A Bitter Feast(107)
“I’m not going to London, Colm. Whatever happens here.” She looked round the pub with the anxiety that dogged her daily these days.
“You’ve got a nice place here, Viv. I was hoping you might cook me lunch, and we could talk business.”
“But—”
“Hear me out before you go running away with your buts. My mate at the Chronicle told me the whole story about what happened, and I’ve done a little investigating on my own. It seems your business partner is going to be in need of some serious cash for solicitors’ fees.”
Ivan Talbot had been down at Beck House the previous week, Viv thought. Did he have a hand in this?
“I had a meeting in Cheltenham this morning with Bea Abbott’s father, who is managing her affairs,” Colm went on. “He would be open to an offer on her share of the Lamb.”
“But I can’t raise— I’ve been to the bank—”
“No. But I can.” Colm’s comfortable face was as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’d like to come in as your partner in this place, Viv. Expand my horizons outside of London, if you will.”
She stared at him, coffee forgotten. “But you don’t even know what I’m doing—”
“I know you’re a talented cook. I’ve always known that, if you remember.”
She did remember. He’d offered her a job not long after she’d left O’Reilly’s, but she’d known by then that she couldn’t take a full-time chef’s position, not with the baby coming. Frowning at him, she said, “I’m not doing foams or molecular gastronomy. Or Irish food.”
“Heaven forbid I should ask.” The twinkle was back. “But you can do spectacular local food, with your own touch. And I think you could stretch yourself a bit—if you gave yourself permission to remember how much you loved to create cuisine.”
She did remember that, too, those heady early days with Fergus, keeping herself awake nights with the rush of ideas for new recipes to try. She’d felt a bit of that again, with Addie’s luncheon, and it had been glorious.
Colm emptied his cup and set it back in the saucer with a decisive clink. “What do you say, Viv? It would be your show. Will you think about it?”
“I—” She swallowed. “Yes. But—” She thought about Grace, and Mark, and Ibby and Angelica. This was not her decision alone. “There are other people who should have a say as well.”
“Then I think you had better introduce me.”
Acknowledgments
The village of Lower Slaughter in Gloucestershire is very much a real place. The Lamb, however, is entirely a product of my imagination, as are all the characters therein, and those characters’ homes, farms, and cottages.
Many thanks to the staff at The Slaughters Manor House for their kindness and hospitality, and especially to Chef Nic Chappell for fabulous food, advice, and a tour of the manor house kitchen.
Thanks as well to my friend Chef Sean Currid in Phoenix, Arizona, for food advice, kitchen tours, and much of the original inspiration for this book.
To Chef Robert Lyford in McKinney, Texas, I owe the inspiration for Chef Viv Holland’s charity luncheon menu.
I owe a huge debt, as always, to my first line readers, Diane Hale and Gigi Norwood. They correct me, inspire me, and keep me enthusiastic about writing—especially when I’m stuck in the book doldrums.
In the UK, Carol Chase, Steve Ullathorne, Karin Salvalaggio, Kerry Smith, Barb Jungr—you put the fun in book research! Thanks for invaluable hours, advice, and more than a few pub crawls.
My life and my writing are made much richer every day by my fellow Jungle Red Writers: Rhys Bowen, Lucy Burdette, Hallie Ephron, Jenn McKinlay, Hank Phillippi Ryan, and Julia Spencer-Fleming.
My book family at William Morrow is simply the best. Danielle Bartlett, Tavia Kowalchuk, Asanté Simons, Lynn Grady, Liate Stehlik, you totally rock, and huge extra thanks to my incomparable editor, Carrie Feron.
Illustrator Laura Hartman Maestro has once again provided a magical map that brings the story to life, and she is as always a joy to work with.
My agent, Nancy Yost, deserves an array of medals for her patience and encouragement.
And last but not least, Rick, Kayti, Gage, and Wren, you inspire me every day. Love you to the moon and back.
About the Author
DEBORAH CROMBIE is a native Texan who has lived in both England and Scotland. She lives in McKinney, Texas, sharing a house that is more than one hundred years old with her husband, three cats, and two German shepherds.
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