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- Herausgeber: Honno Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
The happy ending is just the beginning... Mother and daughter, Grace and Kat, have found their dream lives in beautiful Montenegro. Kat is head chef at the Café Lompar and engaged to her beloved Milo. Grace loves dividing her time between the Café and home in Bath with Neil. But in the sunshine, storms start to gather: wedding preparations show Kat a side of Milo she didn't know, Neil wants more from Grace than a long-distance relationship, and the new restaurant next door to the Café Lompar seems ruthlessly determined to steal Kat's customers and staff. With everything on the line - love, work and family - Kat and Grace make mistakes and must decide what they really want. Will there be a wedding at all? Will the café survive? Both women will find that dreams are worth fighting for. Sequel to Love at Cafe Lompar, which is shortlisted for the Romantic Novelists' Association's Katie Fforde Debut Romantic Novel Award 2022 'A gloriously summery and transporting read' Caroline Sanderson, The Bookseller highlight. 'I was captivated' Kate Glanville. 'Wow... I think I've just found my new favourite summer read ...This is an easy 5 stars for me.' @heididandherbooks (Instagram).
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iii
A WEDDING AT CAFÉ LOMPAR
Anna and Jacqui Burns
HONNO MODERN FICTION
v
You must do the things you think you cannot do.
Eleanor Roosevelt
To all women everywhere − you’re stronger than you think.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Kat
I caught my reflection in the stainless-steel frying pan and noticed the sheen on my forehead. The lights were so bright and hot, no amount of powder caked on by the make-up artist could stop the beads of sweat showing. I could barely see the audience; they’d dimmed to black shapes behind the glare. I exhaled, trying to keep calm, but I could hear the rush of blood in my ears.
No matter how many times I’d been on TV, it always filled me with nerves.
A cameraman swung the heavy black machine in my direction, paused to look at his screen, then gave me a thumbs up. My segment was next.
‘By now you’d have to be living under a rock not to have heard of Café Lompar. The seaside restaurant in Tivat has been making waves in the food scene since they reopened last year, and I’m very lucky to have head chef Kat Lompar here to talk more about it and give us a demonstration.’ Lena Simovic strolled confidently across the studio, microphone poised in hand. She was such a skilled presenter, host of Montenegrin’s prime-time breakfast show at the age of twenty-five. Her blonde highlights shimmered in the studio lighting, perfectly coifed curls settling at her shoulders. There was no hint of a nervous, shiny forehead on Lena. 2
Behind her, I saw the studio team rush to clear away the last item, an interview with a politician. The man was shaking hands as he was ushered off set. I hadn’t listened much, my nerves getting the better of me. I’d done a few interviews by now, but it didn’t get easier. I never knew what the interviewer was really interested in: if they’d want to celebrate the food or stick the knife into our family scandals.
We had a moment to get in position while the introduction played. Lena joined my station, a makeshift stand of kitchen units on wheels. She extended a hand in greeting. ‘Hi Kat, nice to meet you.’
‘Nice to meet you too,’ I said, my voice wavering. I shook her hand and noticed she held on a beat longer than necessary. I’d never greeted TV royalty like Lena before. Was I expected to curtsey?
The monitor behind me showed a few pictures of our restaurant, including my favourite shot of our family of four laughing outside on the beach. I smiled, remembering my engagement party last spring.
The cameras panned back to us as Lena said, ‘Welcome, Kat, it’s a pleasure to have you here.’
‘Thank you for having me.’ I hoped I’d absorbed some of her confidence in that hand shake. I tried to keep my shoulders back and just ignore the camera, as Mum had told me a hundred times.
‘You’ve had such great success in the last year. Why don’t you tell us a bit about Café Lompar and how you came to be there?’
‘Well, I used to work as a chef in London, before coming to Montenegro after the death of my father. My mum and I 3discovered he had another family living here.’ I had told this story before and I started to relax, waiting for the familiar gasp of shock from the audience and their pitying expressions. ‘Call us crazy or not, but we knew we had to meet them, and so we came to visit my half-brother, Luka, and his mother, Rosa. They owned Café Lompar, they needed a chef, and I started cooking at the restaurant. The rest as they say is history. Now, we’re proud of our story and our background; all families are complicated, but love is the most important thing.’
‘And good food, of course.’ Lena gestured to the screen behind us, where photographs of our food were being shown.
‘Of course. I absolutely fell in love with traditional Montenegrin cooking, but wanted to put my own stamp on it. That’s my favourite dish.’ I saw the orada sea bass with a lemon and wild garlic reduction magnified on screen. ‘The flavours are so simple but together they really showcase the amazing fish we have on the Montenegrin coast.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard the fish at Café Lompar is caught locally by a very handsome man.’ Lena gave the camera an over-exaggerated wink.
‘That would be my fiancé, Milo,’ I said, sounding coyer than I’d intended. ‘Our restaurant’s secret ingredient.’
‘From what I hear, you are the secret ingredient to the Café’s success,’ Lena laughed, little dimples appearing in her cheeks.
I was quick to say, ‘That’s not true. We’re a real family-run business. We all listen to each other’s ideas and have our own areas of expertise. I’m in the kitchen, Rosa manages the front of house, and my mother Grace works here half the year and runs the marketing from home in Bath in the UK the other half.’ 4
Lena cocked her head to the side. ‘So, your mother actually works with your father’s mistress? Isn’t that awkward?’
I felt my insides churn, that familiar stab. Would we ever get past these digs at our family structure? Sometimes it seemed to be all people wanted to talk about. I wondered if this was another interview where I’d end up talking more about my dad’s affair than the food I was so passionate about.
‘Not at all. We work very well together, despite our shaky foundations.’ I kept my answer clipped, hoping to convey that this was no longer up for discussion.
‘And how have you found working with a different cuisine to your home country? Was it a difficult adjustment?’ Lena asked.
