I could feel the sweat trickling slowly down my back; snaking its way between my shoulder blades as we worked. It had gotten so hot that even the waiting staff had noticed, pulling at their tight collars as they waited by the hotplates. We were an hour into service and the only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that Alex was having an equally hard time, and, for the second time that evening I heard his muttered curses as he caught the side of his hand against one of the stoves' back burners.
Our boss, resplendent in full highland dress was dividing his time between the resident's lounge and the kitchen, making sure that everything was running smoothly, and to all intents and purposes, it was, but only because we committed ourselves one hundred percent to our work.
From my worktable at the back of the kitchen, I had a clear view of the raised area in the kitchen where the stoves and hotplates sat; but my attention was not on the many skillets and stockpots that filled the area. I had been harbouring a massive crush on our head chef for months, but since I had been given no reason to think that my feelings would be reciprocated in any way, I kept my silence. He barely spared me a glance as I took the starter orders I had completed over to where he was working, instead, focusing all his attention on the plates sitting under the lights that were waiting to be garnished before going out to the restaurant. As I walked back to my station, I could see pots overflowing from the massive double sinks where our kitchen porter was working hard to look inconspicuous.
For the next two hours it seemed as though we were feeding the entire population of the west coast of Scotland; Donald, the porter had been dragged away from the sinks and promoted for the evening to help with garnishing starters and main-courses under Alex's watchful eyes. Pride filled his young face as Alex thanked him for his help when the orders slowed down and afterwards, he went back to washing his pots with a smile. When the last order for the evening came off the boards, I heaved a sigh of relief and went outside to sit on the steps that led up to the cabin that I shared with Alex. The cool late evening breeze washed over my heated face and I closed my eyes to it and let my head drop back slightly. The clatter of pots in the kitchen was almost soothing and I shivered as the coldness of the concrete step began to seep into me.
"Would you care to join us in the kitchen, Kate?" Alex's voice whispered near my ear and I gave a start, I hadn't even heard him come out of the kitchen.
"Here was me thinking that you two strapping guys could handle cleaning up a little kitchen between you." I teased, giving up any notions of rest now that I had been caught out.
"Ah, maybe we could, but as you well know, that kitchen needs a woman's touch to make it really sparkle, the way Mr Adamson likes it." He stuck his tongue out as I opened my eyes and I tried my best to look grumpy but failed miserably and aimed my service towel at his head as he ducked back into the kitchen.
While Alex busied himself in his small office with the menus for the next day, Donald and I set to work on the kitchen, while he cleared the sink area, I washed down the worktables and swept and mopped the walkways. It was nearly ten o'clock when I waved goodbye to Donald and Alex was still scribbling away when I left the kitchen.
I hurried up to my bedroom to strip out of the whites that had acted like a magnet for every available kind of stain that evening, showering quickly before setting my hair in a French braid. Less than twenty minutes after leaving the kitchen I was pulling on my jeans and thrusting my feet into my hiking boots. My skin was still slightly damp as I tugged on a t-shirt but it was too late to worry; I had arranged to meet some of the dayshift staff in the local pub and I was already late. Alex had declined the invitation to join us earlier and disappointment had cut into me, but I had bitten my lip and said nothing, hoping in a corner of my mind that he would change his mind at some point. After getting dropped off outside the pub by one of the waiting staff, I joined my friends, who, by the looks of them had been enjoying the Landlord's hospitality for more than a couple of hours.
Tourists crowded the main bar area, but from where we were sitting we had an excellent vantage point, and were able to watch the comings and goings with ease. I couldn't help but watch the main entrance, half hoping that Alex would pop his head round the door, but as the hands of the clock moved round I knew that it was an unlikely possibility. As I looked down, I realised that if he had turned up, then I was hardly dressed in any manner that would have had him drooling. I wore my faded Levi jeans and favourite Linkin Park t-shirt like a uniform when I wasn't working, hardly the epitome of femininity, it had to be said. An hour later, I had completely given up on watching the door and was trying to focus on my friends, who were caught up in a quiet debate about one of the hotel guests.
To say that I was drunk was probably a slight understatement; I had reached the point of feeling sober again so I knew I was far from it. As the evening had progressed I had been sliding further and further down in my seat and was beginning to view the world from an odd angle, but with the beer goggles firmly in place, there was nothing on earth that could shift the inane smile from my face, even if, on the inside I was less than happy. I was away in my own melancholy little world, numbed by my friend's chatter, which had been drifting over my head for at least an hour or so. I hoped, that I was nodding and laughing falsely in the right places, and, if I wasn't, then they gave no indication that they had noticed, for good friends overlook that kind of thing.
My lungs were slowly choking on the smoke that hung thickly in the air and the babble of excited chatter from the other patrons kept drifting in and out, almost like someone was tuning an invisible radio; but, most of the time I realised that I was stuck in between channels, none of them interesting enough to enjoy and I knew then that it was time to move. Despite my their protestations I made my unsteady way to the main door and lurched through it and into the cold night air. For a minute, I just stood there, breathing deeply, trying to rid my head of the heavy cotton wool feeling. At that moment I should have dug my mobile out of my jacket pocket and made a quick call to the local taxi office but I did not, deciding instead to walk the two miles back to the hotel.
