Yes Chef, No Chef - By Susan Willis Page 0,68

that didn’t mean anything these days as a slight shiver of excitement ran through him.

“No problem,” she said. “Shall I box them for you?”

He nodded and while she began to place each one carefully into the cardboard box they chatted easily and she told him the shop belonged to an American firm and that they seemed to be good employers but because she’d only been there for a few months it was probably too early to tell. He reckoned from what she told him about herself that she must be around thirty although she did look much younger. He told her about the restaurant and suggested she should call one day to try out his menu - their eyes locked and he knew it was obvious to both of them that his menu wouldn’t be the only thing on offer.

“Um, I might just do that,” she said smiling provocatively.

He rose to her challenge. “Well, you know the saying, great food is like great sex, the more you have the more you want…”

She giggled delightedly at him and he felt stirrings of desire flooding through him as he left the shop then thankfully headed back to the restaurant in a totally different mood to which he’d left.

In the kitchen Simon was lifting a joint of salt-marsh lamb from the oven which he’d slow cooked and was debating the depth of pink colour and texture with Jessie while she mixed fried chorizo, garlic and tinned haricot beans together for a starter. One of the new chefs was telling them that the temperature was vital when tasting food because everyone’s taste buds appreciate food more when it is nearer to body temperature and suggested leaving the lamb for a good 25 minutes rest before slicing and serving.

Tim received raptures of thanks from everyone for the cupcakes and Jessie teasingly demanded that because she was the only female she should be allowed to choose first. She picked a luscious lemon cupcake with lemon frosting piped majestically on the top and scattered with white chocolate curls then raved about the flavour while the three chefs discussed the profits to be made on simple cake mixture, frosting and chocolate.

Later that afternoon as he ran through the park he passed a middle-aged guy with grey hair and thought of his dad and how much happier he felt since their talk. And then he thought of the upset with Jenny at lunch time and felt guilty for snapping at her. She’d meant well he supposed, offering to be a go-between with Kate and he remembered how well the two girls had got along together. Last year when he’d ran the London marathon in aid of the NSPCC they’d both been waiting for him at the finish line cheering and clapping, and had done a fantastic job of sponsoring and collecting over a thousand pounds from his success.

When he’d first met Kate and found out that she made a small monthly direct debit to the charity he’d been well impressed. “I think I’ll make a direct debit to match yours,” he’d said sitting looking at the NSPCC website on his lap top.

She’d stood behind him stroking the back of his hair and looking over his shoulders at the horrific photographs showing the cruelty and abuse on the young children’s faces. “Christ, Tim,” she’d whispered. “How can adults do this to them?”

He’d clicked his way through the newsletter reading some of the articles and it had been a real eye-opener. “God knows, how these poor little blighters live with this on a daily basis. I mean, it’s just abhorrent on every level…”

She’d sighed and he’d turned around to face her. “I’ll run the marathon this year for them. And even if I only get £100 I’ll know every penny will be spent helping them.”

Thinking of some of those poor children’s sufferings now was like a knife twisting in his stomach and when he compared their childhood to his own pampered up-bringing with Jenny; he realised how totally idiotic his feelings towards her were. He stopped at a tree with a stitch in his side and realised he was only twenty minutes running distance from her house. Changing direction he decided to call and make amends.

With a mug of coffee each Jenny sat on the bench swinging her legs clad in old Levis jeans and a bright pink shirt which clashed horrendously with her red hair. He looked around Jenny’s old farmhouse-style kitchen while sitting uncomfortably on a hard backed chair