Lainey Summers feels blessed to have her dream job writing for the renowned foodie magazine, Upscale Dining. And the day she goes to interview chef Rick Oliver at his new restaurant—Aleatory—in London’s popular Piccadilly, is the start of an unexpected journey.

When Rick is offered the opportunity to jet off to a monastery in Andalucía, to film a cookery competition for Spanish TV, Lainey goes too, to cover the story.

Spending a month filming in the stunning Spanish countryside, soaking up the sights, sounds, smells and of course the cuisine, Lainey and Rick start to enjoy each other’s company. But their time together flies by too quickly, and before they know it, Rick and Lainey have to face going their separate ways.

With both their worlds shifting beneath them, the call of Andalucía and the call of happiness grows ever stronger. But with everything at stake, will they be able to take the chance of a happy-ever-after…

Let Lucy Coleman whisk you off on a sun-baked, life-affirming, total escape to beautiful Andalucía.

 

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Audio link:

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READ CHAPTER ONE:

Preface

The setting often inspires the story and in 2019 I undertook a research trip with only a draft title in my head and the names of the two main characters, Lainey and Rick. I was excited not only to be visiting Andalucía for the first time, but also to be staying in a monastery. It was a trip I will never forget, and I knew that when it was time to sit down and begin writing the story the words would flow with ease.

Staying at the Hotel Monasterio de San Francisco, in Palma del Río, I was totally captivated by my surroundings. My sincere thanks go to the owner, Alonso Moreno De La Cova, who took time out to give me and my husband a tour of the private areas not on view to the public. The monastery passed into the secular hands of his family in the nineteenth-century and a programme of restoration work began. It is an amazing place to stay and the wonderful food served in the monastery’s renowned restaurant gave me the theme around which the story would unfold.

While I’m limited to the amount of history I can include in a fictional novel, I believe that the past leaves its mark in many ways. The sense of peace and tranquillity that surrounded me while I was there was both energising and renewing. It was then that I knew it would have a life-changing effect on my characters, even before I’d written the first word.

I would also like to express my gratitude to acclaimed artist, Cristina Ybarra, for showing my husband and me around her beautiful home. Since 1868, the palace has been passed down through six generations of the same family. The Palacio de Portocarrero is a living project, and her vision has succeeded in bringing it back to life. The palace and gardens are captivating and transported me to another time and place.
Marlyse B. Marin came to my rescue not only in her capacity as an interpreter, but also due to her close links with the monastery. The time that Marlyse and I spent together was both fascinating and informative. It allowed me to include some authentic, descriptive detail of the monastery to satisfy those readers who might never have a chance to visit and experience it for themselves.

The day my husband and I took a trip to the Castle of Almodóvar del Río, we arrived around noon and for about an hour and a half we were among a mere handful of visitors. It was a wonderful experience and, ironically, turned out to be perfectly timed. We left just as two coach parties were arriving and a steady stream of tourists filtered in. I guess only mad dogs and authors go out in the midday sun.

2018

JANUARY

Gastro Heaven

As I push open the door to what is the number one restaurant on everyone’s radar at the moment, Aleatory, I can’t believe how lucky I am. Opportunities like this are rare and, for some reason, fate picked me. I was in the right place, at the right time. Having recently become a feature writer for the popular Upscale Dining magazine, all eyes are now on me to show everyone I have what it takes to get the story behind the headlines.

It’s been nine months to the day since Aleatory opened in Piccadilly, where the restaurant faces onto the magnificent Green Park, and there is a five-month wait to get a reservation. Virtually overnight, being able to say you’ve dined here has become a status symbol, and #Aleatory has been trending on Twitter at least once a week for months – it’s crazy.

So the pressure is really on for me to deliver. Our readers will expect an article that won’t just make their mouths water over the culinary delights on offer, but also shed some light on a new rising star who has hasn’t just stepped but leapt into the limelight. Jaws dropped when word got out that chef Rick Oliver, and pop icon Cathy Clarkson were joining forces to set up a stylish new restaurant. And now I’m here, nervously excited about what is the biggest interview of my career so far.

