In the kitchen, with aprons in place and folders open, guests reached for pens and chattered as they waited for class to begin. Fran sat next to Bridgette and nervously flicked through the pages of her notebook. She hadn’t confided in anyone about her drawing on Daniel’s jacket, despite the whispers at breakfast and a chain reaction of shock and amusement amongst the guests. Instead, she’d kept quiet and changed the subject whenever it was discussed.
‘I wonder who the culprit of the cartoon cock is?’ Sally asked as she sat down.
‘It could be anyone with a grudge; Daniel can be rude at times,’ Bridgette replied.
‘I think it’s hilarious.’ Sally readied her camera to catch images of the class and fiddled with the lens.
Fran didn’t comment and feigned fascination as she watched Sally in her professional mode.
‘Does Daniel know?’ Bridgette asked.
‘He hasn’t a clue, and I have no intention of telling him,’ Sally said as she adjusted the lens’s focus to ensure the correct depth of field.
‘I don’t understand how he doesn’t know?’ Fran was puzzled and couldn’t imagine how the chef had removed the jacket without seeing her artwork.
‘Didn’t you notice?’ Sally turned her attention to Fran. ‘As everyone was retiring, Angelique cleared the table.’ Sally lowered her voice as she continued, ‘She accidentally spilt Ahmed’s tomato sauce on Daniel’s sleeve.’
‘Eh?’ Fran was even more puzzled.
‘Angelique insisted that Daniel remove his jacket immediately so she could attend to the stain.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Fran pursed her lips. She’d been so worried and barely noticed Angelique and Daniel leaving Waltho’s sitting room together. She’d gone to bed before they came back.
‘Angelique helped Daniel slip out of the offending garment before he had time to notice,’ Sally explained.
‘So he had no idea?’
‘None,’ Sally smiled. ‘In fact, he was in a great mood, and we stayed up late, swimming in the moonlight.’ Turning to Bridgette, she called out, ‘Did you enjoy your swim?’
‘First class,’ Bridgette replied.
Sally turned back to Fran and nudged her arm. ‘A penny for your thoughts? You seem far away.’
‘Er, sorry. I was thinking…’ Desperate to change the subject, Fran sat up and looked around. ‘How lovely Bridgette’s outfit is today.’
Bridgette was wearing a pantsuit patterned with bees, birds and colourful bougainvillaea. In her hair, she’d knotted a butterfly-decorated scarf.
Seeing their glances, Bridgette smoothed her hands over the vibrant fabric. ‘I bought this ensemble as a guest speaker,’ she proudly explained, ‘on an Amazon River boat cruise deep in South America. I think it’s rather fetching, don’t you?’
‘Fabulous.’ Fran nodded and wondered what the local Amazonians thought of it.
‘But you’re treating us to French chic today,’ Bridgette said as she studied Fran’s get-up. ‘I’ve never been brave enough to wear a beret, but seeing how attractive it looks on you, I might be tempted.’
‘Sid chose it,’ Fran said, glancing down at her Breton top and navy cut-offs. She touched a hand to her beret, adjusting the angle over one ear. ‘He said that while in France, I must do my best to fit in.’
Sally focused her camera on the pair. She couldn’t remember a French woman dressing like Fran and wondered where the outfit had come from. The horizontal lines on Fran’s top did nothing to flatter her figure, and Bridgette’s outfit resembled a botanical garden. But the pair had charisma and oozed fun.
‘A photo, please,’ Sally said, not wishing to miss an opportunity. ‘Can you stand together and hold something that suggests “cookery” as you smile?’
* * *
When Caroline entered the kitchen, the first thing she saw was Bridgette’s arm around Fran’s shoulder and the pair beaming for Sally’s camera. While Bridgette picked up a knife, Fran waved a whisk and a wooden spoon.
‘Smile for the Sunday supplements!’ Sally called out as she clicked away.
‘This will put bums on seats for future courses.’ Fran grinned.
Unnoticed, Caroline slid onto a chair at the end of the table.
Moments later, Daniel and Tomas came into the kitchen. Both carried covered trays.
