Page 32 of The Missing Ingredient

“Yes, hello. May I speak to Laura Kitchener in bookings?”

“Speaking.”

“Yes, hello there. My name’s Marcus Vine.”

After a slight pause at the end of the phone, the woman continued.

“Marcus Vine?” A touch of suspicion crept into the tone. “As in the well-known chef?”

“It is, actually. But I wouldn’t exactly call myself famous.”

“Oh my goodness, itisyou. I would recognize your voice anywhere. My husband and I saw you on the celebrity chef feature on Channel Four on Tuesday. We’ve been to your Edgware Road restaurant three times. Every time the food has been amazing. We’re both huge fans.”

“I’m honored. And thank you so much for your support. The thing is, Laura—is it okay to call you Laura?”

“Of course! Oh my goodness. Wait until I tell Bobby, my husband, that you called here.”

“The thing is, Laura, a good friend of mine made a booking at Brackley Moor around eighteen months ago. I just wondered if you’d have kept any details. Her name is—was—Mrs. Lorraine Bradford.”

“Yes, I certainly do. A policeman asked me the same question recently. Told me what had happened to her. And he also said a friend of his might call, but I never imagined it would be you.”

“Police Sergeant Mosborough? Yes, we’re good friends.”

“That’s the one. Mrs. Bradford—God rest her soul—placed a tentative booking for the second Saturday of last November. A hundred people. Said it was for a seventieth birthday party. But we never received the deposit or any follow-up confirmation, so we naturally had to let the booking go, I’m afraid. Don’t tell me you were going to do the catering?”

“No,” Marcus laughed.

When he returned to the boardroom, Tina had been on fire and had already managed to negotiate everything he’d wanted within budget, down to the kitchen overhaul and structural modifications to the shop front. Once the legal paperwork had been signed, they had estimated opening a month earlier than planned. Which was why Marcus surprised them all that lunchtime by slipping out early to cook everyone a hot lunch selection from his new menu, using their underutilized kitchen—he’d bought all the ingredients on his way back to the hotel—a nice change from cold sandwiches, and much to the delight of those gathered.

After the high of the day before came the bombshells from Tina the next morning. Not only had eager American shareholders been in touch overnight wanting to kick off the New York venture, requesting Marcus to be physically there in the kitchen for the first few months of opening, but Millstone Publishing had sent an email requiring his approval of the first draft of his very own Old Country recipe book. With that, came the deadline of getting everything ready for the Christmas market. Typical of Marcus’s life, everything seemed to happen at once. Stress he was used to, having worked in a kitchen for most of his adult years, but right now work was becoming overwhelming, and that unsettled him.

Just then his phoned beeped with a message.

U awake?

Tom. And just like that, he found himself smiling and his spirits lifting as his thumbs flashed eagerly across the keys.

Nope. Fast asleep. What’s up?

Cant sleep. Keep thinking.

About?

Friday night and what I’m going to do to u.

Marcus gulped, even as his heart sped up. He still had trouble processing Tom’s feelings for him.

U still there?

You’re killing me Tom.

Killing isnt what I have in mind. Can I call you?

You know you can. Anytime.

Seconds later the phone rang and Tom’s deep breathing came down the line. Before he could prepare himself, Marcus’s erection began stretching his sweatpants.

“Good evening, Thomas Bradford. To what do I owe the pleasure? You want me to count sheep with you?”

---