by Katie Fforde
‘You must think my cheffy ideas are a bit ridiculous,’ he said.
As this had been exactly what Philly had been thinking she smiled. ‘Only sometimes. I mean, I thought it was ridiculous of you to refry the chip-shop chips but they were delicious.’
He smiled back. ‘I know! But in general, do I annoy you?’
She was taken aback. ‘I don’t know what to say!’
‘Well, “no” would do. But the reason I’m asking is…’ He paused, cleared his throat and carried on. ‘I was having a look around earlier and there’s an outbuilding that would make a perfect base for me. If I could rent it, it would be amazing.’
‘Er—’
‘Of course it’s something I’d talk to Seamus about and you and he would have to think about it very hard but…’ He paused again. ‘Can I tell you my life story? Well, edited highlights, anyway?’
Philly shrugged. ‘If you want to.’
‘I think I told you I ran away from home – like you two did – and since then I’ve learnt a few things. One is, I don’t really want to work as a chef in a restaurant.’
‘Isn’t that what chefs do?’
He shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. Working in a restaurant is hell, honestly it is. Such hard work, no proper sleep, split shifts which mean you have two hours off in the afternoon but you can’t really go home and sleep in that time—’
‘But if it was your restaurant?’
‘If I ever got enough capital to have a restaurant of my own I’d lose it all in the first six months. These are the hard business facts.’
All Philly’s – admittedly very vague – impressions about the life of a chef faded. ‘So?’
‘I want to cook for people, either in their homes or businesses. And I want to make bread.’
‘Right.’ Philly sipped her drink.
‘So I need premises. Somewhere I can pre-prepare meals and, of course, bake – which is why I’m asking whether you and your grandfather would rent me that outbuilding.’
‘It would take a lot of work to make it suitable—’
‘I know! But I don’t mind doing that work. It’s got water and electricity already but I would need to have it converted to three-phase for a commercial oven.’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t need it for plants?’
Philly wondered what three-phase was but decided not to ask. She probably didn’t need to know. ‘No. One of the many reasons – but possibly the main one – we wanted this property so much was because of the outbuildings. But we don’t need them all. Renting one out would probably be fine.’ She frowned. ‘But you’re going to need equipment – all sorts of things. How are you going to afford that?’
Lucien had obviously thought a lot about all this. ‘I’m going to save up. It’ll take a while but when I’ve got a decent lump I’ll see if I can get my godfather to put up the rest.’
‘But would he?’
Lucien shrugged. ‘He might. He’s not as conventional as my parents. They all have enough money to lend me the entire amount but they won’t because they assume I’d waste it.’
‘So you need to prove—’
‘That I can work hard and get some capital of my own; that I won’t waste it. So, my interim plan is – with your permission – to bake what I can in your domestic oven, prove I can do the work, the getting up early, preparing everything.’ He paused. ‘Domestic ovens are not ideal but I’ve got to start somewhere.’
Philly had been thinking. ‘Do professional ovens take up a lot of space?’
‘Depends how big they are, obviously.’
Philly flushed. ‘I know that. What I was trying to say is: Do they have to be massive?’
‘Not really. What are you suggesting?’
‘Well, there’s the utility room. It’s full of junk at the moment because we’ve never got round to clearing it out and we’re fine having the washing machine in the kitchen. Maybe you could use that for the time being?’
He sucked his teeth. ‘There’s the phase-three thing—’
Philly realised she did need to know. ‘What’s that, exactly?’
‘Commercial ovens need a hell of a lot more power than domestic ovens do. It would need rewiring. That would be an expense as well as the oven.’
This wasn’t sounding positive. ‘And I expect professional bread ovens are really expensive?’
‘You can get all types and sizes second-hand. Still expensive though!’ He seemed excited by all these difficulties. ‘Let’s have a look on eBay. It would be good to know what we’re aiming for, money-wise.’
