The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of France

by Alice Ross

  ‘Careful. He’s had tomato soup,’ warned Kate.

  ‘Ugh!’ He set the child upright.

  ‘Any meetings today?’ she asked, doing her best to keep her tone neutral.

  Andrew furrowed his forehead. ‘Er. I can’t remember. Oh yes. One with the boss this morning. Boring as hell.’

  ‘A long one?’ she asked, trying to figure out if he would’ve been able to text Domenique.

  ‘About an hour. Why?’

  ‘No reason,’ she breezed.

  ‘You been up to anything exciting?’

  Kate’s heart stuttered. Only a reunion with my first love and a rather nice trip down memory lane, she could have replied. But she didn’t. ‘I, er, met the prospective new locum,’ she said instead.

  ‘Oh. And? Any good?’

  ‘Yes. I think he’ll be… perfect.’

  She scuttled through to the kitchen after that, feeling like the biggest hypocrite on the planet. There she was, imagining Andrew up to all sorts with the au pair, while she’d handed over the running of her veterinary practice to the man who’d once had the running of her heart. And worst of all, she couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband.

  But why couldn’t she, she asked herself, as Milo forward-rolled into the room. She knew exactly why. Because, as astounding as it seemed after all this time, she’d felt a connection between her and Gregg. And, by the way his eyes had sparkled every time he’d looked at her, she suspected he’d felt it too. Not that she intended doing anything about it. And she doubted Gregg would want to either. He was still a very attractive man. One who’d have no problem attracting a younger, sexier model; one who didn’t come laden with three kids, one extra stone and a car that smelled of vomit.

  So, she might as well fess up to Andrew, she decided. Then, with that off her chest, she’d be much better placed to question him about Domenique.

  But, for whatever reason, she really couldn’t face doing it tonight.

  The next evening, Kate found herself once again at Trish’s house. This time for a scheduled cookery club meeting, where the feast they rustled up between them was, in her opinion, their best yet.

  The starter of tomato confit, chilli and lemon thyme tarts had encapsulated everything she loved about the Mediterranean: the climate, colour, heat, smells and goodness of fresh local produce. For the main course, they’d made and devoured mussels in a creamy aromatic sauce, which they’d mopped up with a French baguette. And they’d finished with caramelised pear and rosemary cake – the pears folded into the rosemary-scented cake mix.

  They were sitting around the table, sipping coffee and nibbling their cake, when Kitty slinked into the room.

  ‘What a gorgeous cat,’ gushed Melody, hunkering down to stroke her.

  ‘She is,’ agreed Kate. ‘And I’m so pleased she’s settled. If Mrs Dunlop’s looking down, she’ll be delighted to see her so content.’

  ‘So sad Mrs D’s gone,’ puffed Connie. ‘I’m going to miss her. She used to pop into the newsagent’s every day. A really lovely lady.’

  ‘One of the practice’s favourite clients,’ said Kate.

  ‘How’s it going at the practice?’ asked Connie. ‘Have you found a new locum yet?’

  Kate felt heat rush to her cheeks. ‘Er, yes,’ she said, then, deftly changing the subject, ‘I’m so full I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another thing this week.’

  Kate didn’t know whether to be surprised or delighted that Gregg was so keen to start work at the practice. With the old locum desperate to begin her new life in Bath, they’d agreed she could leave on the Saturday and Gregg would start on the Monday. And, much to Kate’s growing consternation, it was now Monday.

  Thankfully, with the children at a couple of parties at the weekend – Milo being politely requested to leave one for inciting a riot – she hadn’t had a huge amount of time to dwell on the situation.

  Andrew headed off to work that morning, looking so miserable he almost tripped over his own face, Domenique dropped Jemima at nursery and, on her return to the house, Kate headed over to the practice.

  Gregg was already there. Looking unsettlingly dishy in grey chinos and a white short-sleeved shirt. Unlike Kate, he didn’t appear to have gained an ounce during the intervening years, his body as toned and muscular as in his youth. Recalling how familiar she’d once been with every inch of it made her slightly woozy. Banishing such ridiculous thoughts, she concentrated on showing him around and telling him what was what.

