Page 55 of A Perfect Devon Pub
Fiona put down her paratha, feeling the need to defend Josh. ‘That’s because he’s working with a sommelier for the first time.’
Ru raised an eyebrow. ‘Think a little less highly of him now?’
‘Actually,’ she said, wiping her fingers, ‘Josh told me himself.’ Wanting to avoid another trip down jealousy lane, Fiona didn’t add that Josh had confided in her at the end of their walk on the beach. Josh had explained his one-off shop lifting had been an ill-thought-out act of rebellion; his way of forcing his parents to accept he would not waste his life pursuing their dream of him becoming a professional surfer. ‘I was going to mention it last time we met,’ Fiona said, ‘but you got all huffy about me walking with him on the beach. I didn’t think you’d be objective.’ She took another defiant bite, the spices a comforting heat in her mouth as she locked eyes with him.
Ru looked at her a moment longer, then shrugged, taking a bite of his own. ‘Well, Josh asked my advice. Apparently neither Rose nor George knows, and he’s not sure if he should tell them.’
‘No,’ said Fiona, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘I told him he should keep quiet about it unless asked directly. It doesn’t help that he was prosecuted for shoplifting a bottle of whisky.’
‘What if someone finds out and tells Rose?’
‘I doubt that will happen; you won’t shop him and neither will I. And anyway, nobody asked if he had a criminal record beforethy hired him, so he hasn’t lied.’
She peeled off another section of paratha, then bit into the gooey filling. She really had missed Ru’s cooking. ‘Do you think he did it?’
‘No. The only time I recall him going to the cellar alone was when you were ill.’
‘So, who did do it? I made a list of possibilities. Let’s run through it and rank them.’
Ru leaned forward, an excited look on his face. He was so close she could smell the spices clinging to him. Mentally, she pulled his mouth closer, feeling his lips brush against hers. When he spoke, she felt his breath warm on her face.
‘If we dismiss you, me Ivy and Trish, that only leaves Josh, and Kim.’ Fiona tensed at the mention of her rival’s name.
‘What about the kids?’ asked Ru.
At first, she didn’t reply, startled that Ru hadn’t leaped to defend Kim. She shook herself. ‘The kids?’
‘Yes. Do they know where the key is kept? Could this be a prank and they’ve hidden the stuff?’ suggested Ru.
Picturing Timmy and Becky lugging around magnums of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, Fiona laughed. ‘No. They’re never left on their own – too young. But you raise a valid point – Rose and George should be on our list. By the way, Rose loves that new pen you gave her and hasn’t managed to lose it yet!’
‘Pleased to hear that,’ he said, grinning, then he screwed up his face. ‘Why would they steal their own wine?’
Fiona giggled. ‘Do you think George might be financing a secret mistress?’
He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Not likely. He’s a family man. He and Rose are a good team.’ That made her wince. She and Ru were a good team once, until she became a failure, and he became a celebrity. ‘Joking aside,’ said Ru, ‘he wouldn’t have time. If he’s not cooking, he’s glued to a screen.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Dunno. I guess researching recipes and sourcing ingredients, like me? Time for another coffee?’
Fiona glanced at the sun rising over the horizon, a beautiful mix of soft pinks and purples. She let out a contented sigh, wishing she could curl up on the sofa for the day, but her books beckoned. ‘Go on then.’
For two hours they discussed and rejected possible theories, each one more outlandish than the next. Was Kim flogging bottles to finance her incredible wardrobe? Was Trish trying to bring the pub into disrepute so that Prosecco & Prose could steal their customers? Was Josh smuggling fine wine out of the pub to his surfing mates? By the end they were in fits of giggles. They imagined the whole thing was an elaborate ruse – some London chef orchestrating everyone at the Smuggler’s Inn in a grand sting operation. The goal? To bring down Ru and eliminate the threat of his soon-to-open second restaurant.
Coffee morphed into a light lunch of homemade pasta stuffed with wild mushrooms. Time evaporated until, with a start, Ru exclaimed, ‘We’ve got to go – prep time for me; laying up for you!’
‘Not for me,’ she replied. Rose had given her the evening off as a thank you for helping with the cellar stock checks. Fiona would spend it studying.
Back at Ivy’s cottage, Fiona trotted upstairs and pulled out her books. She chose one on South American wines and lay upside down on the bed, her feet resting on the pillows, propping herself up on her elbows with her chin resting in cupped hands. The words seemed to spin in front of her eyes. She blinked, focusing on the Malbec grape, running her tongue round her mouth, imagining the taste, but her mind kept drifting back to the delicate earthy flavour of the mushroom filling inher lunchtime pasta. A Malbec’s bold tannic structure would smother that flavour, and the low acidity would be a mismatch for the elegant, earthy profile of the mushrooms.
She pushed herself off the bed and carried her books downstairs. Her aunt was in the kitchen, but she had lit a fire in the sitting room a bright orange reminder of her morning with Ru.
Fiona peeled off her jumper. It was too hot to concentrate on grape varieties. Trying to dislodge the muzzy feeling, she shook her head. After spending every morning playing amateur detective with Ru, studying was vital. She had booked enough time off work so she could travel to London the day before the three day exam and was intending to stay at the flat in Ladbroke Grove. She had her keys, Ru would never know, and anyway, she was still the joint owner and couldn’t afford to stay anywhere else.
She counted the pages to the end of the chapter, promising herself a break when she reached it, then reread the same paragraph. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it was difficult reading about scent when her nostrils were full of the smell of Ivy’s lemon drizzle cake.
‘When’s that cake going to be ready, Ivy?’ she called.
