Prologue
Sean propped his bare feet up on a spare chair and sipped at his chilled white wine on a perfect evening. The wine was aromatic, with a vibrant acidity characteristic of grapes grown on the Amalfi Coast and his sensitive nose picked up hints of lemon, pear and melon. The lemon grove led from this lower patio to the edge of the cliff and the breathtaking view of Fornillo beach. The crystalline sea sparkled below him, impossibly aquamarine; the sky above was washed with the paler and more subtle blue of washed-out denim and the whole bay was cradled by rugged grey rocks and lush dark green foliage.
One level above him, by their private pool, a gloriously naked Viggo was humming happily as he turned the seafood skewers on the barbecue. Sean was as mellow and relaxed as he could ever be and everything was perfect…except…. Except for the fact that he could not quite stop his thoughts from straying to Sheffield, where no doubt it was grey and raining and to his restaurant, Blades.
He found it hard to believe that it had been four years since Viggo, the crazy, annoying, endearing bastard, had turned up for an interview. Blades had already been well established and Sean had been getting known, through his cookery books and some TV shows, but somehow, under Viggo’s influence it had blossomed further and before he had known it, Viggo had become indispensable to him, both professionally and personally.
Sean had never found it easy to trust people and Viggo had taken advantage of his absence from the restaurant to change the menus and interfere with the staffing, against their agreement. Everything had worked, though and now Sean trusted Viggo more than anybody else, other than his parents. Viggo had moved into Sean’s place and was just as essential in Sean’s bed as he was in Sean’s kitchen.
It had been Viggo, who had pointed out to Sean that he had not had a holiday for years and that the restaurant could safely be left in the hands of their very competent team for a couple of weeks. Sean had resisted, but Viggo had proved very persuasive, until he had finally cracked and agreed to just one week in a villa near Positano. This was their last night and the place was certainly beautiful. The food, especially the seafood, had been amazing and the drinks too, although he couldn’t quite get the taste for that Limoncello stuff, which Viggo insisted was good for the digestion.
His reverie was broken by Viggo slapping a bowl of linguini and a tray of skewers with a divine aroma onto the table.
“Tuck in, Sean. It’s our last dinner here. Home tomorrow and back to work.”
“Thanks.” Sean prodded Viggo’s slightly rounded belly as he leaned over and refilled their glasses. “I think it’s a good job, because if you don’t lay off the pasta and the lemon cake, I’ll be rolling you into the kitchen.”
Viggo went over to the nearest lemon tree and plucked a fruit, which he deftly sliced and squeezed over the fish skewers. “I knew a holiday would mellow you. The old you would be calling me a fat fucking bastard. Say, do you think Sheffield is ready for Limoncello?”
“Only as a drain cleaner.” Sean reached for a skewer. “It’s been lovely, but I can’t pretend I won’t be pleased to get back.
Viggo grinned. “Of course. Once you see that Blades hasn’t been struck by lightning and burned to the ground, you’ll be a happy man, even if your team doesn’t get promoted.”
Sean smiled back, but something suddenly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and raised gooseflesh on his skin. He shivered in spite of the sun’s warmth.
oooooOooooo
Sean
At Manchester Airport, Viggo waits while I pick up the car from the long-term parking garage. As expected it's cloudy and a chilly wind makes me huddle in my thin sweater. As much as I enjoyed the holiday, it feels good to be back and if I am honest I can't wait to go to Blades, but I guess that would be a bit rude towards Viggo, so it will have to wait till tomorrow.
The road is busy and it takes a considerable time, but then finally we drive into Sheffield. I know I don't need to, but I can't resist driving past my restaurant and I breathe more freely when I see it, as all seems well.
"Sorry mate; force of habit," I say and Viggo smiles at me. It's no use trying to fool the bastard.
"For fuck's sake, Sean, just park the car, so we can have a quick visit. I know you're dying to and I don't want to put up with you all grouchy tonight."
Smiling a bit sheepishly, I steer the car to the kerb. "Just a few minutes then."
I am already on the street when Viggo's voice stops me. "Sean? Please try not to interrogate your staff. You know they worked their asses off, but you will still find things to fault them. Be nice!"
I grab his ear and pull at it playfully. "The holiday has done its work, I am perfectly mellow."
"That'll be the day," Viggo grins as he opens the door to the restaurant. It's nearing two, but it's still half full with lunch guests, which is good. I nod at Barry who smiles at me from behind the bar and then I stride towards the kitchen, Viggo on my heels.