Inside, although the lights are on, there is no one in sight, but before we reach the smart glass reception desk, a waiter comes striding towards us.

‘Good morning. How can I help? I’m afraid the restaurant doesn’t open until noon if you have a reservation.’ The tall, smiley-faced young man is welcoming, but apologetic.

‘I’m Elaine Summers and this is my colleague, Anthony Preston. We’re here to interview Rick Oliver?’ I have no idea why this comes out sounding like a question, as if he’ll check the diary and send us away like two imposters.
‘Oh, of course. I’m so sorry, but Cathy and Chef are in a meeting right now. I will, however, let them know that you have arrived.’

There’s a loud crash in the background and both Ant and I wince, but the waiter’s face remains immobile as if the noise didn’t register at all. The sound of escalating voices indicates that all is not well in the kitchen and we find ourselves following our guide as he leads us off in the opposite direction. The waiter seems totally unfazed by what sounds like a full-blown argument taking a turn for the worse, as the volume increases.

‘If you’d like to make yourself comfortable in the lounge area,’ he continues, indicating with his hand. ‘Can I bring you a cup of tea, or coffee?’

‘Coffee would be nice, thank you,’ Ant replies, and I nod my head.

‘Two it is, then,’ the young man smiles politely before hurrying away, seemingly still oblivious to the commotion going on in the background.

We stroll past an impressive floor-to-ceiling wine rack which serves as a screen, partially obscuring the main body of the restaurant.

‘I wonder what that’s all about? Clearly someone isn’t having the best start to their day,’ Ant whispers as soon as we’re alone.

‘Indeed, it seems we might have arrived at an inopportune moment. I hope it doesn’t affect the interview.’

‘Maybe the rumours are true, after all,’ he replies, raising his eyebrows.

Rick Oliver became a name to watch, working as the sous-chef to the revered chef de cuisine, Martine Alvarez, at the Food Haven. During his four years working at the infamous restaurant, it went from one Michelin star to three, which was a phenomenal achievement. But then, one day, there was an almighty row and Rick walked out. The rumours spread like wildfire in the industry and a scandal like that could kill someone’s career overnight. The big question was whether Rick was, in fact, sacked. Martine sat back, seeming to gloat over the speculation but, naturally, Rick was keen to limit the damage in any way he could. All eyes were on him, wondering what he would do next. Finding himself a backer and setting up his own restaurant was a bold and daring move to say the least, but he has turned into a trailblazer.

‘They’ve done a brilliant job of designing the restaurant, and this refit must have cost a small fortune.’

Ant is right, everything is sleek and uncluttered, and the bar itself is glossy white marble, accented with mirrors and soft lighting. The lounge has a contemporary feel with a variety of designer armchairs in electrifying colours.

It reminds me of a tropical rainforest in bloom. There are vibrant shades of green and little pops of vivid colour that jump out like exotic flowers.

Ant deposits his black holdall discreetly behind one of the chairs, before settling himself down, and I suppress a grin. It’s the sort of environment where anything out of place immediately looks like clutter.

‘It’s very artsy,’ Ant continues, as I sink down into a lime green chair shaped like a huge leaf. I tuck my work bag in neatly alongside me and then pull out my compact, tidying a few stray hairs that have escaped my ponytail.

Wearing a new, pale grey trouser suit at least I look and feel the part, even though my nerves are jangling.

However, being here with Ant, who is the magazine’s number one photographer, I know that we make a great team and this article is going to really grab the reader’s attention. So, it’s time to take a deep breath and compose myself.

‘I’m sure that’s Cathy’s influence,’ I reply. ‘Her videos are always eye-popping, colourful and different. Actually, this chair is more comfortable than it looks.’ Sinking back, my fingers instinctively run over the basket-weave fabric.

I’ve done my homework and read everything I can get my hands on about Cathy and Rick, but what interests me most is how their paths crossed and what inspired their partnership. Whether that will come out in the interview though, I have no idea.

Scanning around, I notice that in the restaurant there are an increasing number of staff toing and froing. I can’t help wondering whether they are all desperate to distance themselves from whatever is happening in the kitchen, or merely getting ready for opening. It’s no longer possible to hear raised voices, but then again, we’re a fair distance away.

