The Missing Ingredient Page 13

  “Oh, Marcus, that’s wonderful news,” said Moira.

  “Are you going to have to be there?” asked Tom quietly. Marcus knew exactly what he was thinking. Was Marcus going to be deserting his best friend again?

  “Of course he has to be there,” answered Moira before Marcus could speak a word. “It’s the launch, for goodness’ sake. They’ll want the maestro there.”

  “How long for?”

  “No more than a week,” said Marcus. Tom’s sullen nod had Marcus smiling. When Tom finally looked up and saw Marcus’s reaction, he sighed and smiled back.

  “Well done. Good for you.”

  “Thing is, it’s over half-term, Tom. Tina’s not going to be there, and to be honest, I could use some moral support. I don’t suppose you could get some time off work? So you and the girls could come too? I mean I’d have to spend a couple of days and evenings at the restaurant, and you’d have to come and support me by dining there as my guests on the evening of the launch. But they mainly want me on call after that, so I’d be free to join you for outings and fun. And besides, there’s plenty for you and the girls to do. Katie always wanted to ride the Staten Island Ferry.”

  As Marcus spoke, Tom sat up straighter and straighter in his chair, the transformation on his face priceless.

  “Oh, I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Moira. “But what about flights?”

  “We’ll transfer Tina’s ticket into Tom’s name. For the girls, I have so many points I’m never going to spend, might as well put them to good use. And the sponsors always put me up in this huge two-bedroom apartment. So accommodation would be taken care of.”

  “Two bedrooms?” asked Moira. “How would that work?”

  “One for the girls. One for Tom,” said Marcus. “And there’s this humungous couch in the living room that I’ll sleep on.”

  “That I’ll sleep on,” said Tom.

  “Yes, well,” said Marcus, looking directly at Tom but keeping a straight face, “I might have to toss you for that. At the end of the day, Moira, it’s more a case of whether Tom wants to come or not.”

  “Of course he wants to come, don’t you, Tom?”

  At that moment Tom smiled slyly and sat back in his chair. “I’ll have to think about it,” he said, making Moira huff in annoyance and Marcus laugh aloud.

  “Book the bloody tickets, Marcus,” piped in John. “No son of mine is going to look a gift horse in the mouth. And don’t your restaurants have English memorabilia on the walls?”

  “They do. Not quite Hard Rock Café classics, but some nice British mementos.”

  “We still have that shirt signed by Ed de Goey, the Chelsea goalkeeper back then, after their FA Cup win back in 2000. The one you won at auction. That would be a fair trade, son.”

  “You kept that?” asked Tom.

  “Course we did. It’s not ours to toss. And it’s probably worth a few bob.”

  “You’re absolutely right, John,” chipped in Marcus. “These things fetch a fortune on eBay. What sort of condition is it in?”

  “Take Marcus up to your room and show him, Tom,” said John.

  “No, it’s fine—”

  But Tom was already pushing his chair back from the table.

  “Come on, Marcus,” said Tom, smiling and heading toward the house. “Think you might be really impressed.”

  “I tucked it behind the headboard. Ignore the mess and the boxes on the bed,” called Moira, as house-proud as ever.

  Marcus stepped into Tom’s old bedroom first while Tom flicked the light on. Marcus stood there, taking in the setting, a little dusty and neglected now, but with a faint smell of adolescent male. He only stood there for a second, though, before being spun around, pinned to the bedroom door, and kissed. When eventually he came up for air, Tom was beaming at him.

  “New York. Could this weekend get any better?”

  “With the girls, Tom. We’ll need to be good.”

  “We’ll make it work. In the meantime, next Wednesday lunchtime.”

  “What about it?”

  “I have a meeting in the morning. Finishes around eleven. I could be at your place by midday as long as I’m back on-site by two thirty. What about it?”

  So that was how it was going to be, thought Marcus. Stolen moments. Not that he could complain. He had, after all, told Tom that what they had together was good enough for now. The problem is, nobody ever explains how long “for now” means.

  “Done. Anything special you want for lunch?”

