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‘I thought they were. Perhaps they were a little bit, for a time. Or perhaps I’m just fooling myself. You’ve guessed what happened, haven’t you? I don’t suppose it’s difficult. Anyone but me would have seen it coming. That’s what Estelle said.’
‘You were living your dream,’ Owen said. ‘That stayed with me, your sheer determination, the way you embraced it all, the way you defied convention to do so. Living life to the full, that’s what you said you were doing.’
‘Did I? That was what Mama used to say. She was rather more successful at it than me.’
‘What happened?’
‘Oh, it turned out that Pascal didn’t covet me at all, only my money. From the first, when Monsieur Salois—he is the Duke of Brockmore’s chef—recommended me to his kitchens at Eloise’s behest, Pascal knew I was rich. He was so—so—I couldn’t quite believe that I was actually there, in La Grande Taverne, working for Pascal Solignac. Not only working for him, but—he singled me out. He admired my work. He admired me—he seemed as fascinated by me as I was by him. Even at the time, I thought, why would a man so famous, so charismatic, with all of Paris at his feet would fall in love with me. I was enormously flattered, and I suppose it went to my head. I should have known better.’
‘Miss Brannagh, you do yourself an enormous injustice. If anyone had Paris at their feet, I’d have thought it would have been you.’
She shook her head vehemently. ‘Only because I gave you that impression, because when we met, I was still deluded enough to think that I was what I imagined myself to be. Living life to the full,’ she said sardonically. ‘I don’t have what it takes to make a success of that. I should have known better. I was simply basking in Pascal’s reflected glory.’
‘I think you underestimate yourself. When I saw you...’
‘As I said, when you saw me, I was deluded. We shared a common dream, Pascal and I, but only one of us would achieve it, and the other one would pay dearly. You can guess which was which. We spent hours after service talking of our restaurant, planning the menus. Pascal felt his genius was wasted, having to conform to the dictates of La Grande Taverne’s owner. Only in our own place would he be free to unleash his true artistry. And I would be there at his side, Paris’s best and most inventive sous-chef. That is what we agreed. That is what he promised me.’
‘But when he had your money, his promises proved to be empty?’
She shuddered. ‘The premises were purchased in his name. As a foreigner, I could not own property. As a woman I was apparently not permitted a bank account in France. I don’t even know how much of what he told me was true, I never thought to check. I trusted him implicitly. The new restaurant opened in June this year. What should have been the best night of my life turned into the worst. I had always admired Pascal’s burning ambition but it hid a ruthless streak, as I found out to my cost. He didn’t even wait until the staff had gone home. When the doors closed and the opening-night party began, he took me to one side and told me that he didn’t need me any more. I had served my purpose, and he cast me off like a dirty dish rag.’
She curled her lip. ‘I had been incredibly naïve not to realise that all he had ever wanted from me was my money, but I didn’t take it lying down. I didn’t fight for his affections, though I thought my heart broken, but I fought for what was mine. It was futile. Pascal can do no wrong in Paris’s eyes, and he wields a great deal of influence. No one would believe the word of a deluded, scorned Englishwoman, against Paris’s new culinary king. He made sure of that.’
Her eyes sparked with anger. ‘According to Pascal, he took me in as a favour to Monsieur Salois and tolerated me for far too long because as everyone knows, who has ever met Pascal, he is such a soft-hearted fool, beguiled by a pretty face and a well-turned ankle! Also according to Pascal, he covered up my many mistakes in the kitchen, and took me into his bed because I made it so difficult for him to refuse. The fact that it was my bed in my apartment—but that too, he claimed was my idea. Then when my inflated opinion of my own abilities caused me to demand that I had a place in his new venture, he had no option but to disillusion me. And to ensure that every other restaurant in Paris was similarly disillusioned.
‘So there you have it, my full, sorry and pathetic tale. I tried, heaven knows I have tried to secure gainful employment in another kitchen since. But no one would take me on, and the only offers I received were of a—a very different nature. Paris is a wonderful city when you are happy, when you feel that nothing is impossible, that the future is bright. But when your dreams are shattered, when you dare not look into the future for fear of what you might see, then Paris feels like living in a nightmare. I could hardly bring myself to stay in that apartment when he moved out, but I had nowhere else to go. Now the lease has run out, and I am quite penniless. If I started as a kitchen maid, perhaps I could scramble my way back up, but not in Paris. I love that city so much, but it is tarnished for ever for me now.’