Ant leans forward. ‘Do you think they’ve forgotten about the interview?’

I shrug my shoulders, glancing across to see our waiter heading in our direction. He’s sporting a big smile, which seems genuine enough, as he places a loaded tray down on the table in front of us.

‘Cathy apologises for the wait and will be with you as soon as possible. In the meantime, she would love for you to sample some new items that are on today’s dessert menu. We have pink champagne cake with a candy floss cloud, butter cake with a pistachio and rose crumble topping and a chocolate truffle infused with citrus sherbet gin.

Enjoy!’

It looks amazing, but it’s Rick we’re really here to interview, and if he’s not available, then we’re wasting our time. I wonder if the cake is a peace offering to soften us up with a quick sugar fix, but I’m not going to say no. Sampling a wide variety of amazing dishes is a part of my job, but the restaurants aren’t always as upmarket and expensive as this one. It would have to be a special occasion indeed for me to come and eat here if I was paying for the meal.

‘Wow,’ Ant remarks, as we both scoot forward on our chairs to eagerly grab one of the small forks.

‘They’re so beautiful, it’s almost a pity to tuck in and spoil them,’ I remark, dithering over what to taste first.

‘Stop!’ Ant yells and I freeze.

The fork in my hand is just inches away from one of the three-inch square cakes sitting on the narrow slate platter. Ant jumps up to grab his camera and, seconds later, begins clicking away. He indicates for me to pose and I put on my photo face.

‘That was meant for tasting, not photographing.’

I immediately look up to see the smiling face of Cathy Clarkson, this year’s veritable Queen of Pop and a Grammy Award winner. She’s every bit as glamorous up close as she is whenever I’ve seen photos of her. Every time I turn on the radio, I swear that within five minutes they air one of her tracks. Standing up to hold out my hand, we shake and her grasp is firm.

‘It’s lovely to meet you, Cathy. I’m Elaine, but everyone calls me Lainey, and this is Ant.’

‘Thank you for coming, guys, it’s much appreciated. We’re thrilled to be appearing in the magazine,’ she remarks, as she turns to look at Ant.

‘As you can see,’ I continue, ‘Ant hasn’t given me permission to get to the tasting yet, but the presentation alone is stunning.’

Cathy smiles appreciatively as her intriguing pale blue eyes sweep over me. Has she come to break the news that we’re going to have to reschedule the interview, I wonder?

Our attentive waiter hurries across to pull up a chair for Cathy, while Ant settles himself back down. Having gotten his shots he will be eager to tuck in.

‘Rick is a perfectionist, of course,’ Cathy replies, taking a seat. ‘We had an accident with the candy floss cloud and all hell broke loose, so I apologise for the explosion just now. I’m afraid this business is still all rather new to me and I had no idea how fraught things can become in the kitchen.’

That’s quite a statement to make in front of a journalist you’ve never met before. Cathy is obviously keen to make it clear that the ruckus is nothing to do with her, but I’m shocked by her candour.

‘I don’t think fraught is quite the right word,’ Rick corrects her as he approaches, and Cathy half-turns to acknowledge him.

I’m looking at the back of her head now, so I can’t see her expression, but I can tell by his grin he’s teasing her. The first thing that comes to mind seeing them together is what a handsome couple they make. Cathy is stunning, of course, but up close Rick too has a charming, almost magnetic quality. He’s handsome, with short, dark hair that is a little longer on the top but not overtly fashionable, just practical. Rick doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who spends hours looking in the mirror, rather he comes across as genuine and instantly likeable. When he looks directly at me, there’s an intensity and yet I also sense a little humour, and maybe a hint of reserve, which I hadn’t expected. Unless he’s feeling embarrassed and realises we haven’t had the best start to an interview.

Rick reaches out to drag a chair across to join us and we briefly shake hands as we make our introductions. He has certainly recovered well after what sounded like quite an explosive episode as now he looks relaxed. But when

Cathy turns back around, I notice she’s frowning.

