Chapter 13

Richard

James stirs his bean and sausage concoction. It’s bubbling, smelling good. Then, heading for the
larder, he returns with olive oil, eggs and garlic. Elizabeth and Charlotte sit together with Mitch, and I
exchange chit-chat with Michael.

Humming to himself, James cracks a garlic bulb into its cloves, smashing each one with the flat of his
knife onto a wooden board. Skin picked out, the pulp goes into his mortar. Pestle in hand, he’s just
starting to grind when the front-door knocker raps.

James turns as though to make to head for the door, but I wave him back. “I’ll get it.”

At the door, Georgie waits, a wine bottle in one hand, a bunch of daffodils in the other. “Hi. I think my
Dad’s expecting me?”

“He is, yes, Georgie. Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on through.”

In the kitchen, she marches to the table, thrusting the flowers at Charlotte, her words spilling out in a
rush. “I wanted to apologise to you properly. I behaved dreadfully the first time we met. I wish I hadn’t.
I'm sorry.”

Charlotte gives a tentative smile. “That's okay. I think maybe I over-reacted the other day. It must have
been a shock for you, meeting me that first time. Here, sit down...” She gestures to the next chair. “Why
don’t we get to know each other, instead of making assumptions. Would you like some tea? Or coffee
maybe?”

“Coffee, please... Oh… “Georgie raises fingers to her mouth, glancing across to James… “unless it's
that dreadful stuff Dad drinks? That stuff you coat roads with.”



Charlotte laughs. “We don’t use it on the roads now. But I think Michael’s got a bucket in the woodshed
for clearing the hotel drains.”

From his spot by the counter, pestle in hand, James pauses from grinding garlic. “I'll make a fresh pot.”

“It’s alright, James…” I say. “I’ll do it. If you make it, we’ll just have another supply for Michael to asphalt
the shed roof.”

*****

 

James

Georgie clutches her coffee in cupped palms, her body rigid. Her eyes slide to the carry-cot next to
Charlotte. “Um… can I see her? Is that alright?”

Charlotte stiffens, then relaxes, a little at least. “I suppose.” She flips back a cover, but hovers close as
Georgie stoops over the cot, looking at the sleeping Cara.

“I never had a sister before.” Charlotte doesn’t comment, but I move closer.

My two daughters…

Together for the first time…

Georgie glances up. “She looks like you, Dad.”

“And you,” I say. “But there’s a touch of red in her hair too. She’s inherited that from her mother.”

Georgie nods, then returns to her seat, coffee mug in her hands again, looking across the table. “So,
you’re Michael? Is that right?” Her words are bright, and she smiles as she speaks. “You own the



hotel?”

How’s he going to handle this?

Things being as they are, I’ve not told Georgie about my ‘family arrangements’ with Charlotte and
Michael. I’ll have to do it at some point, but now’s not the time.

Sailing foreign waters here…

Michael settles for bland politeness. “That’s right. Along with Charlotte here, of course.”

“Charlotte?” Georgie gives her a startled glance. “Oh… so… you’re business partners then?”

Michael easy smile falters then softens again. “Yes, partners.”

… with a few icebergs to negotiate…

“So, my Dad and Charlotte live here. You’re what? A family friend?”

Michael pauses again. “Something like that, yes.”

How much is it bothering him?

“Thank you for letting me use one of your rooms, after… after what happened.”

“No problem, Georgie.” But his eyes flick to mine, eyelids drooping in the smallest of messages… Don’t
worry… and his easy smile is back.

A fragrant smell drifts from the hob and the pan lid rattles. “’Scuse me,” I say. “I need to check the
meal.”



The fabada is coming along nicely, the surface blup-blupping, but it needs longer for the beans to
soften. I give it a quick stir, then reach for a knife to check if the potatoes are cooked through.

In the background, Georgie is talking again, laughter jostling with annoyance in her voice. “Doesn't it
bother you when he does that?”

What’s she talking about?

Prodding at the potatoes with my knifepoint, I watch over the top of my spectacles.

Charlotte frowns. “Does what bother me?”

“When Dad takes over the kitchen like that.”

Charlotte shrugs. “Why should it? He likes cooking…” She looks towards me and I quickly look down
into my pan, sliding the knife in…

Another five minutes…

Charlotte’s still talking… “…and I don’t mind. It’s not as though I don’t have plenty else to keep me
busy. And besides, my Ma… James is a much better cook than I am.” My Jade-Eyes’ voice is calm and
her face neutral.

Too calm…

Too neutral…

Georgie rattles on. “Mom always used to say Dad tried to be in charge of everything, including the
kitchen.”

Michael’s mouth twitches and he looks away.



Charlotte puts up a show of interest. “Your Mom likes cooking? She’s a good cook?”

Yeah… right…

“Well, no…” Georgie gulps coffee. “…but that's not the point.”

Charlotte’s head tilts, enunciating her words, all glints and bright edges. “Surely it is?”

“But Mom said…”

Enough…

I take the coffee pot across. “A refill, Georgie. And maybe you should pay more attention to what your
mother does than what she says.”

Georgie's mouth pinches tight.

*****


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