  “Just you, naked and ready to go when I get there.”

  Tom leaned in for another kiss, a hand straying down to Marcus’s groin.

  “I think I can manage that,” said Marcus, pushing gently away from Tom. “Now show me this football jersey your father mentioned. Before we both get caught.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE week leading up to the New York opening had been hectic. Marcus also had to sign off on plans for the Birmingham refit back in England, ensure the restaurant roster in London was sorted for his time away, and get the results of his medical—something the US investors had insisted upon—which fortunately came back all clear. Apart from work, he and Tom had managed to get together three steamy times; twice in Marcus’s apartment over lunch, and another whole night together on Tom’s “Friday night with the boys” pub night. And even though Marcus enjoyed their time together—especially the overnights—he was looking forward to doing regular things with Tom and the girls, to being with them together in New York.

  Everything had been settled by the time they needed to leave. Tom had managed to get time off work but would need to attend one or two meetings via a web video chat program. Marcus would, of course, be called upon to talk to the press and make appearances in the restaurant whenever requested. But apart from that, they were set to go. Tina’s travel agent had arranged four economy seats together on their transatlantic flight flying out that Saturday morning. Although Marcus had to sacrifice his usual business-class luxuries, the payoff was well worth it. Tom and Marcus sat on each of the aisle seats with the girls in between. Both girls behaved perfectly, mesmerized by the airline’s entertainment system and cartoon films. Then, as arranged, a car picked them up from JFK and whisked them off to the luxury apartment for the beginning of their seven-night stay.

  Everything went perfectly—until they reached the apartment.

  “I am not sharing a bed with Charlie, Daddy. I want my own bed. You know what happened last time we went on holiday. She kicked me three times in her sleep and then pulled the covers off the bed.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  “Did not!”

  “How would you know, anyway, stupid? You were asleep.”

  “Stop it, the pair of you!”

  Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. He had made the suggestion to Marcus at Gatwick airport that the two of them share the bedroom with the single beds and the girls could take the super king-size in the other. That way, once the girls were fast asleep, Tom might be able to sneak over during the night for a chat—or whatever.

  Until Little Miss Cockblock had decided to scupper their plans.

  “This bed is huge, Katie. Charlie’s going to be way over the other side.”

  They all stood in the doorway to the master bedroom, cases still unpacked until the decision was made.

  “I don’t care. She won’t stay there. You know what Granny calls her. Miss Fidget-pot Kickboxer.”

  “Katie—” began Tom.

  “Tom, it’s fine. Let the girls have the single beds. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Neither of us could fit on that thing. Your legs will be dangling over the end, and if I took it, my feet would be touching the floor.”

  Tom had a point. Funnily enough, Marcus remembered the couch being bigger. But then he’d never had to sleep on the thing. Charlotte didn’t help matters by bursting into giggles at the image of Tom or Marcus’s
feet hanging over the end.

  “How about you sleep in here with me, then?” Tom asked Katie.

  “I want my own bed,” said Katie, hands on her hips. “This is so stupid. Why can’t you and Uncle Marcus share the big bed? It’s made for grown-ups, not for us kids.”

  For a moment Marcus couldn’t believe his ears. He looked eagerly over the girls’ heads to Tom, just as Tom spun his gaze around with as much keenness.

  “No, I want to sleep with Daddy in the big bed,” said Charlotte out of the blue. “Can I, Daddy? Can I?”

  Tom sighed and smiled down at his daughter before catching Marcus’s gaze and giving him an apologetic shrug that said “we’re not going to win this one.”

  “Of course you can, princess. Okay, now that’s settled, let’s all get unpacked.”

  Later that evening, with both girls asleep in their separate bedrooms, Tom and Marcus shared some adult time on the couch. But a kiss and cuddle was about all they were going to be allowed.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Marcus,” said Tom, smoothing his thumb along Marcus’s bottom lip, a little habit of Tom’s that Marcus had warmed to.

  “Not your fault. It’s their holiday too. Don’t let it spoil things.”

  “Still,” said Tom.