‘Well, let’s say how hot it gets in the kitchen, at times,’ she corrects herself, labouring the point as she stares at him. Then she turns to look at me. ‘The proof is in the eating, of course.’

Is there a frosty edge to her voice, or am I imagining it?

They are now both looking at me in fervent anticipation, but I hesitate for a second to marvel over the attention to detail. The dessert is perfection on a plate. I tentatively dig my fork into the delicate pink nest sitting on top of an even paler pink sponge base. The cake stands just over three-inches high and, miraculously, I manage to extract a thin sliver without totally wrecking it. Nervous tension makes my hand waver a little as I guide the fork back to my mouth. They are all watching me intently and Ant looks decidedly nervous, making no attempt to follow my lead.

Then the taste explosion hits me.

‘You paused for a moment there before you took a bite, which for me means we did a good job. How the dish is presented is the first part of the culinary experience. And now, what are you picking up? Tell me!’ Rick Oliver’s voice is demanding, as his eyes search my face. His mood has changed and his brow furrows into a deep frown.

‘Strawberry. Bubblegum? And… crystallised pear?’ My voice rises with incredulity and he laughs.

‘Spot on. I told you, Cathy. Discerning diners will be able to differentiate each of the flavours and that’s why we need to sneak in the little surprises.’

One glance in Cathy’s direction and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. When her smile slips for a moment or two, what I see on the face of the music industry’s sweetheart is annoyance. It’s clear that she is a very hands-on partner and not just an investor, even though her background is far removed from the food industry.

The restaurant has gained a following in record time, not least, I’m sure, because some of the diners come in the hope of catching sight of her, but the memories diners leave with are all about the food. And, surely, that’s down to Rick and his team, including sous-chef, Pierre Verbier. But the relationship between Cathy and Rick seems more complicated. Perhaps the rumours of a romance are true, because she’s sporting a huge engagement ring.

‘Yes, well, let’s agree to disagree about the bubblegum flavour, shall we? Right, I have some urgent calls to make, but once you are all set up for the formal photographs, please send someone to find me. I’ll leave you in Rick’s hands until then.’ Her tone is curt and there’s a residual moment of awkwardness as she disappears out of earshot. Clearly, while Cathy might not want to answer any questions, her business head is telling her the smart thing is to make sure her face appears in the spread.

I forage around in my bag, pulling out a notepad, pen and phone, placing them on the coffee table in front of me.
‘Rick, is it okay with you if I make a few notes as we talk? And would you be comfortable if I also use a recording app?’ The important thing now is that I make him feel at ease. Our email exchanges leading up to today have been extremely encouraging and chatty, so I’m not anticipating any problems.

‘As long as you don’t ask any questions I don’t want to answer, it’s fine by me. But first, your tasting session isn’t over,’ he replies. It’s obvious from the way he flashes his eyes at me, that it’s food first, always.

I glance at Ant, who immediately begins tucking in. He’ll eat anything, but as for appreciating the finer details, he’s no gastronome.

‘I’m interested to see what you think of the butter cake,’ Rick.

I stoop forward to rescue a forkful, after Ant has succeeded in decimating the perfect little tower. Popping it into my mouth, I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them, Rick is, again, watching with interest. Both Ant’s bio and mine were in the pre-interview pack. In my case, after freelancing for several newspapers around the country, writing independent reviews for local restaurants, I gained a following. Now I have my dream job. I’m here today because I have a reputation for picking up on even the subtlest of flavours. There is a bit of a frustrated chef inside of me but, sadly, my talents lie elsewhere. I might not be able to conjure up a truly memorable plate of food, but my taste buds don’t lie, and my skill is in sharing the experience with my readers. If
I’m not mistaken, Rick looks like he’s actually holding his breath.

‘Smooth, buttery and the crunch of the pistachios is a wonderful contrast, but – oh – that hint of rose… it lingers on the tongue. Wonderful.’

Rick sits back in his chair beaming, and I look at him, a tad embarrassed. As we stare down at the platter, the chocolate truffle which is now merely crumbs. I turn to look at Ant.

