Yes Chef, No Chef - By Susan Willis Page 0,112

way around to the exit of the boat when she heard her name being called and turned to see Tim's sister, Jenny.

"Hello there," she said walking towards her smiling. They kissed each other’s cheeks and Katie told Jenny how well she looked and asked about Greg.

Jenny’s rebuke for not keeping in touch was gentle, "Just because our Tim is a moron and couldn't hang on to you doesn't mean we can't still be friends, does it?"

Katie agreed and, remembering how desperate she’d been to find out about Tim during the last few weeks, she could have kicked herself for not thinking of Jenny before now.

"He's such an idiot,” Jenny said fondly. “When you walked out I told him to get round straight away and grovel for you to forgive him. But he said if you’d run out at the first sign of trouble then you couldn't have been in it for the long haul and he's as stubborn as a mule, you know?"

"But I was in it for keeps, Jenny,” she countered, “I just couldn't stand being spoken to like one of his kitchen assistants."

She drained the wine out of her glass. "I know and he’s learning his lessons the hard way, believe you me. The restaurant is in a mess and he's up to his eyeballs in it."

Katie's stomach flipped with alarm. "A mess? What do you mean?"

Jenny half turned to go. "He's short staffed, the boss is on his back all the time, and he's working about sixteen hours a day. It could all be going pear shaped!"

"Oh no," Katie sighed. "He's worked so hard to get where he is..."

"Sorry, Katie, I’ve got a taxi booked. Look, why don’t you give him a ring? I know he'd be over the moon to hear from you.”

Katie wavered, "Er, I’ll think about it, Jenny," she replied.

Jenny started to hurry towards the exit and called over her shoulder, "You could give him a shoulder to cry on because he needs all the friends he can get at the moment."

Chapter Twenty Eight

Get in touch Jenny had told her, he’s really having a bad time at the moment and could do with some support. But where was he two months ago when everything was falling apart and she needed his support. Sitting at her kitchen table and staring idly out of the window she remembered how Jenny had said he was learning his lessons the hard way and something inside her softened. If there was just the hint of seeing her old sweet natured Tim emerge from all of this, it would be worth one final shot and opened the laptop to begin typing.

It took her nearly half an hour to compose the email and when she read it back to herself she decided it sounded light-hearted, chatty and friendly. She pressed the send button before she had time to talk herself out of sending it and knew for the next few hours she’d be on tenterhooks waiting for a reply.

Still buzzing from the previous night’s successful buffet, she decided that relying upon business bookings through word of mouth only wouldn’t be enough and planned to start a small advertising campaign. Beginning with Chrissie’s contact list she began to work her way through the names and designed some new flyers. Stopping midway to make coffee she couldn’t help but wonder if things were going so badly at Tim’s restaurant why he hadn’t told her during the kneading dough visit. But there again, she realised she’d been so shocked to see him she hadn’t even asked about his work.

Her cheeks flushed with guilt and slowly and deliberately she repeated the words; She. Hadn’t. Even. Asked. About. His. Work.

Thinking back to the first week when he’d got the new job it dawned upon her that apart from going with him for lunch to meet Jack, at the front of house, she’d never once set foot in his kitchen. Had Frances been right when she’d said that Tim felt his work came second best to her job and? Had she been so involved with her own work that she hadn’t shown any interest in his? On the other hand though, even if she had gone to see him would it have made any difference? Tim wasn’t the type of guy to want anyone interfering and if things were going wrong he certainly wouldn’t want to admit it to her or anyone else for that matter - he’d much rather sort it out himself, wouldn’t he? Her