Inside most of the staff are cleaning up, only Gary is carefully plating up desserts. Within seconds I am out of my jacket and showing him how it's done, ignoring Viggo painfully pinching my arse. When I am done I realize the kitchen is silent and I straighten up and smile.
"I am sorry; I guess I just missed your ugly mugs too much to stay away another day," and I slap Gary on the back. "Good work."
"Welcome back, Chef," he says and then they all gather around us asking questions about the holiday and admiring our tans.
"Now that you know Blades is still standing, could we please go home to unpack our things, or do you want to teach your staff how to clean properly?" Viggo enquires softly.
"Right! Well, see you all tomorrow then and be on time. Holiday is over." As I walk out I snatch a huge wooden spoon from the counter and hide it beneath my sweater. I think it is about time to teach Viggo not to be so snarky. Not that I think for a second I will succeed, but it's fun trying it and that spoon seems the exact tool for a great spanking.
The house has that distinctly neglected feel, but we open up a few windows to blow out the stale air. I unpack our things, Viggo fills up the washing machine and then we sit down at the kitchen table and grab a beer.
"So Viggo," I say, as I show him the spoon I took from Blades, "You were saying something about me being nice, now how about you being a bit more polite? At the end of the day I am still your boss, right?"
Viggo eyes widen and then he grins in sudden understanding. "Yes,Chef."
Viggo
It’s never easy to return to work after a great vacation and it was a great vacation, even though I had to keep dragging Sean’s mind back to Italy from Sheffield. I had chalked up a major triumph in actually getting him to go and it had taken all the seductive wiles in my armoury.
Sure, seducing Sean is certainly no hardship, but he is such a stubborn bastard, even though I love him dearly. He also labours under the illusion that everything will crumble if he doesn’t supervise it personally.
Yesterday, I was part amused and part pissed off that he just had to check out the restaurant, but when he started interfering with our very competent team, pissed off won out. I couldn’t help making a smart ass comment and later, when he got me home, Sean certainly made my ass smart with the aid of the biggest wooden spoon we have. A pretty energetic session followed and we slumped into an exhausted sleep much later, so when the alarm goes off this morning, it comes as a nasty shock.
It doesn’t help that it is raining hard and relentlessly grey and I try to bury my head back under the duvet, missing the Italian sunshine, but Sean cruelly pulls it off me and drags me up and into the shower. Things look up in every way when he joins me there, but there’s no time for play and pretty soon we are clean, dressed and on our way to work. Wearing clothes again is a bind, because I ran around our very private villa naked all the time and even persuaded Sean to shed his shorts and join me. It has always charmed me that he blushes all over his body.
Now he is back in ‘Sean Fucking Bean’ mode and enters the restaurant like some kind of regimental public health inspector, lining the staff up for morning inspection, checking out every inch of the kitchen, the equipment, the walk in freezer, the accounts and finally the day’s lunch and dinner menus. I wink at the team and join them in doing the prep. Every time we had a great restaurant meal on vacation, I complimented the chef and asked for the recipe, so I have a bunch of ideas and new recipes to try out here. Of course, I always have to tread softly with introducing new stuff, as Sean is still resistant to change. I haven’t yet convinced him that Sheffield is ready for stewed octopus, but he agreed to a stuffed squid dish on the appetizer card. Thankfully, he really struggles to find fault and grudgingly admits that they did a good job.
Before the lunch –time service, Sean has to take a call from his literary agent about a new cook book, so I slip out for a cigarette with Susan, who is still the only female chef we employ, although we have two waitresses, Amy and Jane.
“I’m glad that the holiday mellowed Chef out,” says Susan sarcastically as we huddle together under a big golfing umbrella.
“He is mellow. He didn’t really swear at anybody yet today. So what’s the news since we’ve been gone?”
“How would I know? I’ve been working my arse off, while you were sunning yours. I bet that’s an all over tan. Want to show me?”
I hand her the umbrella to hold and undo the buttons on my jeans, sliding one side down a little provocatively, to expose my brown hip. A familiar roar comes from the open kitchen door,
“Are we running a restaurant or a fucking strip tease show? Get your arses in here now!”
We grin at each other and chorus, “Yes, Chef.”
Sean
After four days at Blades it’s like we have never been away. I have to admit the staff did a great job during our absence, which is of course a good thing. Smart arse Viggo takes ample opportunity to tell me this is the proof and that we can easily go on a three week holiday later this year.