A little while later, Philly said, ‘You’re going to need a thousand pounds really, just for the cooker.’
Lucien nodded. ‘I’ve got a bit stashed away but not that much. But it’s OK. I’ve got work booked for the Newbury Races. I did a phone interview and someone I know gave me a reference.’ He paused. ‘I was presuming a bit. That it’s OK for me to stay on for a little while? I’m not getting on your nerves?’
Her answer seemed important to him, as if he was asking for more than just somewhere to stay.
‘You’re not getting on my nerves and I’m sure it’s OK to stay.’
His expression was suddenly too intense for her to be able to meet his gaze. She looked away.
He cleared his throat. ‘Philly?’
She blushed and glanced up and then looked away again. ‘What?’ Her voice was suddenly croaky.
He gazed at her for a bit longer and then said, ‘Nothing! If you’re sure it’s all right to stay I’ll see if I can get a sourdough mother started.’
Relieved he had reverted to talking about dough she relaxed. ‘And if it doesn’t work?’
‘I’ve got a mate who’ll give me a bit. I prefer to make my own really.’
‘You’re very energetic!’
He nodded. ‘Used to drive my mother mad. Which is why I decided to leave – to give her some peace.’ He frowned. ‘It wasn’t the only reason. Just one of them.’
Seeing his expression Philly felt he probably minded more being at odds with his parents than he appeared. She understood. Leaving home with her grandfather had been an adventure but hurting her family by doing it had been tough. She was glad now her parents had more or less accepted the situation. She smiled. ‘So if you fall out with your birth mother you make a new one out of flour and water?’
He grinned. ‘Maybe a few other things, but that’s about it.’
‘Talk to Grand in the morning. He might have some ideas about how to raise money. He loves impossible challenges.’
‘That’s good, because this is one – if you accept some things aren’t doable, which I don’t, mostly.’ He grinned, wickedly, Philly thought. ‘I have a bit of a plan.’
‘Oh?’
She didn’t really want to know but curiosity got the better of her.
‘Don’t look like that – you’ll like it.’
‘Will I?’
‘Yes! I’m planning a bit of a flutter while I’m at the races.’
She was horrified and obviously looked it.
‘Don’t look so worried.’ He moved a curl away from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Although you do look pretty when you’re worried.’
She took a breath. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for him to say she was pretty. She was happier when they were talking about phase-three and sourdough mothers, even if she didn’t remotely understand them.
‘You’re Irish,’ Lucien went on, gently teasing. ‘You’re supposed to like horses.’
She felt more confident now. ‘I do like horses – to ride or cuddle – but not to bet on. Not all Irish people are gamblers, you know.’
‘Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Well, anyway, I’m going to go to the races, so I’ll take the van to Newbury and find somewhere to park it. Otherwise I’ll have to find accommodation which is never that great.’
‘The van is better?’
He nodded. ‘It’s very comfortable, you know. I’ll take you for a
ride in it sometime.’
Worried that he might pick up on the double meaning his words might have to a good Irish girl, she tossed him a smile over her shoulder and left the room.
12
The following morning, Philly and Lorna were in the garden, which, in the chilly dawn, did not look much like somewhere you’d open to the public.
‘I’d just like the paths all properly edged in this bit,’ said Lorna with a grand gesture of her hand. It was a part of the garden that had at one time been described as Italian but was a long way off its restoration. ‘At the moment it’s just full of things people have stuck in over the years. There’s no proper scheme to it.’
Philly inspected it more critically, mentally running through plant lists. It was a big project and a wonderful opportunity. She felt daunted and excited at the same time. ‘What sort of scheme would you have?’
‘Ideally? I’d go for something quite dramatic and stylish. There’s a lovely black-and-white garden at Highgrove.’
Philly knew the one Lorna was referring to. ‘Tricky.’
‘Yes, and they take the buds off dahlias – Bishop of Llandaff – to get the black foliage and I don’t think I could do that.’
