Dead Heat - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,82

does lunches on Mondays.’

We arrived at the Hay Net to find that Gary was busy with the kitchen porters cleaning the kitchen. They had moved all the stainless-steel worktop units and were scrubbing the floors beneath.

‘What’s all that about?’ I asked Carl as we went into the office. ‘Gary seems very industrious all of a sudden.’

‘I think he’s trying to impress,’ said Carl with a laugh. ‘He’s had his nose put out of joint a bit by Oscar.’

‘Oscar?’ I said.

‘You know, the temporary chef from the agency.’ I nodded, remembering. ‘Seems that Gary thinks that Oscar is muscling in on his life and he doesn’t like it.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Oscar will only be here for a few more days.’

‘Ah, but it’s not just in the kitchen,’ said Carl. ‘Seems that Oscar has designs on Ray as well.’ Ray and Gary, the couple. ‘Gary is jealous.’

‘I’m keeping out of it,’ I said. ‘As long as it doesn’t affect the running of the kitchen.’

‘Are you working tonight?’ Carl asked. ‘I could let Oscar go now if you’re going to be back full-time.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Keep him here for a while longer. I don’t feel fully back to normal yet.’ Also, I thought, I might need to be away more for the next few weeks as I looked for a London site. And I had been thinking of having another chef in the kitchen anyway to help with the workload. Having Oscar around for a bit longer might help me decide if it was really necessary. Staff salaries were the biggest of my overheads and I certainly didn’t want to employ more chefs than I needed.

In the end, I did work in the kitchen that evening although it wasn’t because I was needed. It was more to take my mind off Caroline’s flight. We did more than fifty dinners which, while not quite at pre-poisoning levels, was a huge improvement over last week.

I immersed myself in my cooking, pan-frying fillets of Scotch beef and roasting sea bass, glazing racks of lamb and braising pork medallions. It felt good to be back in the groove even if the numbers were still down.

Twice I found Jacek standing watching me work. His job involved coming into the kitchen to collect the used pots and pans for washing in the scullery and then returning them to the chefs for re-use. The first time, I thought he was just waiting for me to finish with the pan I was using, but on the second occasion I was sure he was observing me cook. I dismissed him back to the scullery with a wave.

‘You want to mind that one,’ said Gary, who had witnessed the exchange. ‘I don’t trust him.’

I think I agreed with him and I resolved that, in the morning, I would try to find out more about our new kitchen porter.

Two of the evening’s customers were Ms Harding, the news editor from the Cambridge Evening News, together with, I presumed, Mr Harding, the paper’s overall editor. I hadn’t seen them arrive and I didn’t even realize they were in the dining room until Richard came to see me about their bill.

‘She says you invited them to come for free,’ he said, somewhat accusingly. Richard was never one to allow anyone to get away with something for nothing. That was one of the reasons I employed him.

‘That’s right,’ I said, taking their bill from the plate he was carrying. I looked at it. They had ordered a bottle of wine but it was one of the cheaper ones on our list and I decided to allow that too. Richard wouldn’t have approved.

I went over to the Hardings’ table with a bottle of port and three glasses.

‘Do you fancy a nightcap?’ I asked.

‘Hello,’ said Ms Harding warmly. ‘This is my husband, Alistair. Max Moreton.’ I saw him read the embroidered name on my tunic.

Alistair stood up and we shook hands.

‘Thank you for the dinner,’ he said. ‘We’ve really enjoyed the evening.’

‘Good,’ I said. ‘Can I join you for a port?’ I held up the bottle.

In the end only Ms Harding had one with me since her husband was driving.

‘I can’t go on thinking of you as Ms Harding,’ I said to her. ‘But I don’t know your first name.’

‘Clare,’ she said.

‘Well, Clare,’ I said, ‘I hope you don’t suffer any ill effects after eating here.’

She looked rather startled and then smiled broadly as she realized I was only joking. At least, I hoped I was only