‘My British training and the traditional Montenegrin cuisine blend together more easily than you’d expect,’ I said, giving my practised answer about the shared focus in both countries on using supreme local produce and keeping flavours simple. ‘Montenegro obviously benefits from the sunshine, though, with beautiful citrus fruit and wine here, and from its location, with the best of both the coast and the mountains.’
Lena was nodding along. I was beginning to feel more relaxed. I’d been on a handful of cooking shows since our restaurant gained popularity, and my cookbook, released over Christmas, had sold really well in Montenegro and across Europe. I still had to pinch myself to believe this was all happening. How much life had changed. I’d gone from being under the thumb of a head chef in London who made Gordon Ramsey look like a kitten, to being head chef myself in a foreign country. I’d also swapped a boyfriend who took me for granted, and was now soon-to-be Mrs. Martinovic. 5
Would Dad recognise me if he could see me now? It was an unsettling thought.
‘You’re going to be giving us a demonstration today, aren’t you?’ Lena asked. ‘What are you making for us?’
‘My favourite food in the whole country, but with a Café Lompar twist.’ I gave a dramatic pause. ‘Bureks.’
‘I looove bureks,’ Lena laughed, although looking at her toned physique I guessed she didn’t eat them as often as I did. The buttery savoury pastries with meat and smoky paprika had become something of a snacking obsession since I’d moved to Montenegro.
‘Well, I’m going to make sweet versions with white chocolate and pistachio. Utterly beautiful.’ I smiled. The camera zoomed in on my assembled ingredients. ‘I’m going to show you a few shortcuts so that you can make these easily at home, perfect for a lazy Saturday breakfast.’
As I began, I couldn’t help thinking about last Saturday, when I’d sat next to Milo on our balcony with a pot of coffee and two steaming bureks between us. We’d started planning our wedding, and I was in my element flipping through a bridal magazine with my feet up on the railings, the palm trees rustling in the breeze and traffic noise mixing with the gentle lap of the sea. Of course, I’d flipped straight to the food section of the magazine, tutting as the menu ideas looked too simple, like a child’s birthday party.
I knew the whole family would chastise me for it, but I wanted to cook my own menu. I couldn’t have someone else making food for my wedding. We didn’t want a big event, just family and friends, so I knew me and Lovro, my trusty sous-chef, could handle it. I was envisaging arancini appetisers, beef in red wine 6jus, maybe a chocolate fondant. But I was keeping my plans to myself for now. I wasn’t ready for Milo’s protestations. He’d say I was pushing myself too hard.
Sometimes I was frightened it was true. Recently, being head chef seemed to get harder, not easier, as if I was losing my focus. I was always worried this would slip through my fingers, that it couldn’t be real.
I shook myself and got to work rolling out the shop-bought filo pastry for the bureks. Making my own pastry would taste better, but I’d been told by the breakfast show’s producers to keep it simple for the viewers. I brushed warm butter along the edge of the dough, before adding my filling and curling it into a snail shape.
‘Here’s one I made earlier.’ I took the tray out of the oven, the smell of pastry and warm nuts filling the studio. I hoped my microphone wouldn’t catch the grumble of hunger from my stomach.
‘While we tuck in to these, I just want to know,’ Lena asked, picking up the tiniest sliver of pastry, ‘what’s next for Café Lompar?’
‘Good question,’ I stalled, having never been asked that before. ‘This last year has been such a whirlwind, I think we need to keep doing what we’re doing. As long as we’re making people happy, then we’re one happy family.’
In all honesty, we hadn’t really thought about what was next. We’d been carried along by the popularity of the restaurant, without much room or time for planning.
‘You’re not hoping to move on somewhere else?’ Lena probed, head tilted to the side. ‘A popular and successful chef like you can’t be staying in little Tivat forever?’ 7
I wondered what her game was; whether she was hoping I’d stumble and spill some exclusive story. I scratched my ear nervously, and tried to think of something diplomatic to say.
‘Café Lompar is my heart and soul. I love working there, we all do. We have big things planned in the future, but my lips are sealed for now.’ My stomach flipped. The cookbook and tv appearances were beyond my wildest dreams, but I knew we had no other plans. The success had taken us all by surprise, and I didn’t want to run before I could walk.
‘You heard it here first, guys, big things planned!’ Lena turned to camera. ‘Join us after the break when we’ll be speaking to a local hero who turned redundancy into triumph when she started a new business selling jewellery.’
I marvelled at how quickly the television presenter façade was lost when the cameras were off. Lena turned to sip water through a straw and simultaneously scrolled through her phone. The mega-watt smile had vanished.
I sighed, glad the heat was off me. I wondered what Mum and Rosa would say about the end of the interview.
As I collected my equipment, a shape emerged from the audience. I grinned, able to make out Luka’s face.
‘So? What did you think?’ I asked my half-brother.
‘Do you think Lena’s single?’ He strode to my side. ‘I’m sure I saw her look my way a few times.’
‘Luka, we can’t see anything from up here.’ I gestured out at the studio audience. A few figures had stood up to stretch their legs.
‘I know what I saw,’ he shrugged, then casually grabbed a burek. ‘You’d better introduce me before we leave, the handsome brother.’ 8
‘I thought you were here in pure support?’
‘Please, I’m just here to ferry you back to work before the lunch time rush begins,’ he grinned. It was true, Luka was helping me out while home from uni for the weekend. He leaned against the counter and coughed, angling his body towards Lena.
‘You’re sickening.’ I grinned, as he ran a hand through his hair, quite possibly the cheesiest move I’d ever seen. ‘Do you have anything to say about my interview at all?’
‘It was good. Very mysterious, though. I’m wondering what these big plans are?’
‘Come on, I’m getting you out of here before you start humping the set.’ I swung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door.
‘But Lena? We have time,’ Luka protested, clearly loving the limelight on set.
I groaned. ‘You know we’ve got to get back. It’s a special night tonight.’
CHAPTER TWO
Grace
It was only nine thirty and I could already feel the sun burning my shoulders. I was trying to hold the cobra position when a fly landed on my nose.