‘Good morning, how are we all?’ Daniel asked. Not waiting for guests to reply, he began the class. ‘Today is all about fish,’ he said. ‘With the fish and chip expert in residence, Fran may be telling me what to do.’
Caroline saw Fran flop back in her chair. A smile spread across her face. She knows that her chip shop experience will help her sail through this class! Caroline thought.
‘But Chef,’ Fran grinned, ‘you can always teach an old dog new tricks.’
Caroline picked up a pen and focused. Fran’s comment was debatable.
‘I love fish!’ Ahmed called out, his expression eager as he soaked up Daniel’s words.
‘Then you are in the right class,’ Daniel acknowledged. ‘Fish is good for you and very healthy to eat. You don’t have to be an expert to prepare it, but you must know what to do.’
With a theatrical gesture, he held the cloths covering the trays and revealed a mountain of uncooked fish. Guests oohed and aahed and sat forward to study the variety.
‘Many people are squeamish when it comes to preparation.’
‘I don’t eat fish because of all the bones,’ one of the expats said.
‘Exactly.’ Daniel turned to the person who’d spoken. ‘If you prefer not to fillet and gut the fish yourself, ask your fishmonger to do this simple task.’ He picked up a sea bass and held it high. ‘First, you must check that the eyes are bright.’
From her seat on a stool, Fran looked puzzled. The eyes on the fish Daniel held were as dull and dead as a doornail, never to blink or wink again.
‘Secondly,’ he continued, ‘look inside the gills, which should be pink.’ Like a surgeon undergoing a procedure, he poked about with his knife to make his point. ‘Then, smell the fish.’ Daniel closed his eyes and ran his nose along the cold, scaley flesh.
Some of the guests recoiled.
‘Fresh fish smells of the sea,’ Daniel announced. He slapped the fish onto a marble slab and, taking a razor-sharp cleaver, chopped off the head and tail. With a long filleting knife, Daniel opened the belly and drew out the contents, tossing the bloody mass into a dish. He threw the gutted object to Tomas, who turned on a tap to clean the sea bass.
‘Whatever you do, don’t overcook fish. Cook it gently.’ Daniel washed his bloody fingers. ‘This isn’t the 1950s, and no one boils fish anymore.’
‘My mother used to boil cod bone dry then serve it with a lumpy parsley sauce,’ Bridgette commented. ‘It was hideous.’
Daniel ignored Bridgette. ‘If you poach fish, remove the skin before serving,’ he said. ‘If you grill it, leave the skin on as it protects the flesh.’ He took the fish from Tomas, returned it to the slab, sliced down the back, and started removing the spine. ‘If you fry your fish, use butter and don’t complicate the cooking.’
Fran was captivated as she watched Daniel prepare two fillets, taking a pair of tweezers to remove the last of the bones. There wasn’t much that Daniel could tell her about the process of filleting and frying fish. She’d handled thousands over the years.
Phew! Fran thought as he meticulously plucked the tiny bones. Daniel hadn’t referred to the jacket incident, and surely he would have mentioned it. Despite her fears, and to her relief, it looked like she’d got away with it.
Fran sat up and paid attention.
‘If you insist on battering your fish, please use the best batter possible.’ Daniel told the class. ‘As we have an award-winning batter authority, this is a recipe Fran can share with the class.’
Fran folded her arms. There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance that she would ever share her batter recipe. Like the French with their macarons, she’d never written down her secret, and only Sid knew the components of the best batter in Blackpool and beyond. Fish fryers throughout Lancashire had been vying for ingredient clues for years, and it was no wonder that Fran’s Fish ’n’ Chips had won medals at the annual National Fish & Chip Awards. Despite being offered considerable financial reward, she’d fought off local competition from the likes of Fry-Daddy in Fleetwood, The Codfather in Cleveleys, and the Laughing Lobster in Lytham. Fran wasn’t about to divulge any details, no matter how many requests Daniel made.
‘Sorry. No can do.’ Fran was firm.
‘Surely you can give us a hint?’ Daniel had a menacing expression as he tilted his head.
