Page 4 of Kept 4
“Yes.”
“Well then,” Nicholas frowns, “we will talk about it later. For now, Gerald, come. Josephine doesn’t like being interrupted while she cooks.”
Gerald nods, smiles and follows Nicholas out.
I take a huge gulp of air when the door closes behind them, slumping in relief against the kitchen counter, determined that I will speak to Nicholas the first chance I get about his creepy friend and what he had to say. But I change my mind almost instantly.
Gerald is his friend, has been for centuries, and he would need that friendship once I left, which I decide on the spur of the moment, will be directly after dinner.
SAUT? DE POULET À LA MARINI?R
Ingredients:8 pieces of chicken, 3 tablespoons plain flour, 30g butter, 1 tablespoon olive oil, 4 tablespoons vermouth, 400g samphire, 12 Brittany clams, 125ml chicken stock, 1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives.
Method:
Coat chicken in flour and shallow fry in butter and oil until brown.
Add the vermouth, cover and cook until chicken is tender.
Boil samphire in salted water until just tender (3 minutes) drain, rinse with cold water, drain again.
Set the clams on top of the chicken, cover and cook until they open.
Remove chicken and clams and place in warmer
Discard fat from the pan, add chicken stock, bring to boil until thick
Replace chicken and clams
Stir in chives and samphire, serve.
Note: You can substitute mussels or cockle shells for clams.
Note: a little white wine along with the vermouth will add depth to the flavour
2
“You are being ridiculous, Josephine. I have money, more money than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes – I want you to have it.”
I shake my head and grit my teeth, hopping from one foot to the other as I wait for the train conductor to tell me I can board. I have a feeling the conductor is stalling because Nicholas has asked him to, after all, it is the Montague private train.
It is 4am, the sun will rise in an hour or so, but Nicholas, ever willing to do anything I ask, had called his train the moment I told him I wanted to leave.
I didn’t tell him that I wanted to sneak out before Margarita or Gerald realised I had gone. I didn’t tell him I was scared Gerald might brainfuck me into going with them when they leave, after the scary episode in the kitchen. And I didn’t tell him where I planned to go, because I haven’t made up my mind yet, and anyway I’m not sure there is any point, really.
I know he doesn’t want me to go, hell, I don’t want to go, but I have to. I want a future with children, with a man who can make love to me without biting me and sucking my blood. I love this man, I admit it, but he is like a drug, a dangerous drug, and I know if I get hooked, I will die using it.
“Nicholas,” I sigh, putting my bag down and facing him squarely, “I don’t want your money. I’ve never wanted your money. Please, enough, just let me go.”
“How can you travel anywhere when you are as poor as a church mouse?” he groans, leaning his forehead against mine, “I just want to protect you.”
“And you are,” I sigh, “by going after Elsbeth and making sure she doesn’t knock me off. But money-wise, I told you; I will accept one year’s wages. That is what you cost me by making me run from my job. I won’t take a cent more.”
“A year’s wages plus the payment due you for cooking for me all these months,” he says finally.
I can see I am not going to get any further concession, and I nod. I see the corner of his mouth quirk up, and I’m sure he plans to pay me ten times what my cooking for him was actually worth, but I don’t question the amount. I just want to leave. I want the argument to stop. I want to walk out with my head high and my heart no heavier than it already is.
“Very well,” he says, gently now, “you will need this too, I imagine.”