‘Inhale for a count of seven. Feel your shoulders expand as the air fills your lungs. Hold it, hold it.’ Milena, the yoga instructor, was incredibly bendy, swapping positions and holding poses as if it were the easiest thing in the world. I had all the grace of a grey seal on a particularly slippery rock. She frowned as she saw me wrinkle my nose. ‘And rel-eeease.’
I sneezed. Oh, dear Lord, I’d leaked again. I crossed my legs quickly. Milena darted me a disapproving look.
At last, my favourite bit, lying on my fuchsia rubber mat as we wound down and meditated. God bless corpse pose. I could hear the swishing of the Adriatic to my right. Not bad for a Monday morning. No fighting the traffic in Bath, no exhaust fumes. Just me – well, and twelve others – on a beach in Tivat, Montenegro. A place I’d only really become familiar with about a year and a half ago, when Dan died and Kat and I came out here to find his ‘secret’ family. It still seemed unreal that I had a home out here, a business too.
I picked up my towel, rolled the mat under my arm and headed along the promenade. A few of the locals nodded and 10greeted me as I passed. A fifty-metre stroll brought me to Café Lompar. I paused. Mine and Kat’s restaurant. And Rosa’s too.
Most of the time I didn’t think about it, but hearing Kat’s interview earlier, everyone’s fascination with how Rosa and me could work together, had reminded me how I felt when I saw this place for the first time. The business owned by Dan’s mistress. When Dan died and I saw those photos… It still had the power to take my breath away. I’m not sure you ever get over a betrayal like that.
It had been more café than restaurant in those days, rustic and rough around the edges. Popular, though, with the locals and passing tourists. Now it was a destination place.
It was already open, and I allowed myself a minute to take it in. Stylish. Classy. The huge bifold windows at the front, offering uninterrupted views of the shimmering Adriatic, were the star of the show. Inside, the thick, maple-wood tables, locally sourced, kept things relaxed in the day and elegant at night, with ivory candelabras and white gardenias on each table. The pale grey granite flooring had cost us a fortune, but had been worth it. We all agreed the impression we wanted to make: a place to enjoy amazing cuisine in laid-back surroundings. My heart skipped a beat. I was proud of it and what we had achieved.
Inside, our staff were working hard. Davor was polishing glasses at the bar, Ana was serving early breakfasters, and Lovro was holding the fort in the kitchen while Kat was away for the morning. Ticking over like a well-oiled machine. Rosa would be in soon, front of house. I wasn’t sure how many women would work with their husband’s mistress, leave alone invest in her business, as my sister Claire kept reminding me. 11
‘I’d want to throttle her,’ she told me only last night when I’d moaned about Rosa changing table decorations again.
‘It’s water under the bridge now,’ I said, which was how I wanted to feel, though it wasn’t always easy. I thought about her brush with breast cancer last year. ‘She’s okay,’ I said. ‘The restaurant means a lot to her.’
‘Ah, yoga,’ Mila said, sidling next to me and making me jump out of my skin. She pointed to the mat under my arm. ‘It is good for you, no? Help you relax. You are so busy busy busy.’ She made a scurrying movement with her hands.
Mila owned Boutique Borozan, a few doors down from Café Lompar. She stocked expensive brands, Emilio Pucci, Cividini and Alberta Ferretti. The clothes she sold were all silk and linen in whites, beiges, ivories and fawns, the palest end of the Dulux Colour Chart. I’d gone in a few weeks ago and the prices were eye-watering. They were all in sizes for minuscule women with microscopic waists, who existed on poppy seeds and celery. I couldn’t get a pair of linen trousers past my knees.
I turned to look at Mila, and she smiled. Although in her late sixties, she was effortlessly chic, with bobbed grey hair and ice-blue eyes. ‘Yes, I am trying to relax a bit more,’ I conceded. ‘Difficult with travelling back and fore to the UK.’ I suddenly felt quite tired.
‘You must keep on top of your game, no? Especially with the new restaurant opening.’
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Wait, what new restaurant?’
‘There,’ she said, pointing her perfectly French manicured beige nail at the building between Boutique Borozan and Café Lompar. 12
I shook my head. ‘I heard that it’s going to be a perfumery. A small artisanal fragrance store.’
She flashed a mischievous smile. ‘Those are tables, no? I spoke to one of the builders yesterday. It is going to be a restaurant. A British couple have bought it. I wonder if they will serve a fusion menu.’ She was enjoying this a bit too much. I felt sick.
Minutes later, I stood in Café Lompar’s kitchen. Kat’s sous-chef, Lovro, was serving his minced beef bureks and tiny, delicate mantije with yoghurt. It seemed an odd breakfast when I first moved here but the Montenegrins were obsessed with bureks and ate them at all times of the day.
‘Lovro,’ I said, a bit breathlessly, ‘that perfume shop they’re opening is not a perfume shop. It’s a restaurant. A British restaurant.’
‘I know,’ he said, placing two plates on the pass.
‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’ I was exasperated.
‘My cousin Pajo sold the place. I did not think it would be a problem.’ Lovro seemed to have cousins everywhere. ‘Don’t worry,’ he grinned. ‘They know nothing. Very inexperienced.’
‘I hope you’re right. I just wish you’d given us a heads up.’
‘Heads up?’ He looked puzzled.
‘Never mind. How is lunch looking?’
‘Busy.’
Hmm, good. This was what success looked like. It might still be early May, with tourists a bit thin on the ground, but locals and people across Montenegro were coming here throughout the year. That’s why I could only afford a week or two in the UK before returning for the hectic summer season.
For me, the UK was Willow Cottage in Meadow Ponsbury, 13with its gorgeous walled garden. Willow Cottage and the even more gorgeous Neil Hadley nearby. For some inexplicable reason Neil, the golf pro, fancied by all the women at the golf club, fancied me, Grace Lompar. I couldn’t imagine myself with anyone after I lost Dan, but Neil had his own pain, having lost his son, and seemed to know exactly when I needed him and when to back off. This time tomorrow I would be on a plane back to the UK and into his arms. Tonight, we had a celebratory night in Café Lompar planned. I just needed to get through lunch service and then I could relax later with friends and family.