For the moment I am quite happy to be back at work; a week was long enough for me. I allow Viggo to put some new things on the card and hope it will distract him from the travel brochures that mysteriously appeared on our coffee table yesterday. Luckily my wood burner burns more than just wood and the nights are still chilly.
Early this morning I went to the market, allowing Viggo to stay in our warm bed a bit longer. No rain today and I took it as a good sign. I took my time, slowly making my way over the market, testing fruit and vegetables, making small talk here and there. Still, when I step inside the restaurant, there is nobody there yet. I wipe the staff table and make myself a cup of tea, which I take outside with me. The air is crisp and a bleak sun is trying to show itself through the clouds. Sipping my tea and smoking my cigarette I am in peace with the world, until a swift hand snatches the cigarette from between my lips.
“Get your own fags,” I say without turning, “I pay you more than enough.”
“Good morning to you too, Sean.” Viggo rests a hand on my shoulder. “Nice day.”
“Very nice, yes.”
“I thought it was my turn to go to the market?”
“You were so fast asleep, I guessed you needed it.”
“That’s very sweet; I am amazed, Sean.”
“Enjoy it while you can, mate. I expect you to go twice next week.”
We both laugh and then Viggo gives me back the cigarette. “Susan told me last night that the chippie on the other side of the street is closing next month.”
I turn round to look at him. “Really? How come?”
“That guy, Chris, is retiring. It seems Dan is taking over the other one they run on the other side of town. This one will be sold.”
“He should have no trouble selling it. I think it did fairly well. I am glad for Dan; he seems much happier working there than here.”
We hear voices and laughter and we go inside to greet the morning crew, but I can’t resist slapping Viggo’s arse, grinning when he yelps. “Just a reminder to keep that witty tongue in check,” I whisper in his ear.
“I’ll keep that in mind tonight,” he shoots back.
* Bastard.* “Get your arse in gear, I don’t pay you to be the comic relief here!”
“Yes, Chef.”
Today we are fully booked for lunch, as the local Chamber of Commerce is celebrating its jubilee. They’ll expect nothing less than perfection, so pretty soon we are all busy, most of the staff prepping, while I start checking the stock and arranging free space for the deliveries I am expecting. Soon, the smell of freshly baked bread permeates the air and it’s still a brilliant day.
By the time the first guests arrive, we are ready for them, even young Gary, who is clumsy sometimes and has dropped a bowl of cream. The kitchen floor is spotless again after Gary’s cleaned it up, his fiery red ears the only reminder of my reprimand.
*So touchy, the youngsters nowadays.*
Viggo
We have slipped back into the routine quite smoothly and although Sean is as tough as ever on the staff, he has grudgingly had to admit that things went well enough without him. I pushed my luck by suggesting a longer break later in the year and casually left some brochures lying around, but they mysteriously disappeared.
I am just as stubborn as he is, though and I won’t give up. I will just have to think out a better strategy. He has made some concessions on the menu to placate me, which will do for now and he let me sleep late today, when it was really my turn to get up and go to market.
While we share a cigarette outside, I also share a bit of news with him. Susan had it from Carol and Neil at the pub that the chip shop owner is retiring and selling up. Sean is mildly interested and then the crew are here and the day starts in earnest.
Later, in the afternoon, Chris himself comes in to invite us all to his retirement party, which he is holding at the pub. Sean will not agree to close the restaurant for a night, so we tell him that we will be over after we are done and he seems satisfied with that. He shows us pictures of his retirement home in Cyprus and I comment on how nice it will be for him to spend his days in the sun. Sean snorts and says that he’s always thought sunshine was overrated and I say that he’s clearly not had much experience of it in Sheffield.
Sean snorts again and asks Chris who is taking over the shop. He is a little vague and I get the feeling that he is reluctant to talk about it, because he changes the subject smartly and starts showing us pictures of his grandkids.
It’s a busy night again and Sean and I don’t really get time to talk until we are in bed. “Did you get the impression that Chris was being evasive about who has bought his chippie?”
So Sean got the same impression as me. “I did. He didn’t want to tell us. I wonder what that was about.”
“I don’t know, but I have a funny feeling about it. It made me uneasy. It’s nothing I can put my finger on.”
“Well let me find something I can put my finger on to distract you.” My distraction technique works as always.