  ‘All sounds super-efficient,’ he concluded over a cup of tea in her office.

  ‘It is, for the most part. And Sarah’s an angel.’

  ‘I’ve already gathered that. She’s looked after me very well. And the clients love her. She seems to know everyone.’

  ‘That’s life in the Cotswolds for you. How are you enjoying it so far?’

  ‘I’m loving it. It’s everything I missed about England when I was away, rolled into one beautifully wrapped package. I’m renting a little place in Cornfield, just down the road.’

  ‘I know it well. A friend from my cookery club lives there.’

  ‘A cookery club? That sounds interesting. I always did love that banana bread you made.’

  Kate laughed. ‘Remember when we devoured a whole loaf of it?’

  ‘I do,’ he chuckled, regarding her with twinkling blue eyes. ‘We had some good times, didn’t we?’

  ‘We did. A long time ago now.’

  A strange silence settled over them, before Gregg said, ‘So, um, what happens in this cookery club of yours, then?’

  Kate blew out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, relieved to be on more neutral ground. ‘Well, funnily enough, we cook stuff. And then we scoff it.’

  He chuckled. ‘Sounds perfect. Especially the scoffing.’

  ‘Ha! You always did like your food. But you’ve kept in good shape.’ Ugh. She quailed inwardly. What on earth had she said that for?

  ‘Running,’ he informed her, seeming not to notice her mortification or her now-flaming cheeks. ‘Marathons and half marathons.’

  ‘Impressive,’ she said, impressed. ‘I could do with more exercise.’

  ‘I’m out most mornings. You’re welcome to join me any time.’

  She balked. ‘What? And look like a complete numpty while you sprint off into the distance.’

  ‘You could never look like a numpty,’ he said.

  Causing the colour in her cheeks to intensify ten-fold.

  She really was going to tell Andrew about Gregg. That very evening, Kate decided. After all, the longer she allowed the situation to roll on, the worse it would be when she did tell him. But when she arrived home after lunch – which she’d spent in the office with Gregg, munching sandwiches and exchanging more pleasant chat – it was to discover the twins throwing up again.

  ‘Ugh. Dégoutant!’ huffed Domenique.

  Kate had to agree.

  With Kate being up all night with the sickly tots, Domenique also catching the dreaded bug, and Andrew stomping off to work muttering something about a “madhouse”, Jemima missed nursery the following day.

  There being a definite improvement in the situation one day on, however, Kate ventured back there.

  Never wishing ill on anyone – normally – she uttered a little prayer to the higher authorities that perhaps Mrs Allen would be absent. Nothing as drastic as a tummy bug, but something simpler like… an offsite meeting. Or a non-functioning car.

  Evidently the higher authorities had been otherwise engaged when Kate made her plea because there, at the entrance, hands on hips, lips pursed, stood Mrs A. Kate’s spirits nose-dived. But perhaps, she reasoned, the woman was waiting for somebody else.

  She wasn’t.

  ‘Morning,’ chirped Kate, attempting an airy approach.

  It was not reciprocated. ‘Jemima wasn’t here again yesterday,’ Mrs A sniffed, regarding Kate like she had a bad smell eman
ating from her. Which she very well might after what she’d been mopping up all night.

  ‘No. We were all ill.’

  ‘Too ill to pick up the telephone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Mrs A sucked in a rattling breath, drawing her scrawny body up a shade further. ‘Rules are rules, Mrs Ellis. And if everyone chose to flaunt them, where would we be then?’

  Sainsburys? The beach? The Isle of Arran? Kate almost replied. ‘I didn’t purposefully flaunt them,’ she said, wondering why she allowed the woman to treat her like this when she was paying a small fortune for her daughter to attend the facility. But God, if Jemima was expelled because of her mother’s behaviour, the child would be labelled for life. Always known as “the one expelled from nursery”. And if she turned out to be a juvenile delinquent, the psychologists would trace it all back to this fateful day. That thought gnawing at her innards, Kate contorted her features from furious to humble, murmuring, ‘I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.’