The road to the hotel was little more than a forestry track, large enough for the occasional delivery vans and the cars of the hotel guests. In early summertime the trees either side of the road would almost touch, creating a tunnel which the sun would pierce through in places, giving the ground a dappled appearance, but now that the summer had drawn to an end, the leaves had changed into their autumn colours, drifting down in a strange butterfly dance to blanket the ground. I enjoyed the walk in the daytime but at night when each small sound seemed to be magnified a hundredfold, then it was another matter entirely and something I wouldn't do unless I had company, but this evening I was made braver by several tequilas and one very fat and juicy tequila worm.
I left the last house of the village behind me, turned left and started walking up the short incline and into the trees, feeling the road level off as I walked into the darkness where the streetlights couldn't penetrate. So that I wouldn't spend too much time thinking about what might be hiding in among the trees I thought about Alex.
I had met him for the first time at the beginning of April, the start of our season. Even thinking about our first meeting was enough to have my stomach muscles clenching and my blood pumping a little faster than normal. I would loved to have said that his warm laughing brown eyes were the first thing that peaked my interest, but I would have been lying, or maybe the way his faded, ragged-looking jeans hugged his long powerful thighs but that too would have been a lie. It wasn't even the way his teeth bit down on his bottom lip as he looked uncertainly at me for the first time. It was simply that he was bald, not even a shadow of stubble darkened his smooth, slightly tanned head and my hands just itched to stroke him. As I stuttered my hellos and thrust my sweaty hand into his large one, his look of uncertainty only increased as he withdrew his hand quickly.
I found out later as we both scrubbed down the kitchen, in readiness for the arrival of the first guests the next day, that he was twenty-eight, single, and much to his mother's chagrin and mine, intended to stay that way. He was a New Zealander by birth but had spent the last three years staying with Scottish relatives and working in the kitchen of a large hotel chain in the nations capital, Edinburgh. After working for a faceless boss with no sign of promotion from his post as second chef for three years, he had grown bored and decided to try out seasonal work. The vacancy at the King's Arms had come at an opportune time for him and he had been over the moon when instead of getting the second chef's job, the position of head chef had been offered.
I loved the softness of his voice, his beautiful accent, and as he spoke, my eyes were irresistibly drawn to his mouth; it left me wondering what it might be like to be kissed by him, to have him whispering in my ear. I knew almost immediately that it would take a major effort on my part to keep my wayward thoughts in check if I was to get any work done. I also knew that I had fallen for him completely.
Slowly as the weeks passed by we relaxed into an easy going friendship, but I only gave free reign to my thoughts when I was in my bed at night, where I used my fingers and my vibrator to tease my body as my mind conjured up images of both Alex and myself in most wicked of compromising positions. Often I wondered if my moans could be heard in the next bedroom but if they were then Alex gave no indication and I made no effort to stifle them. Just the idea that he might have been listening to me as I climaxed seemed to heighten the sensations that coursed through me but as I let myself go and his name fell from my lips, it emerged as no more than a whisper in between ragged breaths.
This was my second season at the Hotel; I had spent the previous year as a kitchen porter, eager and naïve, learning all I could about cooking for service while keeping on top of the mountain of pots the demonic head chef kept piling up at the sinks. By the time October came and the season came to a close I was able to cover the second chef's nights off, much to the annoyance of the head chef who thought that women had no place in working kitchens. Luckily, Mr Adamson had taken a shine to me and the chef realised half way through the season that there was no easy way to get rid of me. That winter I had wandered round Ireland, staying briefly with a few people that I had known from college, only leaving when I was contacted by Mr Adamson who wanted me to come back for a second season.
David was new to the kitchen this year, my replacement and a local from the village. His mother was our head housekeeper so he was always on his best behaviour, this was his first job and I was doing my level best to make sure that it was a better experience for him that it had been for me the previous year and so far, he was coping pretty well. The majority of the house and waiting staff were also local, working for the large part of the season on a part time basis, a couple of the oldest ones had adopted me and it was with them that I went to the pub with, once or twice a week.
Between us, we catered for a maximum of one hundred covers each evening, but more often than not, the numbers only reached their limit midway through the season. No matter what they were, we always did our level best to make sure that their stays were as comfortable as possible and the meals we cooked each night were of the highest standard. So far, there had been no complaints and the visitor's book was full of glowing compliments and many promises of return visits for the following year, which pleased our boss no end. If I was being honest, the compliments for the meals were down to Alex and no one else, he had a flair for cooking outstanding meals and compiling menus that the previous chef couldn't quite match.
My feet crunched over the gravel-strewn road and I increased the speed of my gait, sighing with relief as I saw the lights of the hotel twinkling in the distance. It was unlikely that Alex would still be up, most nights he only stayed around long enough to make sure that the kitchen was left in a clean state and that the menus for the next day were drawn up and sent through to reception to get printed up. This meant that each night we would both know what we would be preparing the following morning. Aside from that, we rotated the breakfast shifts between us, and as the season progressed whoever was acting as kitchen porter was trained to cover the breakfast shift if they felt able to cope. Even if there were any problems, the cabin where we stayed was within shouting distance of the kitchen.