‘Those lovely scarlet flowers? I couldn’t do it either! But you could have black, white and scarlet,’ she went on. ‘I could do you some of those nasturtiums that don’t climb but are a really good red with black leaves.’
‘And they’d bulk up quickly so we could get the effect quite soon. Should we include white? Or just the two colours?’
Usually Lorna had clear ideas about what she wanted. Philly found it flattering to be consulted so closely. ‘Let’s see,’ she suggested. ‘If we run out of black and scarlet you could add in some white. There are masses of poppies, scarlet with black centres. I could grow them with some heat to make sure we have plenty in flower, like they do for Chelsea.’
‘Isn’t that a bit wasteful?’
‘No. I can always sell the later bloomers on the stall. I think it’s a great idea. What else? There are lots of black grasses.’
‘It’s a shame we didn’t know about this last autumn. We could have done the whole thing with tulips,’ said Lorna.
‘I have got quite a lot of tulips in containers I could let you have. People like those really dark Queen of the Night so I planted plenty.’
‘Won’t that mean you won’t have them for the stall?’
‘It will. But I’ll still be selling them.’
‘Well, charge me the full retail price for them. Peter can afford it. And thinking of things Peter can afford, he said I can have help. Do you know anyone who might like a bit of gardening work?’
Philly shook her heard. ‘I can’t think of anyone. Why don’t you put some cards up in the local garden centres? I can ring around my nursery friends and see if they know anyone who needs a bit of work. Do they need to be qualified?’
‘Well, as long as they know the difference between a weed and a flower they should be OK.’
‘To be honest, Lorna, I have got those two confused myself on occasion.’
Lorna laughed. ‘So have I! Now let’s get these beds cleared. I know I haven’t got you for all that long. And while we’re working, think up some more plants. And you can tell me what it’s like having Lucien lodging with you.’
Philly pulled her gardening gloves out of her back pocket. ‘It’s fine actually. Grand loves him being there. Lucien has this mad plan to raise enough money to convert one of the outbuildings into a professional kitchen.’
‘Goodness! That does make him a special kind of lodger,’ said Lorna. ‘That needs to cost money, does it? I mean, can’t you just paint it and put in a freezer?’
Philly watched as Lorna knocked the earth off a huge clump of Michaelmas daisies before sticking her own fork into the flower bed. ‘No. You need to redo the electricity to three-phase, so you can get really hot ovens and things. Expensive.’
‘Oh. And Seamus is happy about that?’
‘Yes! He adores Lucien. They’re both a bit mad and Lucien has loads of energy and bounces around all the time like he’s on springs.’ She frowned suddenly.
Lorna happened to be looking at her. ‘Something not right?’
‘Well, it’s not really my business but he has this mad plan to raise the money to do it. I don’t know the details but he’s got work as a chef at Newbury Races.’
Lorna looked worried. ‘I do hope he’s not going to bet all his wages on a horse.’
Philly bit her lip. ‘He mentioned having a flutter. Of course, it’s his money. If he wants to throw it away on a horse it’s nothing to do with me.’
Lorna nodded. ‘And I suppose if you were going out with Lucien you’d have to learn to live dangerously.’
Philly flushed. ‘I’m not going out with Lucien.’
Lorna shrugged. ‘Of course you’re not. But maybe you will? He is very attractive.’
Philly sighed. ‘It’s not that I don’t find him attractive – of course I do. And we’re fine when we’re talking about practical things. But when he says anything – you know – a bit flirtatious, or looks at me in a certain way, I go all shy and can’t help blushing. He must think I’ve never had a boyfriend and don’t know how to behave around them.’
‘You’ll get used to it. It’s early days.’
Philly nodded. ‘So what about you and Jack? Are you seeing each other?’
‘No! Not like that. He’s far too young for me.’
‘So how old is he?’
‘I don’t know exactly—’
‘You mean you haven’t googled him?’
‘Have you googled Lucien?’
