Page 44 of The Missing Ingredient

For a moment Marcus couldn’t believe his ears. He looked eagerly over the girls’ heads to Tom, just as Tom spun his gaze around with as much keenness.

“No,Iwant to sleep with Daddy in the big bed,” said Charlotte out of the blue. “Can I, Daddy? Can I?”

Tom sighed and smiled down at his daughter before catching Marcus’s gaze and giving him an apologetic shrug that said “we’re not going to win this one.”

“Of course you can, princess. Okay, now that’s settled, let’s all get unpacked.”

Later that evening, with both girls asleep in their separate bedrooms, Tom and Marcus shared some adult time on the couch. But a kiss and cuddle was about all they were going to be allowed.

“I’m really sorry about this, Marcus,” said Tom, smoothing his thumb along Marcus’s bottom lip, a little habit of Tom’s that Marcus had warmed to.

“Not your fault. It’s their holiday too. Don’t let it spoil things.”

“Still,” said Tom.

ONTuesday and Wednesday, the day before and the day of the launch, Marcus had to spend the whole day in the restaurant. Twice Marcus had opened restaurants, so he knew that things rarely went to plan and he needed to be ready to face challenges. Last-minute alterations had to be made to some of the furniture—if there was one thing Marcus couldn’t stand, it was tables that wobbled even slightly whenever anything was placed on them—tablecloths and napkins had not been delivered, pictures had yet to be hung on walls. In the kitchen, however, everything seemed to be going well. Kurt had recruited expertly, and the people around Marcus already felt like family, working with and around one another seamlessly, like a well-oiled machine.

By six o’clock on opening day, with all staff—kitchen and front of house—assembled out front, not only had Marcus cooked a range of the menu dishes and specials for all the staff to sample so that they could advise customers on choices with complete and expert authority, but he also gave his customary rousing speech.

At seven o’clock, with everyone at their stations, the doors opened and a steady stream of people entered. In his London restaurants, although most of the tables would be available for booking, he always made sure the remainder were left free for walk-ins. No such luck in New York. Demand had been off the scale, and Kurt had been keen to get bums on seats. Which, of course, meant that the kitchen was soon buzzing with activity. At around nine thirty, Kurt came into the kitchen to find him.

“Marcus,” he said, “come on, buddy. Your presence is required. It’s showtime.”

When Marcus stepped out from the kitchen in his kitchen whites, he was not only met with camera flashes and huge applause, but a couple of people actually rose from their seats to give him a standing ovation. Nowthathadneverhappened in either of his other openings—perhaps this was an American cousin thing—and he instantly felt himself blushing.

After he had spoken to and thanked the many guests and had any number of photos taken with them, he finally made his way over to the table where Tom and the girls sat. Kurt had reserved them one of the booths, which they shared with another couple and their son, a boy around the same age as Katie.

“Uncle Marcus. Are you famous now?” said Charlotte as he approached.

“Is he really your uncle?” asked the boy, aghast, staring at Katie. “Really?”

“Yes, and he cooks for us at home sometimes,” said Charlotte proudly. “He went to school with our mummy, but she died. And he’s our godfather.”

“That is way cool,” said the boy.

Marcus came up and gave Charlotte a kiss on the cheek and then Katie. Once finished, he nodded to Tom and shook hands with the two other adults.

“Larry and Karen Flynn,” said the man, enthusiastically pumping Marcus’s hand. “And this is our son, Bradley. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. That was one darned fine meal. My grandmother came from Ireland, and she made a fish pie just like the one you served up today.”

“Thank you for those kind words. And that looks suspiciously like my signature carrot cake, Mr. Bradford.”

“You know I can’t resist,” said Tom with a wink. “Larry and Karen are up from Jacksonville. Karen’s brother’s inThe Lion Kingon Broadway. They’ve been giving us some tips on where to visit while we’re here. We’ve arranged to go up the Empire State together tomorrow. Are you still going to be working?”

Marcus looked around the restaurant and let out a sigh. “Looks like it. Sorry, Tom. We’re open for lunch as well tomorrow, so I need to show my face, at least.”

ONtheir last full day, Friday, Marcus finally managed to get some time off, but had agreed to remain in the apartment in case he was required on short notice. Tom and the girls had gone out with the Flynns again, this time to finally ride the Staten Island Ferry. But Tom had warned Marcus that he needed to get back at midday to take an online video call with his client and partner back in the UK early in the afternoon. Marcus could see that they had really warmed to the Flynns and was not surprised when they all came back to the apartment, looking wet and bedraggled.

“Hello, you guys,” said Marcus, coming around the bar of the small kitchen. “How was it? I think some of you could use a hot drink, yes?”

A general murmur of assent came from the adults in the group.

“Started off great,” said Tom, grimacing. “Until the heavens opened.”

“It was brilliant,” said Katie, kicking off her boots. “We got lots of photos.”

While the clan went about getting out of wet coats, Marcus prepared pots of hot tea with honey and lemon for the kids, mugs of his Kenyan brew coffee for himself and the Flynns, and a mug of strong black tea for Tom.

As they sat around warming their hands on the coffee mugs, each took turns telling him about their morning adventure. Katie especially had fulfilled one of her dreams and also seemed to have made a good friend of young Brad. After a whispered conversation with her husband, Karen, who had noticed Tom glance at his watch a couple of times, chipped into the conversation.

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