Authors: Laura Lockington
We
sat down companionably back on the port wall and I handed him a saffron bun. We chewed on the fruity sweet dough that was sticky in the middle in a friendly silence, letting Baxter catch the crumbs. Jace cocked his head at the new shop, and said in disgust, “Bound to make money, too.”
I
nodded in agreement. It was Catch 22, really. Port Charles needed the tourists, the tourists it seemed needed the tat. I saw out of the corner of my eye two girls, tourists or emmets, as they are known in this part of the world, saunter down the cobbled road that leads around the port. They eyed Jace up, and did the usual girly thing of smoothing their hair and adjusting their clothes. I glanced at Jace, but for once he was oblivious to it.
In
fact, when I looked closely at him, he seemed quite morose.
“Anything
wrong, Jace?” I said, privately thinking that there must be something troubling him for him to ignore such a golden opportunity as two fresh faced emmets.
“It’s
me mum,” he said, gazing out over the sea.
His
mother, the enchantingly named Pritti was a small, determined woman from an intriguing background of Indian, Srilankan, Irish, and Pakistani roots, who ran the family with ruthless efficiency. It can’t have been easy being the only Asian family to have settled in Port Charles, but she had managed it. Jace had been born here, along with his sisters who helped out in the shop. His father, Rasheed, had died many years ago. He had been a charmer, a dandy and a strutting peacock of a man. He wore long Indian silk shirts and carried an ebony cane with a silver top. From what I had pieced together he had squandered all his money, and left Pritti and his family penniless when he died.
Pritti
grew fields full of coriander and fenugreek, which Jace sold along side all his other vegetables. The Rampersauds were a good looking, exotic bunch and seemed to have integrated into the close Cornish community well, or so I had always thought.
“What
is it?” I asked.
“She
only wants me to get married, that’s all, to a girl from back home.” Jace said despondently.
Oh,
dear. I could quite see how that would cramp they style of the local Romeo.
“Have
you met her?” I said.
“Nah,
she’s some sorta cousin or somethin’.” He turned to me and giving the full force of his persuasive charm, said, “Look, Fin, when you see me mum, about the onions an’ all, could you have a word? You know, tell her that it’s not on, you know, that sorta thing isn’t done any more and –“
“Whoa,
there tiger. I don’t think I can really do that, can I?” I said uncomfortably, with thoughts of arranged marriages jumping around my head, with another surprising fleeting thought that I wished someone would arrange a match for me. After all, weren’t arranged marriages now thought to be quite a
good
thing? I don’t mean forced marriages, but properly arranged. I mean, I’m sure if you are a young girl it must be terrifying, but all the statistics proved that a lot of couples were very happy, with the families knowing what was best for their children. Marrying anyone was a huge risk anyway, perhaps this way was one that actually worked? Then again, I was probably justifying it to wriggle out of talking to Pritti.
Jace
heaved a sigh, and looked despairingly at me.
“I’ll
do my best, but I’m not promising anything, OK? Besides, Nancy and Pritti are partners in crime, aren’t they? It’d be better off coming from her,” I said, knowing that I would probably make a mess of it and unwittingly insult Pritti.
Jace
thanked me, and said sloped off, looking like a panther on the prowl.
I
watched him walk away, thinking not for the first time what a stunner he was. The two young emmets certainly thought so as they positively leered at him as he sauntered past them. I could tell he was feeling a little better, as he casually gave them a slow smile. They both giggled and nudged each other with colt like elbows.
It
was tempting to sit in the pale sun and watch the world go by, Port Charles was hardly St Mark’s Square, and therefore not the drawing room of Europe, but it had its charms nevertheless.
I
reluctantly stood up, and giving Baxter a gentle tug, headed for home.
Nancy
was still in bed when I finally arrived back, having been distracted for a good three quarters of an hour by Baxter, who had given me the slip and gone back to investigate the badgers set. I settled myself for an afternoons work in the kitchen, poaching the salmon, making the marinade for the prawns for the picnic and playing around with ideas for the onions.
Nelson
gave his customary pre-telephone ring screech, and I answered the damn thing, wiping my fishy hands on a tea towel.
“Fin,
darling, what’s the weather like?”
“Hello
Harry,” I said, looking out the window. “Hmm, well, I’ve got a bit of a hangover, it’s bracingly breezy and sunny, so I think 12 million Jewish mums can’t be wrong, it’s simply got to be chicken noodle, hasn’t it?”
“You’re
getting very traditional, aren’t you?” Harry teased.
“That’s
as maybe, “I said sternly, “Anyway, I’m in the middle of skinning a salmon, what do you want?”
“Change
of plan, Oliver has a break in his shooting schedule, and wants to come tomorrow and-”
I
interrupted him immediately,” Absolutely impossible, I’m afraid. It’s the beach picnic and-”
“I
know, I know, but Fin, this is
very
important,” Harry’s voice held a hint of clamp jawed desperation in it, and I guessed that Oliver bloody Dean was in his office.
“He’s
there, isn’t he?” I said accusingly.
“Umm,
yes,” Harry said in a bright voice, trying to sound up beat. “I’m pretty sure that I can get away too, but not for a few days, so how does that sound?”
“It
sounds like hell, if you want to know the truth, and I hate being railroaded, but I see that I am beaten,” I said tartly.
Harry
gave a hearty fake laugh, and I hoped to god that I wasn’t on speaker phone. “I’ll tell Oliver to call you when he gets to the station, shall I? And you can pick him up.”
“Why
isn’t he driving down?” I asked, knowing that there was a fair chance of him getting lost if he did.
“I
don’t know why, would you like to ask him?” Harry said sweetly.
“No!
Oh, OK, I’ll meet him at the station, but it had better be in the morning because I shall be on the beach in the afternoon and-”
“Yes,
yes, I understand. I’ll call you later Fin. Bye darling!”
Bloody
hell. I skinned and sliced a cucumber with quick vicious strokes, slapping them onto the cold salmon, and gluing them in place with mayonnaise.
Nancy
wandered in to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She glanced down at the fish and said, “Oh how
lovely
, very ‘70’s isn’t it? Reminds me of Abigail’s Party and Black Forest Gateau, of course Port Charles won’t see it like that at all Fin, I do think you’re clever darling… would you like some tea?”
“No
thanks, I’m going to make up the bed in the Yellow Room.” I said shortly.
“Oh
dear, does that mean that the bloody TV chef is arriving earlier than expected?” Nancy said sympathetically, then looked nervously at Nelson, who for once hadn’t picked up on it. “Whoops, we’d better be careful, hadn’t we?”
“It
won’t make any difference, you could say ‘bluebells are divine’ ten thousand times, and say ‘burn the priests’ once, and you know which one he’d pick up,” I said bitterly.
Nancy
laughed, and squeezed my arm. She whooshed some boiling water around the battered silver teapot that we used in the kitchen and serenely set out her tea things. I motioned to the saffron cake that I had bought earlier and she made a delighted face of appreciation.
“Oliver
Dean
might
well be a very nice person and we might well like him, and we might, just
might
all get on very well and have a marvellous time, and he might have a wonderful idea for the onions and-”
“And
pigs
might
fly,” I added, smiling at her as I swished out of the room to make the bloody bed.