ambient lighting as well as a beautiful visual display. I heard about an artist who creates these little boxes that are covered in curtains. The idea is you put a hand through and touch what’s inside. Nothing gross, but it’s still an adventure into the unknown.’
Beth shivered. ‘I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to put my hand in.’
‘Not everyone will, that’s part of the experience though.’
‘I get it. And the food will provide the biggest stimulation, right?’
She got it. Sam sighed in relief. ‘Exactly. A combination of taste, smell, texture and visual delights. Speaking of which…’ He looked around, seeking the box he’d brought with him. When he spotted it on the shelf above her head, he had an idea. ‘Close your eyes a minute.’
‘Why? What are you doing?’ She did as he asked though.
Getting up, he fetched the box of petit fours then squatted next to here. ‘Keep them closed now.’
‘Sam…’ A smile teased her lips, plumping her perfect cupid’s bow. He dragged his eyes away, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Prying open a corner of the lid, he positioned the box beneath her nose. ‘Breathe in.’
‘Oh, oh wow.’ Her voice was dreamy. ‘That smells heavenly.’ She licked her lips, as though anticipating the flavours to come, causing things inside him to tighten. Get it together, Sam, he told himself. He had to remember all the reasons why this would be a phenomenally bad idea, but the voice of reason was really starting to get on his nerves.
Setting the box down, he selected a square of fudge then raised it to press against her mouth. ‘Open up.’ He slipped the treat inside when she obeyed, watching intently as she chewed.
A line appeared on her forehead then smoothed out and her lashes fluttered. She took her time, long enough to set his nerves jangling, then opened her eyes. ‘That might be the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.’
Her words sounded all kinds of dirty, and Sam surrendered to the need twisting inside him. A man could only resist so much. Ducking down, he captured her mouth beneath his own, savouring the lingering peppermint sweetness on her tongue when it curled around his. She withdrew on a sigh. ‘If you serve all your female guests that way, Subterranean will be a surefire hit.’
Laughing, he rested his temple against hers. ‘Tell me again this is a bad idea.’
‘It’s a bad idea.’ She didn’t sound any more certain about it than he felt though. Kissing Beth was becoming a habit he wasn’t sure he knew how to break.
