Gee’s hearty beef stew. Dicing onions would have to be my least favorite task in the kitchen and she’d assigned me a kilo’s worth. “How was the B&S ball?” she said, rinsing and drying her hands while eyeing me with curiosity. I paused mid-chop and blinked against the constant sting. “Same old.” Mrs. Gee tut-tutted. “Wild women and monstrous hangovers?” “Something like that.” I resumed dicing, preferring not to think about that night two weeks ago. The night I kinda went a little crazy. “You were back rather early?” She poured beef stock into the monstrous pot on the stove and added a handful of fresh tarragon and oregano. “Thought you’d be gone for a few days.” “Maybe I missed you too much?” I winked and the sixty-something cook blushed. “You’re full of it,” she said, grabbing a ladle and stirring the stew. “So what really happened?” I couldn’t tell her the truth, for the simple fact I hadn’t quite figured out what had happened myself.