The month passes quickly and we give Chris a good send-off. Dan, our ex-employee, is there and very friendly to us. He really wasn’t suited to a restaurant like ours and is much happier now. He admits that we did him a favour. We ask Chris again who is taking over the shop and just as he seems about to reply, Carol brings in the huge cake we have made for him and everybody starts cheering and singing, “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, so we never do get an answer.
A couple of days later, we notice that builders are working over at the chippie and again Sean seems uneasy. “New business, Sean, so the new guy is bound to want to renovate a little. He can’t go on calling it Chris’s Plaice either, unless of course his name happens to be Chris.”
The renovations seem to be substantial and continue for a couple of weeks. Barry, our sommelier, points out that they seem to be working upstairs too. I shrug and say that maybe they are doing up the rooms above the shop, which Chris used for storage, but I am beginning to pick up some of Sean’s bad vibes and am now frankly curious.
One morning, as we are about to go into Blades and the builders haven’t yet arrived, Sean hesitates and then goes decisively across to look through the window. A mighty roar follows and echoes down the street.
“It’s not a chippie any more. It’s a fucking restaurant!”
Sean
The discovery that Chris’ chippie is to be turned into a restaurant feels like a punch in the gut. I curse out loud looking at the construction work already done as I peer into the window. So that's why that bloody Chris was so fucking mysterious! I deeply regret the cake we baked and I hope he'll get a severe sunburn.
Viggo wraps his arm around my shoulder when he sees my face as I return. He makes me sit down at the table and makes me a cup of coffee.
"Don't worry, Sean. I am certain it will not able to compete with Blades."
"Of course I am not worried, I am fucking pissed off," I lie through my teeth. "Of course it can't compete with us, but what if it's cheaper or it steals our customers when we are fully booked?"
Viggo sighs and sits down next to me. "Look Sean, the people might go there once, but in the end our quality will win. You are thinking way too far ahead. Drink your coffee and forget about it. Together we can handle it."
Okay," I agree, but in the coming weeks the whole thing still hangs above my head like a dark cloud. Then, one night, Viggo and I go to the pub for a quick drink and Neil tells me something that makes me furious. Viggo, who was in the kitchen with Carol, emerges and barely succeeds in keeping me from running out and doing something desperate. Instead he more or less drags me home without asking questions and I guess it's a good thing as I am really tempted to throw a brick through the window of that new 'restaurant.'
At home Viggo pours us both a generous glass of brandy and we sit on the couch. I drain the glass in one go and Viggo looks at me nervously and holds the bottle out of reach.
"I think you’ve had enough, Sean. What the fuck is going on?"
"Nothing a Yank like you would understand," I say, which isn't fair, but I don't give a fuck right now.
To his credit, he doesn't get angry. "Try me," and when I say nothing, he pours me another glass. "Please, Sean."
This time I just take a sip and then lean back. "Okay. You've been here long enough to know about how important football is, right?"
"Right. For your information, I already knew it before I came to Sheffield, even before I came to the UK."
"I know, I know, but it’s a bugger when there are two teams in a city, like Man U and Man City. It’s like that here with Sheffield United and Sheffield Wednesday, sorry excuse for a team though it is. It’s like a civil war."
"I know all about that, but what's it got to do with us?"
"This season, Sheffield Wednesday and Sheffield United have one more game each to play and are only one point apart. Pure luck, if you ask me, or foul play. If The Owls win, which they won’t, of course, then they are automatically promoted and The Blades will have to go through the play-offs. If we either draw or win and Wednesday lose, then The Blades will go up."
"So?"
"Now Neil tells me this new restaurant is owned by a bloke who’s a hardcore Wednesday supporter!"
"I can imagine you're not pleased, but on the other hand, it doesn't really matter, does it?
"It doesn't matter? It fucking does! The wanker could have picked any other street in Sheffield; he did it on purpose, just to get to me."
"Come on Sean, you have no reason to believe that."
I almost choke on my words. "I fucking do. Neil just told me the restaurant's name."
"Surely, it can't be that bad?"
"Worse. It's called The Owl's Nest.
Summary: Chef Sean is not happy when another resataurants opens its door on the other end of the street. Luckily he has Chef Viggo on his side. This is a sequel to If you Can't Stand the Heat and A Blades Christmas
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: None
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 5 Completed: Yes
Word count: 17286 Read: 2638
Published: 31 May 2012 Updated: 31 May 2012