Page 54 of A Perfect Devon Pub
‘Like what? Like I care?’ His voice softened, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across his face. ‘You’ve moved on remarkably quickly.’
‘I haven’t moved on,’ she insisted. Her voice rose to match his. ‘You know I still care about you. I always have.’ And she feared she always would. He was too big a character to forget.
Ru’s expression softened momentarily, a brief crack in his defences, but it snapped shut again. He shook his head, the movement as heavy as the weight of unspoken words.
‘How did we get here, Mousse?’
She saw his jaw clench, his eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and hurt. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered beneath his sarcastic exterior – a raw, wounded look that made her heart ache. But she quickly hardened her expression, unwilling to pander to his jealous pride.
Fiona pushed her plate aside. ‘I think I should go.’ she muttered.
He whispered. ‘No. I’m sorry. Of course you can see who you want. Don’t rush off. Stay and enjoy your breakfast.’
Absentmindedly, she picked up the remains of her pastry, shredding it between her fingers. She’d lost her appetite. ‘I’m not sure I should.’
He heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘Don’t go yet. I promise to behave like a rational human being.’ He sat beside her. ‘Now come on, tell me what you think of that butter. No one has a palate quite like yours.’
Although sure he knew the answer to his own question, she gave him a shy smile. ‘The butter is a ten.’
He returned her smile, ‘Do you want to hear about my interview with Rose?’
Twenty-four
The following morning as she approached the door of Ru’s flat, Fiona paused, pulling her raincoat close against the wind as she listened to the distant crash of waves below. This morning it reminded her of a steady drumbeat, as if sounding an alert. Yesterday, they had wasted most the meeting dealing with Ru’s jealousy. But she had learned that he had made it through his interview without raising any suspicion. Maybe it was the gift of that pen – simple, sincere, and so very him – that quietly spoke volumes about his character. Today, she was determined to run through the suspect list properly. The door was ajar, and she jogged up the stairs and into the flat. A kaleidoscope of aromas – cumin, coriander, and a hint of something buttery – filled the room. Ru had a knack for transforming simple ingredients into something special. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. He had unfastened the top buttons of his chef’s jacket, letting the front flap open and giving her a glimpse of his chest.
Ru was stirring something in a frying pan and the sound of sizzling potatoes permeated the space. Fiona leaned against the counter, pretending to be casual. Where once he had been the person she was most comfortable to be around, now she trod warily, watched what she said and how she spoke. It was a delicate balance, like pairing wine with food, wanting to experiment yet fearing that, instead of delighting the palate, it might clash. To anchor herself, she placed her list of suspects on the kitchen counter.
‘So, what’s on the menu this morning?’ she asked.
A flash of pride lit up his face. ‘Aloo paratha – spiced potatoes stuffed in flaky bread. It’s Indian comfort food really.’
She inhaled deeply again.
She had been right; the buttery smell wasn’t butter but ghee. The absence of the salt was what she had detected. ‘It smells incredible,’ she said, letting her enthusiasm show.
As he skilfully flipped the parathas, the golden crust crackled, sending a burst of steam into the air. ‘What do you think? Should I serve this with yogurt or the green chutney?’ He raised an eyebrow, challenging her to choose.
‘Why not both?’
Sprinkling fresh coriander over the finished parathas, he suggested they ate at the breakfast bar. He pushed a plate towards her, and she picked up her warm and flaky paratha. As she took a bite, flavours exploded on her tongue; cumin and coriander were a wonderful combination. Just like she and Ru used to be.
For a few minutes, their conversation danced around lightly, avoiding anything about feelings or either of their rivals, like a pair of novice skiers choosing the safe route down a slope.
Exhausted with small talk, Fiona asked Ru what he thought Rose would do now she’d interviewed most of her ‘suspects.’
He shook his head as he tore a piece from his paratha. ‘She’s flailing about. I think she’s just hoping someone will confess. What about you?’
‘She told me she knows I’m not the thief.’
A look of relief crossed Ru’s face, and Fiona wondered if he was worried his backers might hear of this drama. ‘Well, that’s good news,’ he said.
She took a cautious bite of her paratha, the spices biting back as she chewed. Her eyes dipped to her suspect list. ‘So, who did this?’
Ru’s gaze shifted. ‘Hmm. I have news.’ He dunked his paratha in the yogurt sauce. ‘You might not want to hear this, but your new boyfriend has a criminal record.’
Fiona shook her head dismissively. ‘He’snotmy boyfriend! It was just a date. Anyway, I know it’s not Josh.’ She took another bite, the heat almost distracting her from her annoyance.
‘He’s suddenly become remarkably interested in wine, don’t you think?’ Ru’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp. ‘... for a kitchen porter.’
