‘I’ve got a new restaurant opening in Manchester next year. I want you to be the executive chef. I’m offering you your own kitchen, Anna – a real kitchen.’

Anna stared at him. ‘You… What?’

Geoff smiled, sliding his hands into his pockets. ‘That’s right. I’m willing to give you a kitchen. And with it a glittering future.’

She was so stunned she could barely speak. ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘I need someone who will shape up. It’s going to have the Rowcliffe name over the door, it’s my rep on the line.’

‘And you think you can “shape me up”, do you?’

He took one hand out of his pocket and pointed a finger at her. ‘Don’t get cocky, Anna. Don’t believe your own hype. Look at where you are, for God’s sake. You think serving six covers a couple of days a week out of the arse end of civilization makes you a real chef? It’s ridiculous. Look at yourself. No one else in their right mind would offer you this.’

Anna turned away. He was right. No one walked straight into their own commercial kitchen, especially not one that was guaranteed to be on the Michelin radar before it even opened.

‘When are you planning to open?’

‘Next December. I don’t want to rush it. I’m determined that this will be a success, and so are my investors. We’re more than a year out – I’m keen for you to be in right at the beginning of the planning. The kitchen and dining room would be built to your specs – with me overseeing, obviously. We’d develop the menu together.’

December, Anna thought. She’d imagined he would want to open in summer, but by December the baby would be eleven months old. Even if she had six months of maternity leave after the birth, that would still leave five months before opening where she would be fully involved.

‘Anna?’ Geoff asked, into her silence. ‘How are you not biting my hand off to take this offer?’

Anna swallowed, hard, and turned to face him. ‘Because by then, I’ll have a child to think about. I’m pregnant.’

The shocked look on his face might have been comical if it hadn’t quickly transformed into a smirking leer. ‘Wow. You didn’t hang around. I know that once women get to a certain age they can’t hear anything but their body clock, but even so—’

‘I’m due in January,’ Anna said, to shut him up.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘Well then. The messy stuff will all be out of the way in plenty of time, won’t it?’ Geoff looked around the Fishergirl’s Luck again. ‘What are you planning to do? Keep the baby in a box under the table? This place is small enough to be a garden playhouse. Who’s the father?’

‘None of that is any of your business.’