‘Yes. I’ll be here around twelve, if that’s okay?’ I say, aiming for my most professional tone.
‘That works for me.’ He smiles and I walk quickly to my car, delving in my bag for the keys. But next second, they slip through my fingers and manage to land not just on the ground but underneath the car, out of sight. So then, of course, I have to bend down and peer under to retrieve them, all the while aware that Jed is standing there, patiently waiting for me to leave so he can get back to his guests.
Red-faced, I dangle them at him with a silly grin, then dive with relief into the driver’s seat, start the engine and make my exit. Luckily, Jed’s already closing the door as I grate the gears spectacularly. Not that he can have failed to hear it. There are probably people trekking in the Himalayas who paused for a second to wonder what the noise was.
*
On the way to The Pretty Flamingo, I think about Jed and Clemmy.
He was so keen to invite Clemmy for Christmas, yet it’s as plain as the nose on Clemmy’s face that she’s mad about Ryan. But Jed doesn’t seem too bothered. Then again, some blokes can be astonishingly bad at reading the emotional signs. Maybe he hasn’t even twigged that Clemmy’s in love with his brother?
That doesn’t really ring true, though. Jed seems warm and sensitive to other people’s feelings – like when he pointedly took Jessica’s coat from me after she treated me like a hat-check girl. The memory of him doing that gives me a warm feeling inside.
Perhaps Jed sees what’s going on with Clemmy but is hoping to change her mind? I don’t blame him for liking her. She’s so friendly and fun and sweet – a bit like a bouncy Labrador pup that you can’t help but love. No airs or graces whatsoever. Clemmy is just a very genuine person. The opposite of that awful Jessica.
But perhaps I shouldn’t judge Jessica. I’ve only just met her – and it could be that her arrogant manner is hiding her nervousness at meeting Ryan’s family and friends for the first time. There’s certainly going to be an interesting mix of guests at the Log Fire Cabin. Jed’s Uncle Bob, a widower, is arriving tomorrow morning, and his new girlfriend, Gloria, is apparently travelling down from Newcastle with her two teenage children. That makes eight people to cook for tomorrow night, presuming that Jessica is staying.
Nervous excitement fizzes like a New-Year firework in my chest at the thought of preparing the food for tomorrow night. I’ve already got the menu all worked out in my head.
It’s only as I’m pulling into the hotel car park that I remember it’s Mimi’s day off. But having psyched myself up to sort out my shifts, I decide to ask Mrs Nutter instead. Hopefully, she’ll remember all the times I’ve stood in during staff shortages and will be fine about repaying the favour. I’ve already made sure Maxine is okay about doing some of my shifts. In fact, she’s delighted because she’s saving up to go to New York in the spring, so the more work the merrier.
‘No way.’ Mrs Nutter crosses her arms and my heart sinks. I can tell from the defensive glint in her eyes that she will not budge on this. ‘You know full well there’s no swapping shifts during the Christmas season, Poppy.’
‘But it would just be for a few nights, and Maxine is happy to fill in for me. And I’ll work extra shifts at other times to make up for it?’
The answer is still no.
A little burst of frustration rises up. I’ve helped the Nutters out on so many occasions, but apparently that means nothing to Mrs Nutter. She’s clearly not prepared to even talk about it. There’s a faint smile on her face. I think she’s actually enjoying my dismay.
How can I cook for Jed Turner if I’ve got to be here in the evenings? It’s impossible.
I drive away and head for Erin’s place. I need to talk it over with her and as it’s her day off today, I’m hoping she might be at home. I park up outside her block of flats and I’m briefly checking my phone for messages when the main door to the building opens and two people emerge. One of them is Mark. As he descends the few steps into the car-parking area, he turns to talk to a girl following close behind. Small and slim with smooth, strawberry-blonde hair swinging past her shoulders, she’s wearing a cute, cream trouser suit and red heels, with a camel coat slung over her shoulders. She laughs at something he said and her whole face lights up. I watch them as they stand and chat beside a little red car that must belong to her. She keeps pulling the coat closer around her against the December wind. Their conversation seems very animated and from their body language and the way they keep beaming at each other, it’s more funny banter than an ordinary chat.
