Indiscretion by Hannah Fielding Read Free Book Online Page A

Fiat in the public car park. It was difficult to take a vehicle into some of the narrower streets, he told her. The restaurant was not too far and, besides, it was a pleasant, balmy evening.
    They walked, turning into one of the flagged lanes that converged on the harbour. It had no pavement and was lined with shops selling nets, bait and fishing equipment, which alternated with bars and public houses without shopfronts or signs.
    ‘We’ve arrived,’ declared Ramón at last, stopping outside an unmarked building and guiding her down a badly lit flight of steps. ‘Pedro Gomez, the owner, is a friend and his
taberna
’s very popular on the coast. It’s patronized by a small, select crowd because he serves the best
chipirones
and the most exquisite
kokotxas
.’
    Alexandra laughed. ‘But what are “
chipirones
” and “
kokotxas
”? Forgive my ignorance but it’s my first visit to Spain. I may be half-Spanish but, believe it or not, I haven’t yet sampled the cuisine. My aunt isn’t a huge fan of Spanish food,’ she added, seeing his surprised look.
    ‘Well, let me enlighten you, my poor deprived
chica Inglés
,’ he laughed. ‘
Chipirones en su tinta
is ink-fish cooked in its own ink, a Basque speciality that Don Pedro, originally from San Sebastían, is very proud of. As for
kokotxas
, they’re small pieces of dried cod cooked in garlic, the favourite dish of the fishermen. During their long journeys, they cook huge saucepans of it then eat the ragout while sitting in a circle, sharing the one dish and dunking their bread in the thick, sticky sauce … But enough talk of food, let’s eat. You’re looking pale, Cousin.’
    Alexandra did feel quite weak. She wasn’t used to skipping meals and was light-headed and weary as a consequence. Relieved, she let him steer her towards a table.
    Señor
Pedro came in person to take their order, beaming, his arms outstretched towards Ramón. In his sixties, he was round-faced and tubby, with bulging, dark, sparkling eyes, a big bushy moustache and greying side-whiskers. The two men exchanged a few words in the incomprehensible Basque dialect and then he turned to Alexandra. To her surprise, he addressed her in English.
    ‘So,
señorita
, you have come a long way to visit Spain, eh? Splendid!’ He chuckled. ‘I am the humble Pedro Gomez,
Pépé
to my friends, a solitary exile from San Sebastían, the most cosmopolitan of Spanish towns, the heart of the Basque culture and mother of its cuisine. What a brilliant idea
Señor
Ramón has had, to bring you to my restaurant. In my
taberna
, and only here, you will sample authentic Basque cuisine without having to go all the way to San Sebastían,’ he told her proudly. He nodded his head, in mock earnest. ‘I bring refinement and culture to these poor, simple inhabitants of the South.’
    Alexandra giggled uncontrollably at the comic buffoonery of the odd man. ‘Bravo!’ she applauded. ‘
Señor
Pedro, if your talent for cooking is as great as your eloquence, I’ve no doubt that your
taberna
is the most sought after, not only on the south coast, but in the whole of Spain.’
    The small dining area was on a terrace outside, under a vine-covered pergola. As promised, the views overlooking the harbour were fabulousand dinner was a delight. Alexandra felt at ease in the company of her cousin and was surprised at how quickly a relationship of camaraderie and trust established itself between them. Her only regret was not having known Ramón earlier.
He would have made a good brother
, she thought wistfully. Watching him during their conversation, she noticed that there was also more to him, perhaps, than met the eye. His frank smile, showing brilliant, regular teeth, punctuated his conversation but, in repose, Alexandra noted, his face was lined and somewhat bitter for a man of his age and she wondered why. He could only be a few years older than she was and no more than thirty, if that.
    ‘So, Alexandra, tell me about life