us even.”
“Come down to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a sandwich,” he said, looking pleased to be let off the hook so easily.
“You will? But... are you sure it’s okay?” As she wondered why a guest would be so free with the pub’s kitchen, a wave of light-headedness swept over her.
They stared at one another in consternation for a moment, then his face cleared and he said, “I live here. I should have said. It’s Geoff Genovase—Brian’s my dad.”
The information took a moment to click into place, then she said, “Oh, of course. Silly of me not to have twigged.” Now that she knew, she could see it in the set of his shoulders, the shape of his head, the quick flash of his smile. “That’s all right, then.”
A little unsteadily, she followed him down to the kitchen. He seated her at a small table wedged into a space near the gas cooker, then opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. “Cheese and pickle okay? That’s what I was thinking of having.”
“Lovely.” As he rummaged in the fridge, she looked around the room. The kitchen was small but professionally equipped, from the stainless-steel cooker to the scarred worktable.
Geoff sliced the crumbly cheddar and assembled the ingredients with the deftness of one who had grown up helping out in the kitchen, and in a few moments carried two plates of thick wholemeal sandwiches to the table. “Go ahead,” he urged her. “Don’t be polite. I’ve put the kettle on, and I’ll have us some tea in a minute.” As Gemma bit into her sandwich, he ran hot water into a brown earthenware pot to warm it. She made herself chew slowly, closing her eyes and tasting the buttery richness of the cheddar against the dark, sweet sharpness of the pickle. After the first few bites she felt her muscles begin to relax.
Geoff emptied the warm water from the pot and spooned in tea. With his back to her, he said, “You’re the lady copper, aren’t you? Brian told me you came last night.” He added boiling water from the kettle on the cooker, then brought the pot and two mugs to the table. “Milk?” Mouth too full to speak, Gemma nodded, and he returned to the fridge for a pint bottle. “Sugar’s on the table,” he said as he slid into the chair across from her.
“Did you know him?” Gemma asked, having managed to swallow. “Commander Gilbert, I mean.”
“Course I did. Place like this, you can’t not know people.” Even around a mouthful of bread and cheese, his tone held disgust.
“It must be hard for you,” said Gemma, her curiosity aroused. “Living in such a small village, I wouldn’t think there’d be a lot going in the way of social life.”
Lots of young people stayed on with their parents when they couldn’t find work—it was an economic fact of life. There’d been times after Rob left that she’d been afraid she and Toby might have to go back to her parents’ small flat above the bakery, and the idea had horrified her. Geoff merely shrugged and said, “It’s all right.”
“The sandwich is super,” she said, washing down a bite with a mouthful of the tea he’d poured her. When he gave her a gratified smile, she ventured, “What do you do? For a job, I mean?”
He waited until he’d finished chewing before answering. “Oh, this and that. Mostly I help Brian out around the pub.” Pushing away from the table, he stood up and reached into the cupboard above the cooker. “Look.” He snagged a package of biscuits and held it out for her inspection. “I know just what we need to finish up.”
“Chocolate digestives?” Gemma said with a sigh of contentment. “The plain ones, too. My favorite.” She ate in silence for a few minutes, and when she’d finished her sandwich, she separated a biscuit from the stack and nibbled on its edge. Geoff had undoubtedly shied away from the personal—she’d try the general again. “You must have been pretty shocked when you heard about the commander. Were you here last
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