Though her eyes were over-bright, she had not shed a single tear in the telling of this appalling tale. Owen would have given a great deal to throttle Solignac’s scrawny, arrogant neck, but Miss Brannagh was determined to take the blame for the man’s ruthless ambition and callous, abominable treatment of her. In fact she seemed to think she deserved it. Not content with stealing her money and her heart, Solignac had also stripped Miss Brannagh of her self-confidence. ‘And was he right,’ Owen asked tentatively, ‘about your culinary ability—or lack of it?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘That is the hardest thing of all for me—he’s made me question just that. All I’ve ever wanted to do is to cook, and it’s the only thing I’ve ever thought I was good at. I was astounded by how well I did under Pascal’s tutelage, but I truly believed it was because I was learning fast, that my promotions were all merited. When he told me that I hadn’t earned any of it, that he wouldn’t ever have promoted me beyond peeling potatoes—I don’t know, Mr Harrington, perhaps I was out of my depth. Perhaps I am simply a competent domestic cook. I’d like to think not. I’d like to think that I can cook to a professional standard, but all I know for certain is that I still want to cook.’
‘Bravo, Miss Brannagh, you are bowed but unbroken,’ Owen said, though he was furious, for it was clearly far from the truth. As he suspected, Solignac had knocked the stuffing out of her.
‘I thought I was broken. I hope that I can put myself back together.’
‘I am very glad to hear that. You have taken some appalling and undeserved knocks, but your spirit has not been completely extinguished.’
‘We’ll see. I’m absolutely determined to try again, which is why I’m here. I got myself into this mess and I am determined to get myself out of it without falling back on my family.’ She paused to take a visible breath. ‘When I met you in Paris, you told me that you were the toast of society.’
‘Once upon a time, but I’m afraid I no longer go out in society, Miss Brannagh, and I’m not quite sure—’
‘You still have contacts, influence?’ she interrupted. ‘You see, I need a job, Mr Harrington. I need work. If I have to start at the bottom I will, though I would prefer—but I know I am not in a position to make demands. Only a request. Does anyone of your acquaintance need a cook?’
‘You want me to find you a position in domestic service?’ he exclaimed, astounded.
‘I would be for ever in your debt if you could.’
Undoubtedly he could. His influence was such that he could find her a position in any of the best households in London, if he chose to exert it. ‘Why not ask your sister for a recommendation? The Countess of Fearnoch...’
‘No! No, no, no. It’s not that I can’t, Mr Harrington, it’s that I won’t. I won’t be pitied. Eloise would never say I told you so, but it would be worse than that, she’d blame herself for letting me go abroad in the first place. She was very shocked, when she and her husband came to Paris back in April last year, and discovered—I’m still not sure how—my affaire with Pascal. She did not tell me that I was making a mistake in investing the money she had given me in the restaurant, she promised both Estelle and I that we could spend our settlement as we pleased, but I could see she was very concerned. I tried to persuade her she need not worry, but she obviously did, for she sent Estelle to talk sense into me at the end of last year. My twin had no compunction in making her feelings known. We parted on very bad terms.’
‘And Estelle would say I told you so, if you went to her now?’
‘Probably, and she’d have every right to, but she’d reserve her vitriol for Pascal. It may be perverse of me, but I don’t relish the idea of being seen as a witless victim. It was my decision to go to Paris, a gamble that didn’t pay off. Pascal exploited my passion and ambition, but I—oh, I was easily duped, let’s face it. He told me what I wanted to hear.’
For the first time, a tear escaped her eye, though she wiped it hurriedly away. ‘I can’t get in touch with Estelle. She’ll be furious with me for keeping her in ignorance, but she’d drop everything and come running regardless, if she knew I was in such dire straits, and I don’t want her to do that. I’ve never been at odds with her like this before. We have been out of touch ever since our arguement. I miss her so desperately, but I can’t—I absolutely cannot make up with her until I’ve redeemed myself. Do you think you can assist me to do that?’
‘Mr Harrington?’
Owen blinked. Judging by the concern on her face he’d had one of his episodes, where his mind froze and went blank. But for how long?
‘Mr Harrington, are you in pain?’
Not too long, by the sounds of it, or she’d have rung for help. ‘I’ve been sitting still for too long, that’s all,’ he said brusquely, removing his leg cautiously from the footstool. Pins and needles made it numb. He had no option but to wait until they passed before standing up. ‘You were saying?’