That evening, at exactly seven thirty, the sun was setting and Kat was at my door. She looked fantastic in a tomato red jumpsuit and leopard-skin, skyscraper heels.
‘Wow, you look amazing.’
‘Did you see it?’ she asked, kissing my cheek.
‘Of course, I saw it. You were wonderful. Confident but not arrogant.’
Milo, Kat’s handsome fiancé, stood behind her in the doorway.
‘Come on in, Milo,’ I urged. ‘I’m almost ready.’
Kat reapplied her bright red lipstick in the mirror in the lounge. ‘It’s so nice not to be the one cooking tonight,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind having a meal at Café Lompar?’
‘Why would I? It’s the best restaurant in Tivat.’
‘Montenegro,’ Milo grinned.
Bojan and Ivan were cooking tonight, and it would be nice to have Kat’s company for a change, if she could resist popping into the kitchen. Rosa and Luka would be there, Lovro and some of Luka’s friends. I was only going home for a couple of weeks to 14sort things out before the summer season started in earnest. Then it would be all hands on deck, as I would be needed front of house with Rosa.
I reached for my handbag from the coffee table and glanced outside, before closing the patio doors to the balcony. I loved this view of Tivat. Fishing trawlers, leisure boats and opulent, gleaming yachts sat cheek by jowl, rising and falling rhythmically in the swell. The Adriatic dazzled as the pink sun slipped behind the Volujak Mountains.
It was only a short stroll to the restaurant. Milo and Kat held hands and I walked beside them. Palm trees along the promenade waved gently in the breeze. You needed a cardigan in the spring evenings, but Kat was oblivious to the cold as she chattered away happily.
Rosa arrived first, joining us at the long table nearest the window. She had an elegant black dress on, and long, silver earrings. She wore her hair short now through choice and it suited her.
‘Well done, Kat. You were wonderful this morning. Just perfect and we have had lots of bookings this week already.’ She nodded ‘hello’ and smiled at me.
As I went over to the bar to choose a bottle of wine, I glanced at the gallery of photographs on the wall. We’d covered the wall in family photographs: Dan, Kat and I; Kat’s first day in primary school; holiday photographs of the three of us, in Kos, Jersey, the Isle of Wight; Dan with Rosa and Luka, most in Montenegro but then there was Dan with Luka in Berlin. His other family.
The Montenegrins were very traditional in their thinking. Family was everything. It was a real risk displaying these 15photographs, telling the world that this was us, our messed-up, complicated lives. But it worked and many came to see the restaurant where the wife and mistress worked together, where the half-siblings got along. We were almost as famous for our family as for our food.
Later, I sipped my chilled rosé among the jetsam and flotsam of our discarded plates and empty wine bottles. I loved it here, felt I really belonged. I was going to miss it, but at the same time I couldn’t wait to see Neil again. He’d be coming out later in the summer, but just for a short holiday.
Outside, it was dark and the harbour lights cast pools along the promenade. The Adriatic was inky black, and the mountains brooded beyond. I yawned, thinking of my early start. Kat had disappeared, back in the kitchen, no doubt.
‘I think I’ll make tracks,’ I told no one in particular.
But just as I was getting up, Kat pushed through the kitchen doors, her face ashen. In her hand she clutched a colourful flyer.
‘What the hell is this?’ she asked. ‘Ensambla!’ She slapped the flyer on the table, making the plates clatter. ‘A restaurant next door. A British restaurant!’
CHAPTER THREE
Kat
‘Let me see that!’ Rosa got to her feet and took the flyer from my hand. I looked at the calm faces around me: Mum, Milo and Lovro, all sipping serenely from their drinks. I couldn’t believe it.
‘You knew about this?’ I demanded.
Mum shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s been on my mind since I saw them decorating earlier.’
‘Earlier! Didn’t you think it was important to mention?’
‘Well, Lovro’s cousin sold it.’ She sent him a look. ‘But he told me not to worry…’
Milo pulled my chair out, ushering me to sit down. I didn’t want to and paced to Rosa’s side of the table, reading the words again over her shoulder.
“‘New British-Montenegrin fusion restaurant coming soon to Tivat. Michelin-starred-standard cooking.’” I stopped. ‘Michelin starred?’
‘It’s such an obvious copy.’ Luka stood at Rosa’s other shoulder, frowning. ‘What the hell do they think they’re doing?’
‘It is pretty damn cheeky,’ Mum said. ‘A bit desperate, if you ask me.’
‘They’re next door to us!’ Luka was practically spitting. I could 17feel my heart pounding. I didn’t think I’d felt such rage since our last chef, Ivan, threw my recipes in the bin last year.
Perhaps it was the Montenegrin blood in me, but I’d definitely become more fiery since moving out here.
‘We need to do something,’ Luka said, nodding at me. ‘Send them a message. Let them know they have to put a stop to this, or else we will.’
I found myself agreeing, before Milo’s voice broke the spell. ‘Luka, this isn’t the Mafia! No one’s sending any kind of message. Can everyone just calm down?’
Perhaps we were over-reacting. Next thing, I’d be following Luka to the restaurant to start a fight.
‘What do you think, Rosa?’ I asked. This place was her baby. She started it all. Surely, she must hate the thought of direct competition opening up. Next bloody door to us of all places.
‘If they want to compete with us, let them try,’ she said. ‘You’ll be better than them, Kat. Pfft, we have nothing to worry about.’
‘Rosa’s right,’ Mum said. The two shared a nod. ‘Notice it says “Michelin starred standard”. Not actually Michelin starred. Sounds to me like they’re all talk and no game.’
‘I hope to God you’re right,’ I said, finally taking my seat next to Milo. He placed a reassuring hand on my knee.
‘It’s a compliment more than anything,’ he said.
