the hierarchy. You have to be able to take orders. If you can’t do that, there’s no place for you in this kitchen, in any commercial kitchen.’
Matt nodded and said hopefully, ‘I haven’t blown it then?’
Ben shook his head and decided there and then, in that moment, that he was going to take a chance on this lad no matter what his father, or Jason, might say. This project was, after all, meant to be his. ‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ he smiled. ‘You will have to convince Jason as well though.’
Matt’s thick black eyebrows moved up a fraction in surprise. Then he grinned and punched the air and cried, ‘Yes!’
‘I’ll put in a good word for you with him.’ He’d have to do more than that – he’d have to persuade Jason to take on a boy who, on paper, was less well qualified than some other applicants. But none had impressed him like Matt. And none of the others had sparked in him the desire to help them.
Matt came over, grasped Ben’s hand in both of his and shook it vigorously. ‘I won’t let you down, Ben. I promise.’
‘Don’t forget that Jason’s the boss. So maybe keep your plans for a culinary take-over of Ireland to yourself for the time being, eh?’
Matt laughed. ‘Okay. I understand.’
Ben got them both a coffee and said, ‘Let me tell you a bit more about our plans. It’ll help when you meet with Jason.’ They talked about the restaurant’s image, the number of covers, the clientele they aimed to attract, the type and quality of food they would serve based on the province’s abundant supply of high-quality produce.
‘That’s definitely the way to go,’ offered Matt. ‘Quality over price. People don’t want to eat cheap rubbish any more. They want to know where the food on their plate comes from.’
Ben smiled and thought of how Matt’s ethos contrasted so markedly with his father’s. Alan had latched on to the ‘finest local produce’ mantra only because he was astute enough to realise it was what people wanted to hear – and that put bums on seats. He knew good food, but his primary interest was in the business side – menu pricing, cost control, cash flow and profit margins. But that focus, thought Ben with a grudging respect, was why he was such a good businessman.
His people skills however, while good, weren’t quite as well honed. Though Ben had never spoken about it, Alan realised that he was unhappy in his job. But, unable to identify with any personality type other than his own competitive and work-obsessed one, Alan assumed Ben was bored. He thought Ben needed a new and exciting challenge and told him so. It did not occur to Alan to ask Ben what he wanted and Ben, in turn, knowing how the truth would wound his father, kept silent.
Hence the new restaurant in Ballyfergus, a start-up venture with no guarantee of success. Ben worried that he would fail, that he simply wouldn’t be able to summon the necessary energy and drive to deliver what his father expected.
So, far from looking forward to it, Ben was dreading it. And not just the long hours. He’d no desire to live in a small-town rural backwater like Ballyfergus. He didn’t want to leave Belfast and his flat full of books that he loved so much. Living near the university had helped him keep his dream of a teaching career alive. The only advantage he could see in moving to Ballyfergus was that it would mean getting away from Rebecca.
A short while later, as Matt and Ben strolled companionably across the pale ash floor of the restaurant towards the exit, they passed close by the dark-haired woman and her friend.
‘Matt!’
Abruptly they both stopped and looked over at the table and Matt’s face broke into a grin. ‘What are you doing here?’ he cried and, peeling away from Ben, went straight over to the table and embraced the sexy woman in black who was now standing with a white napkin dangling from her hand. How did Matt know her, he wondered. When they separated, she said, laughing, ‘I could ask you the same question.’
‘I came to see Ben here,’ he replied, ‘about a commis chef job.’
‘Oh,’ she said and blushed a little.
Ben came forward, not daring to look directly at the woman’s face in case he betrayed his uneasiness. He could smell her sweet, citrusy perfume now and see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and lower still, the curve of her shapely calves.
‘Ben, this here’s Donna.’
Ben smiled and shook her hand.
‘… and this is my Mum.’
Mum! Startled, he looked straight at her then. This gorgeous creature was Matt’s mother? It was impossible. But then he saw the likeness in the oval shape of her face; the strong jaw line; the wide, pleasing mouth. And he saw, now that he was closer, that she was a little older than he’d assumed. Her skin creased at the corners of her eyes and she had deep laughter lines on both sides of her mouth when she smiled. She was no less beautiful than he’d first thought but disappointment tempered his admiration. She must’ve been very young when she’d had Matt. She looked directly at him, with eyes the same colour as Matt’s, every pretty feature illuminated and enhanced by the warm smile her son had inherited from her. ‘I’m Jennifer. Lovely to meet you, Ben.’
He managed to mumble something in reply and Jennifer said, ‘Well, how did the interview go?’
‘Great,’ said Ben.
‘I’ve still got to pass an interview with the Head Chef,’ added Matt.
‘More a formality than anything,’ said Ben boldly, without taking his eyes off Jennifer, realising as he said it, that it was a lie. Yet he was desperate for some reason to impress this woman – and please her.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful, Matt,’ she said and turned her attention to him, leaving Ben feeling as if a shadow had just passed overhead, blocking out the rays of the sun. She placed the flat of her palm on Matt’s cheek momentarily, causing him to redden with embarrassment, and added, ‘I’m so pleased for you. This looks like a great place to work.’ She dropped her hand and scanned the restaurant. ‘And Belfast isn’t so far away, is it?’ she said, as if trying to convince herself of something. ‘You’ll have to move up here, of course. Get your own place.’
‘The job isn’t in Belfast, Mum. It’s in Ballyfergus.’
‘Oh! Where?’ she said, her question directed not at Matt but at Ben.
‘Near the town centre,’ explained Ben, hiding his anxiety behind a smile. If Jason refused to employ Matt, he’d have to tell him that he couldn’t have the job. ‘On the site of an old fish and chip café. Peggy’s Kitchen, I think it was called.’
‘Oh, I know exactly where you mean,’ said Jennifer, her face lighting up. ‘It used to be a mecca for bikers from all round East Antrim. It closed down years ago. I’d heard it’d been sold.’ And turning to Matt she added, her face radiant with joy, ‘Imagine getting a job in Ballyfergus! Isn’t that just wonderful?’
Ben looked at Jennifer’s left hand. There was no band on her ring finger, but that didn’t mean anything. She certainly wouldn’t look at a guy like him. She’d want someone mature, a man who was secure in himself and his place in the world, someone confident and successful.
But even though he knew he had