  ON Tuesday and Wednesday, the day before and the day of the launch, Marcus had to spend the whole day in the restaurant. Twice Marcus had opened restaurants, so he knew that things rarely went to plan and he needed to be ready to face challenges. Last-minute alterations had to be made to some of the furniture—if there was one thing Marcus couldn’t stand, it was tables that wobbled even slightly whenever anything was placed on them—tablecloths and napkins had not been delivered, pictures had yet to be hung on walls. In the kitchen, however, everything seemed to be going well. Kurt had recruited expertly, and the people around Marcus already felt like family, working with and around one another seamlessly, like a well-oiled machine.

  By six o’clock on opening day, with all staff—kitchen and front of house—assembled out front, not only had Marcus cooked a range of the menu dishes and specials for all the staff to sample so that they could advise customers on choices with complete and expert authority, but he also gave his customary rousing speech.

  At seven o’clock, with everyone at their stations, the doors opened and a steady stream of people entered. In his London restaurants, although most of the tables would be available for booking, he always made sure the remainder were left free for walk-ins. No such luck in New York. Demand had been off the scale, and Kurt had been keen to get bums on seats. Which, of course, meant that the kitchen was soon buzzing with activity. At around nine thirty, Kurt came into the kitchen to find him.

  “Marcus,” he said, “come on, buddy. Your presence is required. It’s showtime.”

  When Marcus stepped out from the kitchen in his kitchen whites, he was not only met with camera flashes and huge applause, but a couple of people actually rose from their seats to give him a standing ovation. Now that had never happened in either of his other openings—perhaps this was an American cousin thing—and he instantly felt himself blushing.

  After he had spoken to and thanked the many guests and had any number of photos taken with them, he finally made his way over to the table where Tom and the girls sat. Kurt had reserved them one of the booths, which they shared with another couple and their son, a boy around the same age as Katie.

  “Uncle Marcus. Are you famous now?” said Charlotte as he approached.

  “Is he really your uncle?” asked the boy, aghast, staring at Katie. “Really?”

  “Yes, and he cooks for us at home sometimes,” said Charlotte proudly. “He went to school with our mummy, but she died. And he’s our godfather.”

  “That is way cool,” said the boy.

  Marcus came up and gave Charlotte a kiss on the cheek and then Katie. Once finished, he nodded to Tom and shook hands with the two other adults.

  “Larry and Karen Flynn,” said the man, enthusiastically pumping Marcus’s hand. “And this is our son, Bradley. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. That was one darned fine meal. My grandmother came from Ireland, and she made a fish pie just like the one you served up today.”

  “Thank you for those kind words. And that looks suspiciously like my signature carrot cake, Mr. Bradford.”

  “You know I can’t resist,” said Tom with a wink. “Larry and Karen are up from Jacksonville. Karen’s brother’s in The Lion King on Broadway. They’ve been giving us some tips on where to visit while we’re here. We’ve arranged to go up the Empire State together tomorrow. Are you still going to be working?”

  Marcus looked around the restaurant and let out a sigh. “Looks like it. Sorry, Tom. We’re open for lunch as well tomorrow, so I need to show my face, at least.”

  ON their last full day, Friday, Marcus finally managed to get some time off, but had agreed to remain in the apartment in case he was required on short notice. Tom and the girls had gone out with the Flynns again, this time to finally ride the Staten Island Ferry. But Tom had warned Marcus that he needed to get back at midday to take an online video call with his client and partner back in the UK early in the afternoon. Marcus could see that they had really warmed to the Flynns and was not surprised when they all came back to the apartment, looking wet and bedraggled.

  “Hello, you guys,” said Marcus, coming around the bar of the small kitchen. “How was it? I think some of you could use a hot drink, yes?”

  A general murmur of assent came from the adults in the group.

  “Started off great,” said Tom, grimacing. “Until the heavens opened.”

  “It was brilliant,” said Katie, kicking off her boots. “We got lots of photos.”