‘Are you sure you are—can I get you anything?’
‘No, I thank you,’ he said, hauling himself upright. ‘I need to think about what you have told me.’
‘Oh. Yes. Indeed.’ Miss Brannagh got to her feet. ‘I expect I’ll stay at the posting house tonight, until I can make other arrangements. You could send a note to me there, if you think of a suitable position.’
She held out her hand, and he took it in his gloved one. Though he had lost some of the feeling in his fingers, her touch still sent a jolt through him, conjuring the fleeting memory of the last time they had held hands like this, and the way time had seemed to stop. He looked down at her work-roughened hands, the tiny healed cuts, the result of constant chopping, the outline of old blisters from cooking on a hot stove. A permanent reminder, as his scars were, in a very different way, of her broken dreams. He no longer dreamed, but if he could help Miss Phoebe Brannagh to pick up the pieces of her life, then he would have rescued something, for her if not for him. It was scant consolation but it was better than nothing.
The kernel of an idea began to form in his mind. It was an outrageous idea. No, he couldn’t possibly—or could he? ‘You can’t stay in a posting house. I’ll have Bremner organise a hotel for you.’
‘Mr Harrington, I’m afraid I don’t have the funds...’
‘You can pay me back.’
‘I can’t possibly...’
‘What you need is a good dinner and a night’s rest in a comfortable bed,’ Owen said firmly, ringing the bell to summon his butler. ‘You’ll wake up refreshed, and much more prepared to face whatever the day may bring. I will brook no argument.’
‘Very well, if you insist, but I will refund you as soon as I can.’
‘Fine. Now, I’m going to hand you over to Bremner. Eat well, Miss Brannagh, and sleep well. I will send my carriage for you in the morning.’
She smiled tremulously. ‘I don’t know how to thank you. You are very kind.’
Not kind, determined, Owen thought, and already feeling a hundred times better than when he’d woken up this morning. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, releasing her hand as Bremner appeared, his man listening with well-disguised surprise to his clipped instructions.
The door closed on the pair of them, and Owen dropped heavily into the nearest chair. It was only just noon but the day, which usually stretched like a vast empty desert in front of him, seemed too short. He had a great deal of thinking to do.
Chapter Three (#u015bbdf1-a901-5d70-8aef-ced787f29c38)
Confounding her expectations, Phoebe slept soundly in the hotel’s huge, extremely comfortable bed. It was delightful to be able to stretch out her limbs, find a cool spot when she was too hot, without worrying she would disturb anyone. Anyone being Pascal, a light and fitful sleeper who thought that beds were primarily intended for lovemaking.
She couldn’t really remember exactly when and why Pascal had come to move into her apartment. She dimly recalled him mentioning a dispute with his landlady, who wished to charge him for laundering sheets. He had refused to pay, and as a consequence found himself homeless. Why waste time looking for new lodgings which could be more usefully be spent in the kitchen, he’d said, especially as Phoebe’s rented apartment was so large it was wasted on just her. Since there was no landlady on the premises to object to their scandalous domestic arrangements, and as the other occupants of the building kept themselves to themselves, Phoebe had come to view their living together as perfectly acceptable. Until Estelle found out.
Estelle had been shocked and furious when Phoebe had finally confessed that she and Pascal were living under one roof—and that Pascal was not paying a sou for the privilege. Nothing Phoebe said could convince her sister that such arrangements were acceptable in Paris, nor that the situation could end in anything other than disaster. And Estelle had been proved right.
Right about Pascal, and right about Phoebe’s ambition too? Estelle simply couldn’t understand why Phoebe was putting herself through the rigorous training and unrelenting hard work of a restaurant kitchen. She couldn’t understand why Phoebe wasn’t content to cook for her loved ones, why she would put herself through all the effort of serving up food to an unknown public who would have no compunction in deriding it, if it didn’t please them. Estelle thought that Phoebe would be much happier spending her settlement on building her dream kitchen in her own home, rather than cooking in someone else’s kitchen for complete strangers. Estelle simply didn’t understand Phoebe’s passion, and this was very difficult to bear, especially since Phoebe completely understood her twin’s love of music.