‘Yes. He doesn’t really do much on Facebook and most of his pictures are of food.’ She’d been looking for pictures of him with haughty debutantes and was very relieved not to find any.
‘And you think I should google Jack?’
‘Yes! I mean…’ Philly coughed. ‘I mean, you’re not on Facebook, are you, Lorna?’
‘I know I should be—’
‘Google him,’ said Philly firmly. ‘If you can’t find out about him on Facebook, he’ll still be there on the internet. He may not be that young and anyway, why worry about it? I think he likes you!’
The following morning Philly appeared with a wrapped package for Lorna. ‘Hey! This is a present from Lucien. He made bread last night to see what he could do with a domestic oven. It’s not of merchantable quality, according to him, but I had some for breakfast and it’s fab.’
‘Oh, great! Thank you.’ Lorna took the package and put it in her knapsack where there was a flask of coffee and some biscuits. ‘Couldn’t you have frozen it?’
‘He made rather a lot, Lorna, and he wanted to find out what other people thought of it.’
‘The trouble is, I’m always so hungry by lunchtime I’d think it was delicious even if it wasn’t.’
‘Exactly. I told him that. But he wanted you to have it and so did I.’
It was towards the end of the morning and the Italian garden was pretty much clear, ready for its new colour scheme, when Jack appeared.
‘Hello, Lorna, Philly,’ he called and they both looked up.
Lorna wiped a strand of hair away from her eyes and then wished she hadn’t. She knew she had replaced her hair with a streak of mud.
‘Hello, Jack,’ said Philly.
Lorna was grateful. Since Philly had put the idea of Jack as a potential boyfriend into her head, she couldn’t think about him in a normal way. The relaxed companion of the other night had somehow become something that made her wary.
‘Hi,’ she managed. ‘What can we do for you?’
He looked at her. ‘I just wanted to see where I might put my sculpture.’
‘Oh? I thought there was a day when all the artists were going to come round? Didn’t Kirstie send an email?’ She knew perfectly well she had. And she’d seen Jack’s name on the list.
‘I wanted to get ahead of the game. I t
hought being friends with the head gardener and the main supplier of plants gave me an advantage.’
Lorna smiled. ‘I’m sure it does. Where do you think you might like to put it? And have you just the one piece? Or several? What sort of size is it?’
‘It’s quite large. I’ll need to be able to get a tractor or something to wherever I put it.’
‘Then quite near here then,’ said Philly. ‘It’s not too far from a good path.’
‘Sounds perfect. And if I can stake my claim I will. Other people will have problems moving things about too,’ he said.
‘You’d better see Kirstie then,’ said Lorna. ‘Once you’ve decided.’
‘I’ll have a walk round,’ he said. ‘I’ll catch you later.’ He set off towards the house.
‘I hope he doesn’t only do huge pieces,’ said Lorna, hoping too that Philly hadn’t caught her watching Jack move away with long, purposeful strides. ‘Shifting it around could be tricky and churn up the ground quite a bit.’
‘I don’t suppose Kirstie thought about things like that when she had the idea of a sculpture trail.’
‘Nor did I, at the time,’ said Lorna. ‘Well, let’s get this lot to the compost. Shall I push and you pull? To get the barrow up the slope?’
Philly had gone home and Lorna was sweeping the paths of the Italian garden so it looked tidy, even if the beds were empty. She looked around her, content with how it looked. As yet there were no plants, but it was full of promise. As a red, black and possibly white garden it would be sophisticated and interesting. She’d probably never love it as much as the far more haphazard cottage garden, over on the other side of the house, which was full of rambling roses, poppies, lupins, stocks and phlox, but it would be immensely stylish.
She was about to go home herself, as she’d been thinking about the soup that had been simmering in the slow cooker since early that morning, when Jack came back.
‘I’ve found the perfect spot,’ he said. ‘Can I take you out for lunch?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve got lunch at home. But you can share it with me if you like.’
