His Horizon - Con Riley Page 0,9
from feeling adrift in a home that wasn’t anything like he remembered.
“Weren’t you supposed to be back long before now?” Rob shrugged before adding, “Seems like I’ve been the only chef in this kitchen for months.” He tugged the crate back to his side of the workbench. “You had time to work on your tan, I see.” Then he inclined his head to the doorway. “Be a shame if it faded. If you hurry, there might be another yacht along soon to stow away on.”
“You’re seriously telling me to get out my own kitchen?” Jude mirrored Rob’s head tilt. “There’s a bus to Truro at noon. If you hurry up and pack, you can still catch it. Get the next train to London from there, back to where it’s easier to part fools from their money.” There was no excuse for what he said next; even running on emotional fumes for so long was no justification for outright rudeness. “If you want a restaurant of your own so badly, go run back to Daddy. He’d give you one of his, even though you don’t deserve it.”
“Jude!” Louise’s bark was shocked. “A word,” she said, waiting at the door until Jude followed. His last glance over his shoulder showed Rob’s full smile restored as if he’d enjoyed their sparring; instantly infuriating.
Louise was equally angry. She gave it to him with both barrels once the door was closed behind them. “What the hell was that about? You were so rude to Rob,” she said, as if Jude had kicked a puppy.
“We don’t need him.” Jude could tell he sounded brusque, but it needed saying. “Not now that I’m back.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “We don’t need two chefs. There’s nothing he can do that I can’t, so why pay for dead weight, especially if what you said about the takings being down was true?” He couldn’t keep from adding, “It’s no wonder there’s not enough cash in the bank.”
He didn’t expect Louise’s derisive snort, or for her to turn her back and stalk to the small office where their mum used to count the takings. The desktop was clear this morning, apart from a closed laptop and a stack of menus printed on creamy, thick card. The New Anchor wording printed on their corners provoked more questions from him. “And what’s with the ‘New’ plastered on everything? This place has been the Anchor forever. It was the Anchor way before Mum and Dad bought it. There’s nothing new about it, and everyone local will know it.” If she was that bothered about the profits, what was wrong with the old pub-grub menus they had that wiped clean? These card ones wouldn’t last halfway through the season. He opened his mouth to say so. Jude saw his sister’s face, and hesitated.
Her eyes glittered, one tear spilling down her cheek before she could blot it.
“Lou….”
“Don’t.” She turned her back to wipe at her face some more, not turning around again as she said, “Just don’t.” The breath she drew in was ragged, he heard and saw in the shake of her narrow shoulders. “You have no idea, none, about what it’s taken to keep this place afloat.”
That wasn’t fair, was it? “You said I should go, Lou. And you said you didn’t mind when I needed to stay away for a bit longer.” Seriously, she’d been the first to agree when he’d called off coming home the first time. “You didn’t mention anything about money being a problem lately. I thought you had it all under control.”
She whirled around and shouted. “I didn’t want you to worry.” More tears welled. She dashed them away, cross with herself. “Ugh. I hate that I get like this.”
“Blame Mum.” She’d been quick to cry too, but just as quick to move on.
Louise wrapped her arms around him. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t do this. Make the pub work, I mean,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. “Not after promising I’d look after the Anchor while Dad and Mum went on their voyage.” She pulled back. “But things have changed since you left.”
The office door creaked open. Rob pausing on the threshold as if waiting for permission, a tray in his hands holding three mugs and a French press. This time, his smile was different, almost as if he felt sorry for Jude, his gaze warm, like Jude remembered, instead of that morning’s flinty.
“Things changed for the worse,” Louise insisted