‘Best truffle I’ve ever had,’ he replies, and both Rick and I begin to laugh.

While I might not have made the best first impression with Cathy, Rick Oliver is turning out to be a pleasant surprise. He is, without a doubt, a daunting presence in the kitchen, but with great skill and talent comes great passion, and you can tell immediately that he has plenty of that. I don’t think I can recall ever meeting a man where two words instantly jumped into my head like they did with Rick – enthralling and dynamic. With him, you simply know you are in the presence of someone remarkable.

* * *

‘Hey, Dad, how are you doing?’

‘I’m good, Lainey. What’s happening with you? Problems?’

There’s no fooling Dad. Having spent most of his career working as an investigative journalist, even when he can’t read my body language, he immediately picks up on the tone of my voice. And my tone tonight is, sadly, a tad deflated. I settle back against the cushions and draw my legs up onto the sofa.

‘I have a dilemma. I’ve been asked to cut a few things from an article I wrote last week about a smart new restaurant that is the place to go right now. If you can succeed in getting a reservation, that is.’

There’s an ominous silence before he clears his throat. ‘Asked, or told?’

‘Yes, well, it was presented as a suggestion, but I did a little nosing around and my boss’s assistant confirmed my suspicions. There was a closed-door telephone conversation with the agent of one of the two people I interviewed.’

‘Ah, bit of a delicate situation, is it?’

Dad knows all about that. Being labelled a whistle-blower shut a lot of doors for him. Now he writes fiction for a living and his days are spent creating and solving crimes; how close they come to mirroring reality, I dread to think. However, he’s at a point in his life now where he can be prosaic about the price he paid and grateful to have moved on. Dad has a growing fan base who appreciate the realism in his stories and that has done wonders to lift him out of the depression that claimed him for a while. But he’ll never get over the way people he considered to be staunch friends, and long-term colleagues, rushed to distance themselves from him when he wrote his exposé of a scandalous cover-up. The fallout was ugly at the time, but he refused to be a part of a scam and that took courage.

‘It’s not exactly contentious,’ I explain. ‘I simply aired a few truths. It’s a fabulous restaurant with amazing food, but the two partners have an unusual, and somewhat volatile, relationship. There were a couple of explosive conversations going on in the kitchen when Ant and I first arrived. I hung around outside the next day and managed to bump into one of the waiters. It was obvious he had something he wanted to say, as he accepted my offer of grabbing a quick coffee together. He was naturally a little guarded, but apparently a pan was thrown across the kitchen and it wasn’t the first time.’

‘Who did the throwing?’

‘I can’t say for sure, but he did tell me that the chef’s business partner had a meltdown and the kitchen staff couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. All of this was going on in the background as Ant and I were waiting to begin the interview. I didn’t put any of that in the article, of course, but our readers are interested in the dynamics between this power couple, as she’s a big name in the music industry.’

‘Ah, and you gave a little insight into that?’

‘I was only repeating the words that came out of her mouth. This is a couple who don’t see eye-to-eye on everything and she’s no silent partner, I can tell you that for a fact as I saw her in action. I was diplomatic, naturally, but if I cut out all references to her, then it’s just an ad for the restaurant and the readers are going to wonder why I’ve skipped over the obvious question on everyone’s lips.’

Dad sighs. ‘Compromise is never easy, Lainey. Especially when you sniff out a story, like a subplot going on behind the scenes. But my advice is to stick to the remit, bearing in mind that it’s a food magazine and the fact that you’re still very new there.’

I guess he’s right. Having started my career as a freelance reporter for several local newspapers, I’m probably too used to everything being about getting a lead and jumping on it to see what I can dig up. Old habits are hard to shift. ‘You know me, Dad. I try to see things through the eyes of my readers and answer the questions I think will be in the forefront of their minds. It’s a good article and Ant did an amazing job of the photo spread, but it rankles with me to gloss over the human element of the story. I mean, they are a dynamic duo, but sparks are flying and that might be the reason why the restaurant is so successful. I could be the first one to put that into print.’

