His Horizon - Con Riley Page 0,59

truth no more than a few months’ rent and start-up costs for a city restaurant. “But it stopped this place from going under.” He said what he’d thought so often lately. “He gives and gives and gives and doesn’t expect much back, to be honest.”

“Maybe that’s what you do when you’re in love?” Ian wondered. “Give when your partner needs it.”

“I wouldn’t know about love.” For some reason, Jude’s heart pounded. “But I do know he must be downstairs in the kitchen right now waiting for your boyfriend’s lunch order. You been together for long?”

“Ages. He’s it for me, but he’s always so busy…” Ian was rueful. “Deadlines. Comes with the territory. And social media. It takes up so much of his headspace. Not sure he’s got enough room left for me, long-term.”

They left the bedroom together just as Louise crested the top of the staircase looking stricken. “What’s the matter?” It must’ve been bad news; she didn’t even seem to notice that Jude wasn’t alone, Ian standing just behind him.

“He doesn’t want Rob’s signature dish.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” she almost shouted before gathering herself and saying, “That bloody critic.”

Maybe Ian was used to hearing Guy described so baldly. He slipped past them both and headed downstairs, leaving Jude with his sister more angry than he’d ever witnessed. “He won’t eat it?” Lou shook her head. A tear of frustration slipped free. He held her by both shoulders. “Tell me exactly what he said.”

Louise was furious, or maybe desperate; her hands shook as she dashed away another tear. “He said, ‘If I wanted to eat second-rate food, I could have stayed in London.’”

Second-rate food?

Surely he had to be joking. Jude hadn’t kept up with the contest, but to win, Rob must have cooked his heart out. Second-rate food would never have cut it.

Louise continued before he could protest, and yes, it was desperation rather than rage that next seeped out, dripping like the tears she wiped at. “Jude, he says if he isn’t served something prize-winning in the next hour, he’ll tell everyone not to come here. He wants exactly what Rob cooked to win the contest, down to the last detail.”

Her voice cracked.

“But Rob says he can’t do it.”

21

Jude had taken the stairs up to the bedroom two at a time, but he descended so much faster, feet barely making contact as he lurched forward, intent on getting to the kitchen. He only paused for a second at the bar doorway, catching sight of a happy tableau so far from his sister’s distress that he almost faltered.

How could Guy Parsons sit there as though nothing had happened, smiling as Susan showed him photos on her phone?

How could he tip his head back to let out a bark of laughter after declining Rob’s best effort?

Jude took a step back rather than interrupt the man who now listened as Susan spoke in hushed tones, his too-long hair falling across a forehead that creased as if affected by her story, his mouth a moue of concern that could pass for genuine if he weren’t actually a huge arsehole. Of course, Ian taking some candid photos of him looking human for his column was his driver.

There was no point in insisting he try the food that Rob had worked so hard over; no currency in demanding. If there was any way to salvage this one chance to save the Anchor, he’d have to let it wash over his head rather than reacting.

He heard his dad’s voice then, as clear as if he stood beside him, teaching him how to survive in deep water. He’d thrown him and Louise into the harbour over and over as kids telling them not to fight the current, and to save their energy for what really mattered. Only this time, instead of their mum sitting on the harbour steps, cheering each time he and Lou broke surface, all he saw was the hallway clock—ten minutes gone already from Guy Parsons’ feed-me-excellence deadline.

Take a deep breath, his dad had ordered.

Tom’s voice was another remembered whisper.

It doesn’t matter if clients act entitled. Your job is to make each plate look priceless.

He could do that, he knew, after months of rich, demanding clients.

He could bend to Guy Parsons wild whims, even if Rob couldn’t.

Rob had his back turned when Jude pushed into the kitchen, a plate of food cooling on the bench beside him. “What’s wrong with it,” Jude asked, brusque, already tying on his mother’s apron. He yanked the plate