A Bitter Feast(93)

“No.” It wasn’t until the word left Viv’s lips that she realized she had made a decision. “I won’t do it, Fergus. I can’t.” She tried to shove her way past him but he caught her arm.

“Let me go.”

“Viv, you can’t mean it.” His fingers were pinching her. “I can’t manage— You can’t leave this. You can’t leave me.”

She saw it then, the fear in his eyes, and for just an instant she felt sorry for him.

It didn’t last. “Let me go, Fergus,” she said again, and this time there was something in her tone that made him release her as if he’d been burned. “Find yourself another chef.”

Forgoing Ibby’s grand gestures, she carefully hung up her apron, put her jacket on over her whites, and walked out.

After her talk with Kit, Gemma had wanted to have a chat with Viv, but the phone call a few minutes later from Kerry Boatman made a visit to Viv seem even more urgent.

As much as she hated to ask another favor of Addie, she couldn’t discuss things with Viv with the children in tow. She had Addie drop her at the Lamb in Lower Slaughter. It was well after lunch by this time and the car park was nearly empty. A small Volkswagen pulling out beeped its horn at her and, seeing that it was Angelica, Gemma waved back.

There was a mud-spattered Land Rover parked near the archway that Gemma didn’t recognize. Hoping for a private word with Viv, Gemma slipped into the hallway. She was about to enter the kitchen when she heard a man’s voice. Mark Cain.

Taking a step forward, she peered into the kitchen. Viv stood at the central hob, stirring something, with Mark beside her. “I’ve got to finish unloading the hay,” he was saying. “But I’ll be back. Try not to worry, love.” Gently, he pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head.

Gemma had seen him comfort Viv before, but there was a tenderness in this gesture that made her heart contract. And when Viv looked up at him, Gemma felt the intensity all the way to her toes. This was more than a dalliance.

She was trying to back up gracefully when a voice in her ear said, “Gemma, whatever are you doing here?” Startled, she stepped back and trod on Bea Abbott’s toes.

“Oh, Bea, I’m so sorry. I was just going to have a word with Viv, but I didn’t want to intrude—” she began, but when she looked back into the kitchen, Mark was gone and Viv was stirring her pot with great concentration.

“Well, don’t mind me,” said Bea briskly. “Viv, I’m just off to the bank with the cash receipts from the weekend.”

“Okay, see you later,” Viv replied, then smiled at Gemma. “Come in, Gemma, do. I’ve sent Ibby and Angelica for a break. Tonight will be slow and we all needed a bit of a breather.”

“I was hoping we might have a chat.”

Viv’s eyes widened. “Has something happened?”

“No, no, I just wanted to talk.”

“Let me finish seasoning this soup, then, and I’ll make us a cuppa.”

“What is it? It smells divine.”

“Cream of mushroom. Come and taste.” When Gemma came to stand beside her, Viv dipped some soup into a tasting spoon and handed it to her. “We’ve a local farmer growing mushrooms for the markets, so I buy whatever he has on hand. This has brown mushrooms, shiitake, and some dried porcini, for depth of flavor.”

Gemma took a little sip from the spoon. “Oh, I see what you mean,” she said in surprise. “It’s delicious, but it’s somehow more—mushroomy.”

“It’s not balanced yet. It needs more salt.” Viv added a generous palmful from a dish by the hob and stirred the pot thoroughly. Grabbing two more spoons, she tasted it herself, then handed a spoonful to Gemma. “Now try.”

Obediently, Gemma tasted. This time the flavors seemed to pop on her tongue. “Oh, my goodness. It’s not salty—it just tastes . . . I don’t know . . . brighter?”

“That’s what salt does. It’s a flavor enhancer. You have a good palate.” Viv turned the flame down to a low simmer and fetched cups from the crockery shelf. Plopping a few Yorkshire teabags into the old Brown Betty pot that Gemma had used so diligently yesterday, she filled the pot from the already steaming kettle. “Maybe Kit has inherited that from you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Gemma said a little ruefully. “I’m his stepmother, you see.”

“Oh.” Viv looked startled. “I’m so sorry. He never said. I just assumed . . .”

“No need to be sorry. I couldn’t love him more or be more proud of him.” Gemma decided to take advantage of the opening. “Speaking of Kit, he’s a little concerned about Grace. She was asking him all sorts of questions about going to live in London with his dad. She wanted to know if he knew his dad before that.”

Viv, filling Gemma’s cup, sloshed scalding tea on her hand. “Shit!” Setting the cup down, she stuck her hand under the cold tap, her back to Gemma.

“Viv, are you all right?”

“It’s nothing.” Viv turned off the water and patted her hand with a towel, her expression tense. “What else did she say to Kit?”

Gemma wasn’t sure how to put it delicately. “This is like she really believes this stuff and it’s just . . . weird. She seems to think you deliberately kept her from seeing her dad.”