We arrived at the terminal more than two hours before her plane was due to leave, and she checked in with no problems.

“I’ve been upgraded to business,” she exclaimed with a squeal, clutching her viola case to her chest.

“The check-in man must have fancied you,” I said.

“It was a woman,” she said, poking me in the ribs with her finger.

We sat on high stools and had coffee. There was an uneasiness between us. I wanted to spend every last moment with her, while she was desperate to get through to departures, as if in doing so her plane would leave more quickly. Neither of us wanted to express our eagerness to the other, as we both understood the situation.

“Do you want another coffee?” Caroline asked.

“No thanks,” I said. “I think you ought to go on through now, in case the lines for security are long.” I didn’t want her to. I wanted her to stay with me forever.

“I’ll stay a little longer,” she said. But I don’t think she really wanted to. She was trying to please me.

“No,” I said. “You go now, and I’ll get the train back to London, then on to Newmarket.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, clearly relieved.

I waved to her until the very last second, until she and Viola finally disappeared into the security area and the departure lounge beyond. I then stood there for a while, waiting just in case they came back, just in case they needed something. But, of course, they didn’t.

How was it, I thought, that she could be so close to me, just through a door or two, and yet so far away? I even spoke to my overnight bag. “How could she go without me?” I asked it. It didn’t reply. I thought of my passport, sitting in the side pocket. Why didn’t I just fly to Chicago? Would Caroline be pleased or embarrassed by my arrival? What would Carl say if I didn’t go back to the Hay Net for another week?

“Stop being so silly,” I said to the bag, and received some strange looks from people around me.

I caught the Heathrow express train to Paddington and felt very lonely. It wasn’t so much that I was not with her; it was also the fact that I couldn’t even call her on the telephone if I wanted to, and wouldn’t be able to do so for at least the next nine hours. I couldn’t tell her how much I was missing her already, how much I was hurting. Perhaps it was just as well, I thought.

By the time I got to King’s Cross station, I reckoned that her flight must have surely departed. She would be sitting comfortably in her business-class seat, sipping business-class champagne and deciding which movie to watch. She was cocooned in an aluminum tube, rushing away from me at six hundred miles an hour, and I felt dreadful.

CARL COLLECTED me from Newmarket station at three o’clock and drove me to the Hay Net. I didn’t want to go home and sit alone in my cottage.

“We did sixty-five lunches yesterday,” said Carl.

“Good,” I said. “Perhaps we can now say we’re back to normal.”

“Still down a bit on dinners,” he said. “We only had twenty last night, and that’s low, even for a Sunday.”

“Perhaps we should close on Sunday evenings,” I said. “What do you think?”

“It would give us all Sunday evening off,” he said. Fixing the weekly staff rotation to provide for time off was always a headache.

“How many lunches did we do today?” I asked him.

“It was quite good,” he said. “At least thirty-five. But we’re the only place that does lunches on Mondays.”

We arrived at the Hay Net to find that Gary was busy with the kitchen porters cleaning in the kitchen. They had moved all the stainless steel worktop units and were scrubbing the floors beneath.

“What’s all that about?” I asked Carl as we went into the office. “Gary seems very industrious all of a sudden.”

“I think he’s trying to impress,” said Carl with a laugh. “He’s had his nose put out of joint a bit by Oscar.”

“Oscar?” I said.

“You know, the temporary chef from the agency.” I nodded remembering. “Seems that Gary thinks that Oscar is muscling in on his life and he doesn’t like it.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” I said. “Oscar will only be here for a few more days.”

“Ah, but it’s not just in the kitchen,” said Carl. “Seems that Oscar has designs on Ray as well.” Ray and Gary, the couple. “Gary is jealous.”

“I’m keeping out of it,” I said. “As long as it doesn’t affect the running of the kitchen.”

“Are you working tonight?” Carl asked. “I could let Oscar go now if you’re going to be back full-time.”

“No,” I said. “Keep him here for a while longer. I don’t feel fully back to normal yet.” Also, I thought, I might need to be away more for the next few weeks as I looked for a London site. And I had been thinking of having another chef in the kitchen anyway to help with the workload. Having Oscar around for a bit longer might help me decide if it was really necessary. Staff salaries were the biggest of my overheads, and I certainly didn’t want to employ more chefs than I needed.

IN THE END, I did work in the kitchen that evening, although it wasn’t because I was needed. It was more to take my mind off Caroline’s flight. We did more than fifty dinners, which, while not quite at prepoisoning levels, was a huge improvement over last week.

I immersed myself in my cooking, panfrying fillets of Scotch beef and roasting sea bass, glazing racks of lamb and braising pork medallions. It felt good to be back in the groove even if the numbers were still down.

Twice I found Jacek standing, watching me work. His job involved coming into the kitchen to collect the used pots and pans for washing in the scullery and then returning them to the chefs for reuse. The first time, I thought he was just waiting for me to finish with the pan I was using, but on the second occasion I was sure he was observing me cook. I dismissed him back to the scullery with a wave.

“You want to mind that one,” said Gary, who had witnessed the exchange. “I don’t trust him.”

I think I agreed with him, and I resolved that in the morning I would try to find out more about our new kitchen porter.

Two of the evening’s customers were Ms. Harding, the news editor from the Cambridge Evening News, together with, I presumed, Mr. Harding, the paper’s overall editor. I hadn’t seen them arrive, and I didn’t even realize they were in the dining room until Richard came to see me about their bill.

“She says you invited them to come for free,” he said somewhat accusingly. Richard was never one to allow anyone to get away with something for nothing. That was one of the reasons I employed him.

“That’s right,” I said, taking their bill from the plate he was carrying. I looked at it. They had ordered a bottle of wine, but it was one of the cheaper ones on our list, and I decided to allow that too. Richard wouldn’t have approved.

I went over to the Hardings’ table with a bottle of port and three glasses.

“Do you fancy a nightcap?” I asked.

“Hello,” said Ms. Harding warmly. “This is my husband, Alistair. Max Moreton.” I saw him read the embroidered name on my tunic.

Alistair stood up, and we shook hands.

“Thank you for the dinner,” he said. “We’ve really enjoyed the evening.”

“Good,” I said. “Can I join you for a port?” I held up the bottle.

In the end, only Ms. Harding had one with me since her husband was driving.

“I can’t go on thinking of you as Ms. Harding,” I said to her. “But I don’t know your first name.”

“Clare,” she said.

“Well, Clare,” I said, “I hope you don’t suffer any ill effects after eating here.”

She looked rather startled and then smiled broadly as she realized I was only joking. At least, I hoped I was only joking.

“I am sure I will be fine,” she said. “I had the snapper with the pear, and it was absolutely delicious.” Gary would be pleased.