Page 15 of Slow Simmer

Chapter Eight

Carlo watched Suzannah hurry away, appreciating the sight of her tall, shapely body in the simple one-piece she probably thought demurely covered her up. He didn’t need to see the skin of her stomach to admire, though. After all, he could see every inch of her spectacular legs.

At almost six foot in her bare feet, Suzannah was only an inch shorter than Carlo himself, and he was a self-confessed legs man. On her feet all day, moving fast around a busy kitchen, she was fit and lean, and those long legs were slender and toned.

“You’re drooling,” an amused voice said behind him, and he wrinkled his nose before turning back to smile ruefully at Nessa.

“It’s her legs, I’m afraid. My baser instincts overcome me when I see those legs. My brains just dribble right out of my head.”

“What a revolting image!” She was laughing at him. “Everyone’s dying to know what’s the deal with you two, you know. My money’s on a youthful affair which ended badly.”

“You’re a perceptive woman, Nessa.” Carlo lifted his glass to her in a toast. “I’m afraid Suzannah walked out on me, and my ego never quite recovered from the blow.”

“Why? Were you running around on her?”

“I’ve no idea, and hell no. I was crazy about her.” Something about Nessa’s calm manner inspired him to share confidences, and he probably shouldn’t, Carlo realised. At the same time, he didn’t want to antagonise Suzannah’s friends. “We were both working crazy hours; I wouldn’t have had the time, even if I’d been inclined to look at another girl!”

“Good to know,” Nessa nodded. “So… she just broke up with you?”

“She just left. Packed her suitcases and took the Eurostar from Paris to London. If I hadn’t come home just as she was leaving and insisted on going with her to the station, I wouldn’t even have known that much.”

“Jeez,” Nessa looked startled. “That seems pretty drastic.”

“At the time, I thought it was the end of the world.” His heart still ached when he thought of that day; Carlo put a hand over it and looked towards the pool, where Suzannah was swimming casual breaststroke laps, weaving around playing children with amused looks. “Looking back, I suppose she just didn’t know how to tell me it was over. We were both just kids, and I guess she didn’t want to settle down. I had all these plans - I’d just introduced her to my parents, for God’s sake!”

“She really broke your heart, didn’t she?” Nessa said sympathetically.

“She did.” Carlo smiled ruefully. “I’ve long since forgiven her, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take this job at least in part because of her.”

“Hoping she might give you a second chance?”

“I guess so.” He shrugged. “She doesn’t seem that way inclined, though.”

“You might be surprised,” Nessa said cryptically. “Give her some time.”

“Eh, I’ve got plenty of that.” Finishing his drink, Carlo set the glass back down on the bar. “Thanks, Nessa. I’d better get back to work.”

“Catch you later.” Nessa collected his glass with a nod and a friendly smile, and Carlo headed back to his room to shower and change into work clothes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Nessa had said; did the bartender know something he didn’t about Suzannah’s feelings towards him?

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he told himself aloud as the shower beat hot water down on him. “She’d still rather you weren’t here at all.”

* * *

It was the first evening Suzannah hadn’t been in the kitchen since Carlo’s arrival, and he was a little shocked by just how quickly things went sideways without her commanding presence. The sous-chef Julie knew her stuff as a chef, but as a people manager she just didn’t have the confidence to snap out orders to her underlings. Four times Carlo ended up leaving the pastry kitchen for the main kitchen to sort out issues, drawn by the sound of raised voices.

“Enough,” he said sharply to one of the waitresses, picking up two plates from the counter and shoving them into her hands. “Your business is out there, not in here. Go. When you return, the other two plates for your table will be ready.”

Julie looked almost ready to cry, but she was also swiftly preparing the second round of plates. “Thank you, Chef Gianetti,” she mumbled.

“You’re welcome.” Leaning in across the counter towards her, he said quietly “You’re in charge in Chef Monteil’s absence. Don’t forget that. You’re letting them walk all over you.”

He didn’t have time to stay, but he did Julie a favour by shooting glowering looks at several of the people around her. They all looked away, shame-faced, and he muttered under his breath before returning to his own domain.

None of them had any idea whether, on any given day, a customer sitting at one of their tables might actually be a restaurant critic. These days, everyonewasa critic, thanks to TripAdvisor and other online rating sites. One bad night in the kitchen could cost them a great deal, especially since they hadn’t the faintest idea when another Michelin judge might visit. Nobody had even known Michelin was planning an Australia guide until the first was published, after all!

All Carlo could do was keep a lid on things for tonight. At least he could make sure patrons left the restaurant after a dessert course to remember. The staff in the pastry kitchen were getting up to speed with some of his new recipes by running them as nightly specials, and feedback so far was everything he might have hoped.

The only blight on the horizon was Edouard the sommelier, who seemed to find fault with everything Carlo did. The Frenchman rarely said anything directly, but his disapproving glances and his immediate disparaging of Carlo’s suggestions for possible dessert wines to pair his creations with made it clear Carlo was an unwelcome intruder.

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