Then Mark glances at his watch and says something to her, at which point they both stop smiling and glance anxiously towards the road.
Quickly, she gets in her car, waves and drives away, and Mark lingers by the entrance to watch her leave. Then he heads straight towards me, walking rapidly, hands in his pockets.
Panicking, I instinctively slide lower in my seat and turn my head so he won’t see me. Then I wait until he’s walking away from me along the High Street before I sit back up in the seat again. Erin musn’t be in. Feeling low because I really wanted to chat to her, I start up the engine and drive home.
It’s only as I’m letting myself into the house that I pause to wonder why I slunk down in the seat like that. I suppose seeing Mark emerging from that matching agency the other day must still be preying on my mind. But there won’t be anything fishy going on. I’m quite certain of that. Mark’s mad about Erin. He wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.
I’m fiercely protective of my best friend after her terrible relationship history, and honestly, there aren’t many men who pass my ‘good-enough-for-Erin’ gauge, but Mark definitely does.
No doubt Miss Cute Strawberry Blonde will turn out to be a colleague from the estate agent’s where he works. At least, I sincerely hope so.
Chapter 14
Wednesday 21st December
Afternoon tea
Cherry and coconut cake
Dinner menu
Figs, melon and parma ham
***
Tender beef casserole,
buttery mash, glazed baby carrots and garden peas
***
Amalfi lemon tart with whipped cream
This morning, I’m up with the lark, unable to eat breakfast because I’m so nervous about the day ahead. There’s a fizzing sensation in my stomach – and already my heart is pumping faster – but everything is prepared for my first day of cooking for Jed Turner, so hopefully things will turn out fine.
As I dash out of the house, a text pings through from Harrison.
Flamenco dance class tonight. Black pants far too tight but Mother insists. Wish you were here xx
As I draw up outside Erin’s, I’m still chortling at the thought of Harrison in full flamenco gear, with flouncy-sleeved blouse and trousers cutting off his circulation. His mum, Betty, is a forceful woman. What she wants, she generally gets. And poor Harrison will have to go along with it.
Then I remember I’m due in for a shift at the restaurant tonight and my heart drops like a stone. I’m going to have to phone in sick. It’s going to be so blatantly obvious I’m swinging the lead after Mrs Nutter turned me down yesterday. But what else can I do? At least I know Maxine is standing by to fill in for me, so my absence definitely won’t be leaving them short-staffed.
Erin comes down the steps, looking slightly preoccupied.
I’d assumed she’d be full of the joys because her Christmas break officially begins today. But she doesn’t even get excited when I suggest we splash out at the delicatessen for the parma ham. (She’s normally like a kid in a sweetie shop among all those exotic quiches, jewel-bean salads and German sausages.)
She perks up a bit as we drive along the bumpy road towards the Log Fire Cabin and she catches her first glimpse of the lake. It’s another crystal-clear, blue-skied morning and the reflection of the cottage and pine trees in the water is perfect.
‘It’s such a gorgeous setting,’ Erin mur
murs. ‘Mark and I used to come here for picnics when we first got together.’
I turn in surprise. ‘Did you?’
‘Yeah, it was really romantic. He’d buy stuff from the deli and bring a cool box with a bottle of chilled fizz. On summer days, we’d spend hours and hours just lying on a rug on the grass, being daft. We never seemed to run out of things to talk about.’
‘Sounds heavenly.’ I glance at her profile.
She sighs. ‘Oh for the early days, when he was always trying to impress me.’
‘Perhaps you could revive the picnic days? You can borrow my cool box.’
Even this doesn’t raise a smile – and she loves that cool box! It’s an electric one that you can plug in to the car to keep your bits and pieces nice and fresh. Harrison bought it for our first picnic together. He gets a bit jumpy about ham going off in the sun and random insects landing on his food.
‘You know, Mark is so much more romantic than Harrison,’ I say, to cheer her up. ‘He buys you flowers for no reason, for heaven’s sake. And he sits through entire episodes of Hollyoaks because you love it and he wants to be with you. What bloke does that?’