Dad let’s out a loud hmm, as he mulls it over. ‘Whether it’s a favour being asked of someone at the top or concerns about being sued if a complaint is filed, you’ve obviously touched a raw nerve somewhere, my darling. I’m not saying there aren’t times when it’s worth sticking your neck out, as that would make me a hypocrite, wouldn’t it? But, as tempting as it might be to say it as it is, my advice is that you choose your battles. And is this one really worth it? You aren’t writing for a celebrity gossip magazine, are you, and perhaps that’s the point your editor is trying to make.’

‘But I was shocked at the difference between the sweet, public persona of a well-known icon and the sharp businesswoman I glimpsed that day. It’s not unheard of for a chef to throw a wobbly, as they’re all perfectionists, but she’s even opinionated about the food. And the truth is that the chef was noticeably different when she joined us for the photographic session at the end of the interview.’

A little laugh echoes down the phone line.

‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Lainey, does it? No one is going to tell you what to write, but, look, have you considered that you might have caught her on a bad day? If she’s popular, then I seriously doubt that she spends much of her time there, anyway. Just grab a coffee, sit down quietly and go through your article line by line. Switch off and focus on the words. Your instincts will tell you what to do now that you know there might be one or two things that come across as a little contentious, or superfluous – dare I say. Does a row, or two, in the kitchen spoil the gastronomic experience for the diners? Who knows what goes on behind the scenes in any restaurant and if the food is good, surely that’s your story in a nutshell.’

Dad is right, of course, and I have the distinct feeling that he was being diplomatic when he used the word superfluous, because I think what he wanted to say was judgemental. ‘I hear what you’re saying, but won’t people wonder why I didn’t see the obvious power dynamics if I totally ignore what is a huge and potentially destabilising factor in this unusual partnership?’

‘Read it through again and if you still feel the same way, then resubmit it and see what happens. The decision may well be made for you, anyway, you know how it is, and if that’s the case, then take it on the chin. It’s not worth making waves so early on when this job is perfect for you. You’re a foodie at heart and your reviews inspire people who appreciate the way you are able to deconstruct flavours and verbalise taste sensations. If readers can’t visit the restaurant in person, it might encourage them to experiment with a new combination of flavours, at home. That’s where your focus lies now, so don’t forget that.’

‘Oh, Dad. Why do I have this need to always tell the truth, warts and all, as Mum would say. To me, leaving something out feels as bad as telling a lie.’

‘Because that’s the way we brought you up, Lainey. But the world is changing, and it doesn’t hurt to stand back at times and consider what’s best for you and your situation. I ploughed forward to fight for something I believed in and it ended up turning our lives upside down, and that’s something I will always regret.’

‘Ah, Dad, please don’t feel bad. I’m proud of you and we got through it. And I think being an author suits you! Right, I’ll make myself a strong coffee and then look at the bigger picture.’

Dad gives a throaty little laugh. He knows this decision could go either way. ‘Talking of your mother, have you checked on her lately?’

‘No. We talk probably once a month, but getting to grips with the new job means that life’s been hectic.’

His silence feels like an accusation.

‘I know,’ I blurt out, ‘that’s just an excuse. But I still struggle to accept Mum’s decision, after the divorce, to run off to France so she could follow her dream. I want her to be happy, of course I do, but I know you still love her.’

Clearing his throat, Dad’s tone is firm. ‘Let’s not go there now, Lainey. Besides, she didn’t run off, she’s free to do exactly as she pleases. It was all my fault. Just don’t forget that your mum’s been through hell and she deserves a quiet, happy life. Don’t make her feel guilty about that.’

What I admire most about Dad is that even though life will never be quite the same again for him, he can still stand back and apply that logical common sense of his. His heart might be broken, but he doesn’t blame Mum for that, he blames himself. And in a way, he’s right, but how was he to know things would go the way they did?

‘Point taken. I’ll try harder, I promise. We’ll speak soon, Dad. Love ya.’

As the phone line disconnects, a sense of emptiness washes over me. Or is it a niggling resentment for what happened to my parents? When two people are right for each other, it’s tantamount to a crime to let other people cause so much havoc that it tears them apart. And I still can’t let that thought go….