‘Milo’s right,’ Mum agreed. ‘We’ve made such a name here that others are copying us.’
‘But we’re the originals.’ Rosa grinned in triumph.
‘What kind of name is Ensambla anyway?’ Luka was still reading from the flyer, curling his lip.
Lovro asked, ‘When are they opening?’ 18
Rosa read from the leaflet, ‘One month.’ Her expression wavered. ‘The same night we’re planning our summer launch party.’
I felt a new swell of heat in my chest. We’d been advertising our party on chalkboards outside. It was meant to kickstart the summer season, get the tourist trade flocking in. Ensambla must have seen this.
I caught Mum’s eye; she looked a little more nervous now.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t like this one bit.’
The day after Mum left Montenegro was always a difficult one for me. I loved being able to pop across my courtyard to visit her cosy flat. It was reassuring knowing she was there, knowing she was okay. She was in good hands with Neil, though.
‘Are you ready?’ I called out to Milo. We’d planned a good distraction for the day, something exciting.
‘What time’s our appointment?’ he asked, grabbing his keys.
‘Twelve o’clock.’
He locked the door behind me while I checked my appearance in the porch mirror. I loved having an early season tan, before the real heat kicked in and I had to either stay inside, hermit-style, or apply so much sun cream I looked like a Moomin.
We headed to the sea. Milo’s boat bobbed about in the middle of the bustling harbour. Fishermen unloaded early morning stock, the salty scent from their catches making my stomach rumble. Milo clutched my arm as I swung my leg over the edge of the boat and flopped into a seat. How some people managed to do that gracefully I had no idea. I’d been in Montenegro over a year, been out on the boat with Milo countless times, and still 19I looked like a baby deer learning to walk. I assumed a relaxed position, hoping no one had seen the flash of knickers under my black maxi skirt.
Milo hopped on with ease, and moved towards the controls. His muscular forearms peeked out from under his blue shirt. He looked like a Dolce and Gabbana advert sometimes, and it took my breath away. I noticed a group of women standing at the edge of the harbour, their eyes drawn by my fiancé. I didn’t want to be the jealous type. I wasn’t usually, but long hours as a head chef meant I didn’t exactly have much time to spend on my appearance. I often wondered if people questioned what Milo was doing with me.
Still, I looked better now than when I worked in a London kitchen. I lacked so much vitamin D there, people often asked if I was feeling ill. I sometimes hated seeing old friends from school, knowing years in the kitchen had done nothing for my complexion or my figure. I clocked their worried glances and fake ‘you look good’ greetings. Things were different out here; the tan helped, and I didn’t have that awful commute. I could cycle everywhere here, when the weather wasn’t so hot, which helped counteract my constant baklava and bureks.
But did I measure up to gorgeous Milo? Montenegro’s answer to Jamie Dornan?
He smiled down at me. ‘Are you ready?’
I nodded.
‘Let’s go to our wedding venue!’
The journey to Ostrvo Cvijeća took no more than a few minutes in Milo’s speedboat. It still gave me a thrill when he went full 20throttle, the smack of the boat against the waves spraying sea-water up onto my face. I shrieked and ducked and Milo laughed good-naturedly.
The small island sat like a jewel in the heart of the bay of Kotor, peeking out of the blue Adriatic just opposite Tivat. The ‘Island of Flowers’ was no more than three hundred metres wide, and housed a few stone villas and an old monastery. We could see the tear-drop-shaped island from our bedroom window, and I loved the thought of us getting married among the cypress trees, looking back across the bay to the magical place I’d called home for the last year. Tivat held Café Lompar, our villa, my Montenegrin family.
As we pulled up to the pebbly shore, I felt a tingle on the back of my shoulders and neck. I knew instantly it was the right place for our wedding. Milo met my eyes, a small smile on his face.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘It’s beautiful!’
There were potted flowers in rainbow-coloured displays lining the small road on the sea front. I’d never given a thought to the small community of less than a hundred people who lived here and kept it so well maintained. Although they were connected to the mainland by a narrow isthmus, it still felt so cut-off, a world away from busy Tivat with its designer shops and tourist traps; an idyll. It was silent as well − no need for traffic or roadworks here. My eye was drawn to the monastery that had stood in place since the thirteenth century.
Everything seemed so ancient and unspoilt that I laughed in surprise when a pot-bellied man on a stand-up paddle board glided serenely past us. He gave a little wave, before moving on unhurriedly. Milo waved back before shouting, ‘Morning, Akso!’ 21
‘Are you serious?’ I asked him. ‘Do you know everyone in this country?’
‘There are only…’ He pretended to count on his hand. ‘…six hundred thousand of us. So pretty much, yes. But I don’t know him.’ He had a wicked glint in his eye.
I hit Milo on the arm. ‘Come on, we’re going to be late.’
We wandered along the small lane to a dusty building with a flowered archway covering the door. The sign said ‘Villa Anika’. I recognised it immediately, having spent countless nights researching venues. Villa Anika had stood out: an old stone villa with a charming reception hall and beautiful garden. But now I was here I could see the pictures online really didn’t do it justice.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed as we pushed open the door to the welcoming hall.
‘Hello!’ An older woman with black hair pulled back in a bun rushed over to greet us. She found our names on the list on her clipboard. ‘Milo and Kat? Ah, yes. Welcome to paradise!’ She swept a hand in an arc. ‘I’m Nina, and I will show you round today. We hope you’ll choose our beautiful venue for your special day. The perfect place to start a forever together.’
I wondered if the people in the wedding business ever got bored of the sales patter and commercialisation of romance and marriage. I’d already been shocked by the additional money businesses would charge for things when it was for a wedding: cakes that cost five times what any other cake would be, and flower arrangements with astronomical price tags just because they had the word ‘bridal’ in front of them. Everything was either ‘special’ or ‘precious’ or ‘romantic’. The insincerity churned my stomach at times. 22
No amount of commercial nonsense could dull the shine of Villa Anika though. The old stone building was lit by tiny lanterns dotted around the room. Pale pink curtains lined the route as Nina led us down to the reception hall, which was a gorgeous space. Milo squeezed my hand, pulling me close to him. He whispered in my ear, ‘I think I want to marry you here.’