Fran wondered if the chef was issuing a threat. Perhaps he did know about her artwork after all?
‘Well…’ Fran began, searching for a compromise. ‘I always use expensive sparkling spa water to mix with the flour. That’s the main tip I can give you.’ She was lying through her teeth, but Daniel would never know. ‘Add plenty of pepper, too,’ she added.
‘Perfect!’ Daniel clapped his hands. ‘Now, I want you to all take a fish, or a mollusc, and decide how you would like it to be served for dinner, and Tomas and I will help you create something spectacular.’
As the guests crowded around the fish, Sally turned to Fran. ‘Do you really use spa water in your batter?’ she asked.
‘I’d have to kill you if I gave you the recipe,’ Fran said and wriggled into her apron.
‘Go on. You can tell me.’
‘And see my secret in one of the Sundays?’ Fran raised her pencilled eyebrows. ‘Every chippy in the country would be falling over themselves to buy a copy.’
‘I promise I’ll never tell.’ Sally placed her hand across her heart.
‘Very well, but this goes no further…’ Fran looked over her shoulder and dipped her head to whisper. ‘I use Corporation Pop.’
‘Corporation Pop?’
‘Aye, the Fylde Coast’s finest.’
Sally laughed. ‘Oh Fran. Tap water? That’s hilarious. And you said to add plenty of pepper?’
‘Pepper? Are you insane?’ Fran’s eyes were wide. ‘The fish we serve has a delicate seasoning in the batter that I prepare myself. A secret I’ll never disclose.’
Fran turned to the trays and realised they were almost empty. ‘Looks like we’re the last. Let’s see what’s left for us to work a miracle with.’
They moved towards the almost empty trays.
Sally frowned and pulled a face, ‘What are these?’ she asked, ‘I’m not sure what to do. In fact, I don’t even want to touch them.’ She stepped back.
The elongated, torpedo-shaped body of two gelatinous objects lay lifeless on a tray. Fran leaned in to study their long tentacles and poked at the suckers with her finger.
‘Are they squid?’ Sally asked. She wrinkled her nose and folded her arms. ‘I love to eat them, but I’m not sure about turning these into a plate of calamari?’
‘No, lass, these are octopuses,’ Fran breathed, ‘they’re molluscs; such beautiful creatures.’ In awe, she touched the parrot-like beaks, which she knew were used to break open the shells of their prey. ‘Did you know that they can see in colour?’ she asked. ‘And they are the masters of camouflage, able to blend into their surroundings.’ Respectfully, Fran stroked the slippery skin. ‘They change in pattern, dependant on their mood.’
‘Goodness, how clever.’ Sally’s curiosity was piqued, and she reached for her camera and moved closer.
‘Aye, these gorgeous creatures have three hearts, would you believe, and they live in oceans worldwide and are extremely intelligent.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, they can learn and solve problems and are skilled hunters. They expel water through a syphon.’ Fran pointed to a small funnel on the body of the creature. ‘It allows them to swim, crawl, and even fly for short distances.’
‘How do you know so much about them?’ Sally asked.
‘It’s not just marine biologists who are fascinated by the species. Sid and I have all sorts of fish chalked up on our menu – whatever we can source from our supplier in Fleetwood. It mostly comes from the North Atlantic.’
‘Goodness, there’s much more to fish and chips than I imagined,’ Sally said.
‘You better believe it, and don’t get me started on the best variety of potatoes for chips and the perfect oil for frying.’
‘No wonder you’ve been so successful.’
‘We won’t be very successful with this lot if we don’t get a move on,’ Fran replied. ‘Here, grab hold of this.’
‘Ugh,’ Sally said as Fran passed her an octopus.
‘I forgot to mention something,’ Fran added as they returned to the table to decide what to make. She stroked her octopus. ‘These little creatures reproduce just once in their life. The females lay thousands of eggs and take great care to waft water over the eggs to give their babies oxygen.’
‘Sounds like a lot of hard work.’
‘It is.’ Fran smiled. ‘Good job, you’re not an octopus.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because not long after the female octopus reproduces, she dies.’