Estelle had a very special gift that elevated her playing above the ordinary. Phoebe had hoped that she had such a gift too, for cooking. Estelle didn’t understand that, but she’d hoped Pascal, a culinary genius, would. He’d seemed to, at first, but ultimately she’d either failed to prove herself or he’d been lying to her from the first. Either way, the net result was the same. She had set her sights too high, and she had—predictably—failed. All that was to be done now was to try again, with her sights set lower, to make her own way. Though her heart ached at the wedge which the argument had driven between herself and her twin, she was determined to find a way to re-establish herself before the rift between them could be healed.
What would she do if Mr Harrington could not recommend a suitable post? If he could, she would work night and day to prove herself. Please, she said to herself, crossing her fingers, please let him know of someone.
Her tummy clenched with nerves. She should enjoy the luxury of having her tea and bread served in bed, ask the maid to have a bath made ready, and make the most of her time in this fabulously indulgent and expensive hotel, not waste it fretting.
* * *
She had succeeded in this small ambition, but when a message arrived informing her that Mr Harrington’s town coach awaited her convenience, Phoebe was immediately assailed by anxiety. Even if he could not help her, she was glad of the opportunity to see him again. The conversation yesterday had been focused on her plight. She had learned little of his own travails save the sketchy details he had told her. His accident seemed to have made a recluse of him. When had it happened? How far had he got on his travels after he left Paris? Pain had changed him, but she found it difficult to believe that the charismatic man she had met two years ago would have given up on the world so completely. He appeared, on reflection, to be a man without hope. Though perhaps she had simply caught him on a bad day.
* * *
‘Miss Brannagh, how do you do today?’ Owen asked, indicating the chair at the fireside she had occupied yesterday. ‘You slept well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
She sat down, making a fuss over the arranging of her skirts, thoughtfully allowing him time to settle gingerly in his own chair before looking over at him expectantly, and Owen was immediately assailed by doubts. What right had he to ask so much of one so young and so utterly beautiful? She was unhappy now, her pride and her confidence had both taken a severe blow, but she would recover in time. What had seemed so clear in the early hours of the morning, was now clouding in his mind. The enthusiasm which had kept his pain at bay all morning waned, and he became aware once more of the dull, dragging ache in his hip. One step at a time, he reminded himself, as he had so often in the last two years, though this time the steps were metaphorical and not physical.
‘If you had the chance to open your own restaurant here in London, would you take it?’ he asked.
Miss Brannagh’s eyes lit up. ‘My very own establishment, with my own menus, my own dishes. A place where men and women can dine together, as they can in Paris. Just imagine!’
‘That would certainly be unique in London.’
‘Exactly. Aside from private dining rooms, which are the province of the rich and titled, there is nothing like it at present.’
It was a strange thing, but while his accident had left Owen almost completely numb emotionally, he had discovered that something akin to excitement took hold of him when he sensed a good business deal, a sort of tingling in his belly like an attack of nerves. He felt it now. ‘Combine that idea with a female head chef, and you have, if you’ll forgive the pun, a mouthwatering opportunity,’ he said.
Miss Brannagh’s face fell. ‘If only, but that will never happen. It’s probably just as well too, for I’m not at all sure I am good enough to preside over such an establishment.’
‘Not good enough? What happened to being bowed but unbroken?’
‘Nothing happened, I’m simply being realistic. It makes much more sense to aim for what I know I can achieve than to even dream of the impossible. I’ve failed once, I don’t want to fail again.’
‘Solignac seems to have done an excellent job of cutting you down to size, that’s for sure. What if he’s wrong?’
‘He didn’t cut me down to size. I was too big for my boots. And it wasn’t only Pascal who thought so, it was...’
‘Your sister, the musician.’
‘Yes.’
Clearly the twin was a very painful subject, Owen, thought to himself. ‘She too could be wrong,’ he offered gently.
‘I’ve already wasted all my money and two years of my life trying to prove that, and look where it’s got me.’
The same two years he had wasted, trying and failing to recover what he had lost. Owen was now utterly determined to help her, if only to prove her superior twin wrong, never mind Solignac, regardless of whether or not in doing so she could help him. ‘Am I right in assuming you would not consider applying to your elder sister for the necessary capital? The Earl of Fearnoch, her husband, is a very rich man...’
‘No! Absolutely not. I would not dream of it. I would rather peel potatoes for the rest of my life than do that. I thought you understood, Mr Harrington.’
‘Owen. Please, call me Owen.’
