The small kitchen was antiquated, with Thirties-style green cupboards, a stone floor and an old gas stove, which reminded Jane of the one her grandmother had. A Raleigh drop-handle racing bike was resting upside down against the kitchen table, with one wheel on the floor next to it.
‘Excuse the bike. I got a puncture this afternoon. I need to repair it so I can get out and about tomorrow.’ He opened the back door and put the bike and wheel outside.
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘My vows of poverty mean I can’t have one. The bike keeps me fit; though I must admit I dislike riding in the rain.’
A pot was simmering on the stove, giving off a mouth-watering aroma which instantly made Jane feel hungry.
‘It smells delicious. What did you say it was called?’
‘Soppa tal-armla. It’s a popular Maltese winter soup made with vegetables, potatoes and tomatoes. I just need to add some cubes of goat’s cheese for a few minutes, then it’s ready to eat.’
‘Does tal-armla mean vegetables in Maltese?’
He started stirring the soup with a large wooden spoon. ‘The literal translation is “of the widow”, thus it’s commonly known as widow’s soup. The name originates from the medieval practice of gifting penniless, widowed women with vegetables and other available produce, which they would use to make filling soups.’
‘I can’t wait to try it, Father.’
‘Please call me Chris,’ he smiled.
‘Well, seeing as we are both technically off duty, you must call me Jane.’
He placed two wicker table mats, side plates, cutlery, and napkins neatly down on the small table, then pulled out a chair. ‘Please, take a seat.’ He gently slid it back in as Jane sat down, then unfolded a napkin and handed it to her.
‘Would you like a glass of red wine with your soup? It’s a Chianti,’ he said, holding up the bottle.
‘Only if you’re having one.’
Chris poured two glasses and handed one to Jane. ‘Cheers,’ she said, raising her glass.
He smiled. ‘Cheers. Here’s to a successful outcome to your investigation.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Jane replied, taking a sip of wine.
‘I made some Maltese sourdough bread earlier. Would you like some with your soup?’
She nodded. ‘You obviously like cooking.’
‘I used to help my mother in the kitchen when I was young. I find cooking relaxing, though it’s generally just meals for myself. Having company is a pleasant change.’
He cut four slices of bread on a wooden chopping board which he then placed on the table. He ladled some soup into two bowls, sprinkled some chopped parsley on top, then put the bowls on the wicker mats before sitting down.
‘It can be served with a poached egg on top, but I used my last two for breakfast, I’m afraid.’
‘It looks delicious as it is,’ Jane said, picking up her spoon. She noticed Chris had bowed his head, with his palms pressed together. On impulse, she followed suit.