I leaned into him, feeling his breath against my cheek. ‘I can imagine you standing there, waiting for me to walk down the aisle.’
He grinned, holding my hand to his chest.
Nina had clocked it all of course, her eyes lighting up at the money coming her way. I coughed, trying to regain my composure.
‘I like it,’ I said coolly, although inside I wanted to dance. It was like something out of a fairytale.
Nina guided us through the doorway to the outside, where a stone path led to a platform on the edge of the island. Standing on it, the expanse of blue and rising mountains wrapped around us in every direction.
‘Some people choose to get married out here, of course. We can set up an altar and chairs however you’d like.’
‘I think I’d like that very much,’ I said to Milo, taking it all in.
‘It’s even more beautiful in the evening,’ Nina added. ‘Especially in September when you want to get married. You’ll have that dusky pink sunset and the lights along the bay. How romantic!’
I didn’t want to be carried away by the sales pitch, but I couldn’t help it. I was picturing our first dance here, a band playing traditional Montenegrin music while our close family and friends clinked glasses. 23
‘I’ll give you a moment to explore together,’ Nina murmured, walking back into the hall. I bet she was going to rub her hands together once she was out of sight, knowing she’d made the sale.
‘Look, you can see Café Lompar,’ Milo smiled, pointing along the shore to Tivat, a line of buildings like gleaming white beads on a necklace.
‘And look, there you can see Luka getting a telling off from Rosa,’ I joked.
‘I know I’m meant to be all macho about this,’ Milo said, leaning against the wall that lined the platform, ‘but I have a very good feeling about this place.’
‘I guess it’s all right, but just to be sure, I think we should practise.’ I held out my hand and Milo took it. We swayed from side to side.
‘You may now kiss the bride,’ he mock-announced, then placed both his hands on my face and pulled me in to him. I melted against his lips, excitement building, knowing that one day we’d be doing this for real. I’d actually be kissing my husband here, in this very spot.
I moved away, gazing into Milo’s chocolate eyes.
‘I think we’ll take it,’ I said.
He shrugged. ‘I’d better start saving.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Grace
The hectic departure lounge at Bristol Airport and the mad drive through rush hour traffic stressed me out, as always. So different to Tivat’s laid-back lifestyle. But driving into Meadow Ponsbury instantly made me relax again. It was only ten thirty when I pulled into the village and the hawthorn hedges were in full bloom. Willow Cottage was at the end of a row of little terraced houses that looked a cross between The Vicar of Dibley and Midsomer Murders. I’d only moved in about a year ago and it marked a turning point for me. It was something that I had chosen for myself, a new stage in my life.
I loved this time of year, with optimism filling the air. Burgundy and white, feathery astilbes lined the path to the front door, with delicate potted pink peonies flanking the porch. When I ran my small gardening business, before Kat started school all those years ago, I was obsessive about flowers and plants, and going back to the garden had kept me sane in the early days after Dan died.
Stepping inside, I swept up the flyers and letters that had accumulated in the hallway. The house smelt a bit musty after two weeks away, and I wouldn’t be here for long before I’d be flying out to Tivat again. It was hard getting used to flitting back 25and fore. It wasn’t half as glamorous as it sounded. For now, I was grateful to be back and couldn’t wait to see Neil later. My stomach did a little flip just thinking of him.
He’d called on the drive home, promised to bring a takeaway. He was thoughtful like that, worlds away from Dan, who always seemed so self-absorbed and distracted. It all made sense when I found out about Rosa and Luka: why he was away so much and why he never felt very present even when he was with me.
The second anniversary of his death was in a few days. When I first learned about Rosa, about six months after his heart attack, I used to have these angry conversations with him. Like a mad woman, I’d say the words out loud in my kitchen in our old house in Bath.
‘How could you, Dan?’ I would demand, fighting back tears of frustration. ‘I thought you loved me.’
I’d imagine him answering me back, making excuses, telling me he cared about me and didn’t want to hurt me.
‘Bullshit.’
One day, I was shouting at him. ‘You humiliated me!’ I really got going. ‘You spineless, gutless bastard!’ I didn’t realise my neighbour, Steve, was creosoting his shed until I saw him look over the hedge and rush into his house, dripping paintbrush in hand. His wife, Louise, came over after that on the pretext of borrowing a cake stand and asked if I was okay. It was so frustrating that Dan had gone before I could have it out with him.
I was just filling the washing machine when my sister Claire walked through the door.
‘Hi, hon. Welcome home,’ she said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. 26
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Charming!’ She grinned. ‘Shall I leave and come in again?’
‘You know what I mean. It’s Tuesday morning and you’re not in school.’
‘I’ll get the kettle on, shall I?’ Her back was turned to me as she reached for mugs. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well and I’m shattered. I can afford a day or two.’
‘But you’re never off school.’
‘Did you have a nice time?’ Claire asked, in a deft change of subject.
‘It was great to see Kat. I miss her so much when she’s away. I know she left home years ago, but it’s different now. We’re closer than we’ve ever been.’ I switched on the washing machine and we both sat down. ‘She was on that morning show yesterday. She told me she was nervous, but she didn’t show it. I’d be a quivering wreck.’
‘I’d love to have seen it.’ Claire handed me a coffee. ‘Did you get much work done?’
‘Not as much as I’d have liked. I was going over the menus with Kat and the other chefs, making orders, looking at some advertising ideas. The cookbook’s selling well, too, but we have to keep promoting it. It’s hard to fit it all in.’
‘Well, you’ve got quite a nice tan from all that work you’ve been doing,’ Claire teased. ‘I might even come out there myself in the half term.’
‘You and Stu are always welcome,’ I said, almost in reflex. ‘What about the twins?’
