Page 31 of A Perfect Devon Pub
Rose gulped. ‘Seriously?’
‘It’ll keep. You concentrate on the kids.’
‘You’ve got me worried now,’ said Rose, her eyebrows knitting together in a line, ‘Damn! I’ve got to go straight into Barnstaple to see the accountant after the school run. Let’s talk tomorrow morning. Do you mind coming to the flat at eight?’
Fiona nodded and crossed her fingers, hoping there wasn’t a problem. At least if there was one, she had all dayto size it.
‘Yo, Fiona!’ cried a loud male voice.
Unless Australia had invaded Brambleton, that voice must belong to Josh, but despite scanning the terrace, Fiona couldn’t pin him down. ‘Over here, on the beach.’ She spun round. Clad in a wetsuit and looking every inch the professional surfer, Josh grinned across at her. ‘Come on, what about that surfing lesson? You must have time; you’re not on duty for hours.’
Which was true. How to wriggle out of this? ‘I’m not exactly dressed for surfing.’
‘That’s easy to fix. Plenty of wetsuits in the surf school hut. Come on. I dare you. Take a gamble on life.’
Fiona hesitated. Spending time with Josh was easy and fun, and she had to admit the sea did look very inviting in the autumn sun. But despite what she’d been telling herself about having an innocent fling to try and get over Ru, she wasn’t ready for anything that could be construed as a date. ‘I’ve got a lot to do in the cellar.’
‘Tomorrow morning then,’ he tossed back.
‘I’m busy. And before you suggest tomorrow afternoon, I’ll remind you that I’ve arranged to give someone a wine tutorial then.’
Josh grinned. ‘Looking forward to that, but you can’t be busy every day. Live a little.’
She smiled. Oh, why not? What was the harm? It wasn’t a date, it was just a harmless lesson, in exchange for teaching him about wine. And she couldn’t spend all her time moping around feeling sad about Ruben. ‘Let me think about it.’
‘Beauty!’
She was still smiling as she walked into the pub – Josh’s constant upbeat approach to life seemed to have that effect on her. Inside, she grabbed a copy of the stock list and a felt-tip pen, then crept past the kitchen, where she could hear Ru and George discussing tonight’s specials. Evidently there had been a fish delivery, and Ru was proposing roasting gurnard and matching the slightly sweet fish with caramelised fennel and a sea buckthorn butter sauce. It sounded great, but the waiting staff would need to be told what buckthorn berries were and that they would add a tart citrusy flavour to the sauce.
Not wanting anyone to question what she was doing, she dashed to the cellar, casting furtive glances back down the corridor. Fiona fumbled with the key, yanked the door open, and switched on the light. Her heart pounded; with Rose on the school run and George cooking breakfasts, this might be the perfect opportunity for the thief to strike. She took a deep breath, then locked herself in, leaving the key in the lock.
She started with the red burgundies. The most valuable bottles were worth over £500 each. An hour later and the scale of the disaster was starting to unfold. Where there should have been a half case of 2005 Chambertin-Clos de Bèze by a renowned grower, there were only two bottles. An entire pine case of Richebourg, worth even more,was missing. Bordeaux had also been plundered. At ten o’clock, she did a rough calculation: over £10,000’s worth of wine was missing – and she had only skimmed the surface.
Fiona slumped to the floor, her fingers scrabbling in the dust. She heaved herself upright telling herself this wasn’t her problem. Or was it? Who else with access to the cellar knew the value of those missing red burgundies?
The next morning when Fiona arrived for her breakfast meeting with Rose, Timmy let her into the flat wearing his school uniform and what looked like most of his breakfast. There was porridge clinging to his hair, neck and shirt.
‘I didn’t start it,’ he announced triumphantly.
‘Good morning to you too, Timmy,’ she replied.
Rose appeared, the other culprit of the food fight wriggling in her grasp.
‘Give me a hand getting these two changed, will you?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ trilled Becky.
‘It was so,’ yelled Timmy.
‘Enough!’ shouted Rose, ‘I don’t want to hear about it. You’re both in trouble.’
Fiona trailed behind the family. In the living room what remained of breakfast littered the carpet. ‘If you strip their tops, I’ll nip and get clean ones and a hairbrush,’ muttered Rose.
‘And a skirt for Becky,’ said Fiona, spotting a clump of porridge stuck to the waistband. ‘Come here you,’ she said, grasping the girl by the hand. ‘Arms up,’ she instructed, then wriggled the top over Becky’s head. ‘I don’t know how you cope, Rose. Two kids, the pub and the rooms ...’
Rose sighed and tossed a clean shirt at Fiona. ‘I think you’re about to add to my workload. Please tell me the problem isn’t that you’re resigning.’
Fiona shook her head and threaded Becky’s arms through the shirt sleeves. Unless Rose suspended her while she investigated the missing wine, Fiona wasn’t going anywhere.