  While the clan went about getting out of wet coats, Marcus prepared pots of hot tea with honey and lemon for the kids, mugs of his Kenyan brew coffee for himself and the Flynns, and a mug of strong black tea for Tom.

  As they sat around warming their hands on the coffee mugs, each took turns telling him about their morning adventure. Katie especially had fulfilled one of her dreams and also seemed to have made a good friend of young Brad. After a whispered conversation with her husband, Karen, who had noticed Tom glance at his watch a couple of times, chipped into the conversation.

  “Tom, the offer’s still on. My brother’s confirmed as many free tickets as we want to see him in the matinee today. It starts in about an hour’s time. Perfect antidote for this weather. I know you said you had to do your work thing, but I wondered if you’d thought any more about letting us take the girls to see the show?”

  Tom faltered for a minute, but both Katie and Charlotte pounced on the idea.

  “Yes, Daddy,” said Katie eagerly, her hands on his knees. “Please say yes.”

  “We’ll have them back by five,” said Karen. “And I might even be able to get them backstage to meet my brother and the rest of the cast.”

  “Pleeeaaaasssseee, Daddy,” said Charlotte, pulling on his trouser leg.

  “If you’re absolutely sure,” said Tom. “I’d join you too, but I’ve got this call with the UK—”

  “I know,” said Larry sympathetically. “But it’s their last day and all. And not only would they keep our Brad company, but I’m sure the last thing you need is having bored kids under your feet while you’re trying to do business.”

  “Good point,” said Tom before turning to Marcus, a hint of a smile on his face. “And of course they can go.”

  All of the kids began jumping up and down, yelping for joy. Even though the noise was deafening, Marcus’s look of surprise had Tom grinning broadly. Had he planned the whole thing so that they could be alone?

  “But don’t you want to join them, Marcus?” asked Tom, milking the situation. “I mean, you’ve barely had any fun time at all.”

  “No can do, mate,” said Marcus, returning a mock grimace. “I’m on call. Could be needed at a moment’s notice. So I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me for t
he afternoon.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Karen, rising from her seat. “We’ll all fit in one cab—if we can get one in this weather—and be in there in fifteen minutes. I’ll text my brother and tell him we’re on our way.”

  As soon as the door closed on them, Marcus threw his arms around Tom’s neck and pecked him on the lips. “You crafty so-and-so. You orchestrated that, didn’t you?”

  “Maybe,” said Tom, nuzzling Marcus’s neck. “Seemed only fair that we finally get some time to ourselves. Agreed?”

  “I so agree.”

  “Good. So let me get this conference call out of the way and then I’m all yours. Just give me a couple of minutes,” said Tom, releasing Marcus and disappearing into the main bedroom.

  Marcus could not believe their luck. Whistling to himself, he kept busy by collecting the cups and mugs around the room and filling the sink with soapy water. While washing up, he sent up a silent prayer that Kurt would not call, that he and Tom could have some private time. When the bedroom door opened, Marcus continued cleaning.

  “Marcus” came Tom’s deep voice.

  When Marcus glanced around, Tom Bradford leaned against the doorjamb, naked except for a pair of brand-new white Calvin Klein briefs—an extremely well-loaded pair of briefs. Marcus dropped the mug he had been rinsing, his mouth falling open. Tom looked incredible, better than any model Marcus had ever seen—would have even given Fereddique a run for his money.

  “Come on, baby. We’re on the clock,” said Tom, beckoning with his forefinger and backing into the bedroom.

  “What about your conference call?” said Marcus, unbuttoning his jeans as he headed toward the bedroom.

  “Canceled,” said Tom, pushing Marcus onto the bed and pulling the jeans off him. “We managed to cover everything yesterday. We’ve won another contract, so I’m celebrating too. Gonna be a shedload of work for the next six months, but at least we get to keep all our guys busy. Now get the hell naked, will you?”

  As Marcus pulled the sweatshirt over his head, he noticed that Tom had already placed condoms and lube on the nightstand. Not that long since their first sexual encounter and Marcus already had Tom well trained. Tom had been about to pull down his own underpants, but Marcus swatted his hands away.