‘That’s true. I’m just being stupid.’ She straightens up in her seat and points across the lake. ‘Ooh, wouldn’t it be lovely to buy that little cottage and do it up? It’s so unbelievably cute.’
‘It used to be a B&B.’
‘Really? Gosh, I don’t remember that.’
‘It was many moons ago,’ I say, recalling the creaky wooden stairs leading up to the sunny bedroom with its window seat and views over the lake. I loved that window seat. I’d sit with my feet up, curled sideways among the floral-sprigged cushions, gazing at the expanse of sky and the pine trees on the opposite side of the lake. That was long before the Log Fire Cabin was built. ‘They did a brilliant breakfast fry-up.’
I’m dimly aware that Erin is asking me something about the B&B, but I’m lost in the past, remembering how Mum refused to eat anything that morning. She just hugged a coffee with an expression on her face that suggested the milk was sour. I, however, was in my element, demolishing bacon, eggs and sausages as we chatted away. Alessandro brought Italy alive for me and I remember being entranced by his halting English accent. I hung on his every word as he transported me to the pretty town of Sorrento in the heat of the summer, and drove me along the stunning Amalfi coast to Capri in an open-topped car. I could almost feel the warm wind in my hair and breathe in the scent of the lemon groves.
I still can’t forgive Mum for not telling me the truth about Alessandro until it was too late and he’d gone back to Italy. But, looking back, I sometimes wonder if she was on edge the entire time he was with us because she could see I really liked him and she knew it could only end badly for me.
‘Are you okay?’ Erin is peering at me. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Sorry. I – er – I’m just trying to get everything sorted in my head for today.’
‘Exciting, isn’t it?’
‘Or terrifying.’ I force a smile, pushing Alessandro out of my mind. ‘I can’t decide which.’
I was up till three this morning, devising mouth-watering menus for the next twelve days, so I should be feeling exhausted but I’m not at all. Excitement is whipping up the adrenaline in my system, making me feel anything but tired. I feel like the battery bunny – I could probably keep going for days.
I’d emailed the menus and my quote through to Jed in the early hours and, by breakfast time, he’d emailed back to approve them. A wave of relief coursed through me. I’d been worrying I was charging too much but Erin told me quite fiercely that I wasn’t to undersell myself. I was a brilliant cook, she said, and I was charging a very reasonable rate for what she knew would be almost two weeks of first class cuisine.
The only picky eater, Jed noted in his email, was Ruby, Gloria’s teenage daughter. But he’d bought in a supply of her favourite chicken goujons and vanilla ice cream, so we were covered for all eventualities.
When Erin and I arrive at the house, I use the key Jed has given me so we can come and go as we need to, and I introduce an amazed Erin to the splendours of the Log Fire Cabin. The place is eerily silent. I assume they’ve all gone out.
‘Close your mouth.’ I grin at her. ‘Or you’ll catch flies.’
‘Oh my God, it’s gorgeous,’ she breathes, staring up at the Christmas tree. ‘Hang on, are they your baubles?’
‘Some of them. Yes.’ I pause to admire the tree myself, remembering how Jed had to decorate the topmost branches himself because I couldn’t quite reach.
We place our cartons and boxes on the breakfast bar in the kitchen and go back out to the car to collect the rest. When we return, Jessica is floating down the stairs in a silky Japanese-print robe and bare feet.
‘Good morning, Jessica.’ I smile. ‘This is my assistant, Erin.’
‘Hi there. Pleased to meet you,’ sings Erin. ‘What a beautiful dressing gown.’
‘Thank you. It’s a kimono.’ Her glance is frosty as she sweeps past us. I guess it’s not de rigeur for the hired help to initiate a conversation with a client.
We follow her into the kitchen and find Ryan making tea, wearing a skimpy cotton robe in dusky pink that shows off his fine hairy legs to perfection.
‘For God’s sake, Ryan!’ hisses Jessica. ‘I just bought that. It’s bloody YSL! You’d better not spill anything on it!’
He ignores her and turns to us. ‘Sorry about the lack of clothes, ladies. I thought we were alone.’
‘Oh, don’t mind us!’ I say breezily, setting down the box I’m carrying. ‘This is Erin, by the way.’