‘Owen.’ She leaned forward earnestly. ‘Although my sister is wildly in love with her husband, in fact her marriage was arranged. Eloise never wished to marry, she did so in large part to provide Estelle and I with the means to make anything we wanted of our own lives. The fact that she is so happy is wonderful, but it could easily have been otherwise. Though she swore she would not have married Alexander if she had disliked him, to be perfectly frank, I believe it would have taken a great deal to dissuade her. Eloise has done more than enough for me already. I would never ask her under any circumstances, even if our relationship was not at present strained.’
Owen shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The footstool eased the pain in his hip, but if he sat still too long, his damned foot went to sleep. ‘So what you really need is an investor.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘The chances of my finding one are about as high as Pascal begging me to come back to Paris. I may not be a maverick genius, but I still think I can cook. But Pascal, who is undoubtedly a maverick genius, says otherwise, and which one of us would the world believe, do you think? I am about as risky a business proposition as you are likely to encounter. I have no references, I’ve been sacked from my one and only position, and I’m a woman. Would you invest in me, Mr Harr—Owen? I don’t think so.’
‘I believe I told you, the first time we met in Paris, that I would and happily.’
‘In jest, when you knew that there was no possibility of my accepting.’
‘I’m not jesting now, I’m perfectly serious.’
Her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed and then paled. ‘Thank you, you are very kind, very generous, but no, absolutely not.’
‘I’m offering to be your backer, Miss Brannagh, not your protector. Believe me, the last thing I’m in the market for is a mistress. I am not Solignac, beguiled by your pretty face and well-turned ankle.’
‘Forgive me, but no one in their right mind would take such a risk with me, and you know nothing about food—in fact I recall you told me that you are a culinary philistine. If you are not offering me a carte blanche, then I can only assume that you must feel sorry for me. The answer in either case is the same. I can’t take your money.’
Her refusal didn’t surprise him, but his conscience insisted that he press his point. He had to be sure that she believed his final proposition was her best and not her only option. ‘Miss Brannagh...’
‘Phoebe. Please, call me Phoebe.’
‘Phoebe. Just over two years ago, I realised that I was bored with my feckless existence. As fate would have it, my travels were cut short, but my desire for some sort of occupation is one of the few things I didn’t lose. Circumstances left me with a lot of time on my hands. I don’t sleep well, I rarely go out and I fill a great many of the empty hours with reading. I subscribe to countless periodicals, I read every newspaper, and all the Parliamentary reports. The net effect is that I know what’s going on the world I no longer inhabit, and I have discovered that I have an instinct for investment opportunities. It’s like a sixth sense. I have a nose for making money. My father left me very wealthy. By investing that money wisely I’ve made myself rich beyond most people’s wildest imaginings. Which is a long-winded way of saying that I have a hunch that you are worth investing in.’
‘But you have no evidence to support that,’ Phoebe said, becoming agitated. ‘I could have a completely inflated opinion of my own abilities. And even if I don’t, you are underestimating how radical my venture would be. Eating in a restaurant is a much more established tradition in Paris than it is in London—in restaurants such as Le Grand Véfour for example, the clientele is mixed. But as far as I know, the only similar place here is Crockford’s and that is for gentlemen only. Imagine the scandal, Owen, if a restaurant were to open in London which served food to both sexes, and had a woman running the kitchen.’
‘What you call scandal, I would call priceless free publicity.’
‘No, no, no. I want my food to speak for itself, I don’t want people to come to gawk at me.’
‘Phoebe, your idea is as you said, revolutionary. I hope that your customers would return for the food, but initially, you are going to have to accept that many of them will want, as you put it, to gawk at you.’
‘Then it’s as well that it’s all just a pipe dream,’ she said, once again becoming dejected. ‘I need to earn my living, not accept charity, no matter how well intentioned.’
Here was a gilt-edged opening. Owen braced himself, taken aback to discover that his heart was hammering, though perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, with no less than three lives at stake. ‘There is another way,’ he said carefully. ‘An arrangement which would allow me to invest in you, and for you to legitimately earn my backing.’
‘What arrangement could that possibly be?’
Get on with it, Owen urged himself, but now it came to the crux, he was loathe to reveal the true extent of his suffering, and not at all sure he could even explain it without sounding like the madman he had for a while imagined himself to be. His instinct was to get to his feet, to pace, to move, but moving entailed pain, and pain interfered with his concentration and induced those lost moments.
‘Bear with me,’ he said, for Phoebe was starting to look concerned. ‘What I have to say is—it is difficult.’
‘More difficult than confessing that you are penniless, heartbroken and humiliated, as I yesterday?’