Claire laughed. ‘You must be joking. Laura is crazy about her latest boyfriend and Liam has some project he’s working on. He’s 27really enjoying college.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘It might just be me coming out, actually.’
‘Oh?’ I started. Claire and Stuart weren’t the type to holiday alone. Claire had the odd spa day with friends, and we’d had weekends away together. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Course, why shouldn’t it be?’ Claire answered. ‘It’s no biggie. I’ve got a lot of stress on in school and sometimes it’s just nice to please yourself. Only for a few days.’
‘I’d love you to come out. It’s hectic, though. Just getting into the crazy summer season. We’re busy now, but it’ll be off the scale soon.’
‘I can help out,’ Claire offered.
‘No, you need a break. We’ll manage, but I might not be able to spend too much time with you.’
‘Reading a novel on the beach, lazy lunches, cocktails in the evening… God, how will I cope?’ She laughed. ‘Are there any biscuits in this house of yours? Or are you abstaining to keep your figure for the Gorgeous One?’
‘There might be some chocolate fingers in the cupboard. I am trying to be good, though. There’s nothing like the thought of a new, well, newish, man around to keep you on your toes.’ I grinned.
‘Well, enjoy it while you can. I think I could walk around the house starkers and Stu wouldn’t bat an eyelid.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘We went out on Saturday night and I bought new underwear, but when we came home, he fell asleep watching Mrs. Brown’s Boys. I don’t know why I bother. I know all his moves,’ she said, making air quotes. ‘A hurried bonk, a fart, roll over and go to sleep.’ 28
‘All relationships are like that,’ I reassured her. I tried to imagine feeling like that about Neil. I knew I would at some point. I wasn’t some love-sick teenager, but I felt that we connected; were friends as well as lovers. ‘Why don’t you and Stu come over for dinner on Saturday? It’ll be a chance for the men to really get to know each other.’
‘That would be nice,’ Claire said. ‘Are you sure, though? I know that you won’t have long before you’re going back to Montenegro. You must want to spend time together on your own.’
‘Come over at eight on Saturday and I’ll think of something impressive to cook.’ That meant I’d be asking Kat for advice. ‘Look, Claire, we all feel like this sometimes. Dan treated me like I was invisible…’
‘Well, you can hardly use Dan as a measure. Most husbands don’t have other families on the side.’ Claire stopped. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound as harsh as it did. I’m just in a bit of a funk, that’s all.’
‘Funk?’
‘Another of Laura’s words,’ Claire laughed, seeming like her old self again.
When she left, I finished unpacking and had a long bath, with candles and a glass of wine, thinking of the evening ahead and pondering over what to wear. I decided on a green wrap dress that showed off my tan. I was just spritzing on perfume when I heard Neil’s key in the lock. I’d given him a key before I left for Montenegro so he could keep an eye on the place. It felt like a big step.
I dashed down the stairs and was swept up in his arms. 29
‘Hello, you,’ I said.
‘Hmm, hello, gorgeous. You look great.’ He kissed me hard on the lips. When we came up for air, he handed me a bouquet of flowers: roses, freesias and gypsophila. He knew I couldn’t bear lilies since Dan’s funeral. Just a whiff of them and I was transported back to that awful time, those horrible memories.
‘I suppose we’d better eat first.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve brought Thai.’
‘I’ve missed you.’ I said, as he pulled me to him again. I breathed in his sexy, masculine smell. Each time I saw him after I’d been away, I was struck by how good-looking he was: his athletic body; his blue shirt tight over his forearms; his peppered hair and grey-blue eyes; and how totally unaware he was of his effect on women.
We dished out the noodles, chicken larb and an aubergine curry. We ate at the kitchen island, enjoying the informality, drinking Prosecco and catching up on each other’s news.
‘Cass called last week,’ he said, not looking up.
‘You didn’t mention it.’ Cass, his ex-wife, rarely called him.
‘It wasn’t important. She just wanted to tell me that she and Mike are getting married in September.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
I felt the atmosphere shift. ‘Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It’s just that you were married over twenty years, had two sons. Losing Max − you’ve been through a lot. It must be a bit strange.’ I tried to keep my voice light.
‘I guess.’ He sipped his wine. ‘She and Mike have been together for over three years though.’ He smiled. ‘And I’ve got you.’
‘I’ve invited Claire and Stu over for dinner Saturday,’ I told him. ‘Is that OK?’ 30
‘Have you asked Kat what you’ll make for us?’
‘You know me too well.’
As we filled the dishwasher, Neil said, ‘I know it was only two weeks, but it seemed a long time.’ He sighed. ‘And then you’ll be off again.’
I bit my lip. ‘You’ll come out after the senior series ends.’ The summer was a busy time for Neil at the golf club with tournaments, different classes and competitions.
‘Course I will. I’ve booked the time off. I never see enough of you. Perhaps we ought to think about something more permanent?’
‘Let’s see after the summer. There’s so much to think about at the moment.’ I wasn’t ready for this conversation now. Did he want us to move in together?
Lying next to him in bed later, I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know how I felt about Neil moving in. I loved him and we had told each other how we felt. But I was scared. Was I ready to commit?
Part of me wondered whether Cass getting married had pushed him to this. He wanted something more permanent to show her that he had moved on, too. It seemed a long time before I fell into a fitful sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kat
Since our visit to the Island of Flowers, I’d thought of nothing but the wedding. I found my thumb scrolling through Pinterest images of wedding dresses, up-dos and flower arrangements when we were sitting in front of the television at night. I couldn’t believe I had to wait over five months; it was consuming my life and we’d only just started planning it.
‘Shouldn’t you be in work?’ Milo asked, getting home from a day of tourist trips on the boat. I was jotting down cake ideas, wondering how I could construct a White Forest gateau, a combination Lovro had dreamed up for Café Lompar. We served it in ice cream form, but I was convinced it would work as a wedding cake. White chocolate sponge, cherry compote and caramel buttercream… superb for a fancy centrepiece.