‘Ryan.’ He moves forward to shake her hand.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Erin gives him a cheerful once-over. ‘Can I just say you look ravishing in pink. But did you know your belt is coming loose?’
I could truly murder her. But thankfully, Ryan seems amused. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile properly, with his eyes, and he’s really quite handsome. He should definitely smile more often.
‘Any good at tying knots?’ he asks Erin with a suggestively raised eyebrow.
Jessica hustles him out, clearly not enjoying the banter one bit, and her irritation explodes when she thinks she’s out of earshot. ‘And by the way, I can just about bear to share a bathroom with that fat girl, and use towels that have the texture of rush matting. But I draw the line at wearing wellies!’
‘Prada heels aren’t the best for a tramp through sheep shit,’ points out Ryan.
‘Well, then, I’ll just stay indoors and you can go for a walk.’
‘Clemmy’s not fat, by the way. She’s voluptuous.’ Ryan’s voice grows fainter as they climb the stairs.
Jessica barks a laugh. ‘Yes, and her copy of Hello magazine is all about Einstein’s theory of relativity. What’s it doing in the bathroom anyway? Does she read it on the toilet?’
Their bedroom door slams shut.
I look at Erin and we both snort with amusement.
‘No prizes for guessing Jessica would rather be anywhere but here for Christmas,’ I murmur, rolling my eyes at Erin as I assemble the vegetables for her to prepare for the beef casserole.
‘I know. Poor Ryan. Why on earth has he saddled himself with her?’
I grin at her. ‘Apart from the obvious?’
‘Well, there is that, I suppose. She has got an amazing figure.’ She starts slicing an onion, screwing her eyes up slightly so that the spray doesn’t make her cry. Then she looks up at me. ‘This is it, then. The start of a whole new career. Your first real proper catering job!’
‘Mrs Morelli was real, wasn’t she?’ I laugh. ‘Not a figment of my imagination.’
‘Yes, but we knew her so it doesn’t really count,’ says Erin firmly.
I smile at her enthusiasm. I only wish I shared her confidence that everything will work out fine. I might have been up half the night thinking about every last detail, but you can’t plan for all eventualities. Wh
at if I have an unexpected cake disaster? What if the beef is tough? What if the lemon tart is too sharp/sweet for their taste?
I suddenly remember something and start hunting around in one of the boxes we’ve brought in. ‘Ta-dah!’ I pull out the gorgeous Christmas apron Erin bought me and put it on. Erin claps excitedly so I do a little curtsy.
‘Thanks again for this.’ I grin at her. ‘I’m ready for anything now.’
‘Are you making the cake first?’
‘Yes. I’m going to dazzle them with the lusciousness of my baking!’ I start delving in the boxes, setting out flour, butter, caster sugar, eggs, dessicated coconut and maraschino cherries. Then I start looking through the cupboards, memorising things. At home, I could probably bake a cake blindfolded because I know where everything is. But when you start cooking in an unfamiliar kitchen, it can be a little frustrating. Everything takes twice as long while you track down that vital piece of equipment – a whisk or a lemon-squeezer or a certain size of cake tin – that always seems to be in the very last place you look.
Erin has her iPod on softly, chopping in time to The Killers. We work away in silence for a while and, before too long, the kitchen is filled with the mouth-watering aroma of cherry-and-coconut cake baking in the oven.
The beef for the casserole is slow-cooking in a rich gravy of onions, red wine and stock with crushed garlic and a handful of fresh thyme. The beauty of the slow-cooker method is that it’s guaranteed to make the meat so tender, it will practically melt in your mouth. And it also gives Erin and I time to nip out for a quick sandwich.
But first, I take a deep breath, pick up my phone and call The Pretty Flamingo, hoping against hope that Mrs Nutter doesn’t pick up. Luckily, it’s Daisy, the lovely receptionist, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She’s so sympathetic about my imaginary flu, I feel a real fraud, then she tells me quite sternly that I mustn’t even think of returning to work until I’m completely better. Erin’s grinning broadly at me the whole time, which is a bit off-putting, to say the least. But I feel so relieved when I come off the phone, I actually laugh out loud.
Christmas at the Log Fire Cabin Page 12