‘I’m leaving soon,’ I said, putting my pen down. ‘I have to be there in … shit, twenty minutes.’
The afternoon sun was warm on my face as I cycled to the restaurant, feeling the shifting grit of sand in my trainers, left over from the last time I’d had a picnic on the beach with Mum. How different a commute this was to London! I waved at the owner of the little corner shop at the end of our street, and laughed as I caught the strains of a telling-off drifting through 32the open window of poor Mrs. Jankovic’s flat, as she struggled to keep those children under control. I was starting to feel a part of the community here. Although Tivat was often crowded with tourists in the height of summer, it was the locals who kept it pulsating, with − I liked to think − Café Lompar at its beating heart.
I checked the time on my phone as I arrived, happy I could pedal fast enough to make up for leaving late. I could see Dav inside, polishing glasses at the bar. I tied my bike to the little posts along the shore front, taking a moment to glance over my shoulder at Ensambla next door.
The sign had gone up in the last few days, and I was not happy to see how fancy it looked. They’d chosen matt black for the front of the restaurant, with the name in gold leaf font. Ensambla! with an exclamation mark. It would make a stark contrast to Café Lompar, with our big windows, rustic tables on the pavement, our wall of photographs. Admittedly, our renovations in the last year had added a bit more elegance, but Ensambla were clearly going full-on upmarket. I scoffed, thinking they’d misjudged Tivat. It was all about sea views, candlelight dinners, fine dining with a more relaxed feel. Their stark, white tablecloths and black-painted wood looked cold, uninviting.
I reassured myself that Café Lompar was beloved − we had a weekly roster of regular customers; ‘a real family gem’, our most recent review had said. Our beauty was in the casual, cosy feel we created before we wowed customers with our food.
A woman came out of the door to Ensambla, wearing paint-spattered dungarees and carrying a chalk board. I turned away quickly, realising I had been blatantly staring at the restaurant 33frontage. I busied myself with twisting the numbers on my bike lock.
‘It’s Kat, right? Kat Lompar?’
Damn it. I’d been spotted.
I turned to see the woman walking towards me, hand extended.
‘Hi,’ I smiled. ‘Are you the new owner?’
‘Lizzie.’ She took my hand, pumping excitedly. ‘Well, yes, me and my husband.’
She had blonde curly hair, cascading from a bouncy ponytail at the crown of her head, and freckles covering her nose. With her nose piercing and leather bracelet, Lizzie seemed a bit too hippy to be opening up that fancy restaurant.
‘Here he is now. David!’ she shouted.
A man in a white shirt and corduroy trousers came to join us. He shook my hand, his smile a little less wide than Lizzie’s.
‘So, this is the famous Kat Lompar,’ he said.
‘I don’t know about famous!’ I pulled back. ‘The place looks great.’ I nodded to the newly painted sign.
‘I didn’t know if the black was a bit stark,’ Lizzie said. ‘Didn’t know if it would look a bit cold. We must have tried about a hundred pots of paint. We had Farrow and Ball shipped over from the UK in the end. David said the street needed something classy, though. I think it looks good, don’t you?’
David winced at his wife’s chatter, but there was something else in his expression, something I didn’t like.
‘It looks great,’ I repeated. ‘What brought you out to Tivat then?’
‘I’ve got some family here and used to visit every year as a kid. 34It was my dream to start some kind of business out here. David’s the chef though and he’s been dying to open his own restaurant abroad, haven’t you?’
David barely had time to nod before Lizzie continued, ‘He’s had such success in the UK, three restaurants in Manchester, but it doesn’t compete with this scenery, does it?’
‘What kind of cuisine?’ I asked him directly.
‘In Manchester? We experimented with European-British fusion. Thought it’s time fusion was brought to the next level, especially out here.’
‘Snap,’ I said.
There was that expression again, as if he was looking down his nose at me. Lizzie started chatting about how some of their family would be joining them to help decorate but they’d been delayed at the airport.
‘Well, it’ll be lovely to have more of a British contingent out here. We’ll have to get to know each other. I just hope our fusion cuisine won’t be too similar,’ I said, laying my cards on the line, and wanting reassurance.
‘Oh, it won’t be. We wouldn’t want to step on the toes of the famous Café Lompar.’ David’s tone was dismissive.
‘We’ll make sure of it.’ Lizzie’s smile was more genuine. ‘You’ve done such incredible things here, Kat.’
‘Thanks. I’m looking forward to seeing inside the place,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’d better head in for service.’ I shifted my weight. I had the distinct impression that David didn’t like me, and the feeling was mutual.
‘You’re welcome anytime.’ Lizzie grinned, waving me off.
I had a strong sense of foreboding as I made the short walk to 35Café Lompar, looking back to see David still watching me. What exactly did he mean, bringing fusion to another level? There was definitely some malice in his tone. Maybe he was ashamed at how closely they were copying our concept? He ought to be.
I practically slammed the door behind me as I entered the kitchen. I tried to let this place I loved, the cooking smells, the stainless steel gleaming under the restaurant lighting, comfort me.
‘What’s up with you?’ Lovro asked.
I grabbed a spoon to taste the herby marinade he was stirring. ‘Mmm, delicious.’
‘I added a secret ingredient.’ He winked.
I dipped my spoon in again. ‘Paprika?’
‘You know me too well.’ Lovro smiled. ‘Anyway, you ignored my question.’
I lowered my voice, even though they were nowhere near earshot. ‘I just met our new neighbours.’
‘What are they like?’ Bojan, one of our newer chefs, came over, intrigued.
‘Nice. Well, a bit weird. The woman, Lizzie, seems lovely, but David, the chef, is…’
‘A bit arrogant?’ Bojan asked.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And snooty.’
‘I thought they were okay.’ Lovro shrugged.
‘You would, you’re too nice.’ I buttoned my chef’s whites and started to chop some tomato for our salsa-stuffed salmon. ‘They’re a weird pairing. I’d never put them together,’ I mused aloud.
‘What do you mean?’ 36