  Mrs A gave a satisfied nod, before sticking her nose in the air, whisking around and stalking off.

  ‘Cow,’ muttered Kate.

  ‘What did you say, Mummy?’

  ‘Now,’ said Kate. ‘Now Mummy has to go.’

  She was about to do just that when Mrs Allen whipped back round to her. ‘And I’m assuming you haven’t forgotten about the charity day tomorrow.’

  Kate blinked. What bloody charity day?

  ‘We’re raising money for an orphanage in Angola. Jemima said you would provide all the items for the cake stall.’

  Bollocks. Jemima hadn’t mentioned that at all. And frankly, it shouldn’t have fallen to a four-year-old child to mention it. Not wanting to incur any more of the woman’s wrath, Kate said, ‘Yes. No problem. What time was it again?’

  ‘Twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ replied Kate, silently seething. ‘I’ll have everything here by then.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Um, you might have warned me about the new locum,’ said Melody on the phone, just as Kate reached her car.

  Kate’s heart plunged. ‘Ugh. Please don’t tell me he’s done something wrong. That’s all I need.’

  ‘Not at all. He’s just rather gorgeous. A sight for sore eyes first thing in the morning. And Tilly thought so too. Her annual vax was a breeze. Normally she’s a quivering wreck.’

  ‘Phew, that is good news,’ puffed Kate, trying not to dwell on the “rather gorgeous” comment. ‘I couldn’t have coped if things were going wrong at the practice. I’ve had a horrendous couple of days with the twins throwing up again. Heaven only knows what they shove down their necks when I’m not looking. And I’ve just had a rollicking from the manager of Jemima’s nursery, who’s taken great delight in informing me I’m supposed to be providing all the bloody cakes for the bloody cake stall tomorrow, to raise money for an Angolan bloody orphanage.’

  Melody roared with laughter. ‘Your life is an ongoing comedy drama.’

  ‘Hmph. It’s certainly a drama. But there’s nothing comical about it.’

  ‘Want me to come and help? I’m not doing anything else today.’

  ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’re well over your quota of being subjected to the twins this month.’

  ‘I love them. They’re hysterical. What time should I come?’

  ‘Well, I’ll need to pop to the supermarket to buy the ingredients, which will no doubt amount to twice as much as the cakes will raise, which means it would be easier if I just wrote out a cheque for the orphanage fund.’

  ‘But not half as much fun. And it wouldn’t give you a chance to show the nursery what a whizz you are in the kitchen.’

  ‘I feel more wuss than whizz. And the thing is, these aren’t normal kids. Or at least they don’t belong to normal parents. I’m not going to get away with knocking up a couple of Victoria sponges and some jam tarts. It’s going to have to be mega-healthy stuff without any E numbers and not so much as a pinch of refined white sugar.’

  ‘Blimey. You don’t do things by half, do you?’

  ‘That’s a skill I have yet to learn. Are you sure you want to help?’

  ‘Absolutely. Be there about eleven, if that suits.’

  ‘Perfect. You can stay for lunch. If you’re brave enough.’

  ‘Love to. See you in a bit.’

  The twins, back to their robust little selves, were to scrape off the ceiling with excitement when Melody arrived at the house. Or, to be more precise, to scrape off Melody, both having attached themselves to a leg.

  ‘That’s some welcome,’ giggled the visitor, as Kate peeled off Milo. Domenique was about to do the same with Mia when her phone beeped. Awarding it a quick look, which resulted in another of her smiles, she shoved it back in her pocket, returned her attention to the children, and ushered them out to the garden.

  ‘Blimey. Does she look that gorgeously French all the time?’ asked Melody, observing the au pair through the window.

  ‘Every minute of the day,’ replied Kate. ‘Even when she’s cleaning up sick. Which makes me even sicker.’

  ‘You don’t still think anything’s going on with her and Andrew, do you?’

  Kate sighed. ‘I honestly have no idea. Apart from that incident last week when I found him in her bedroom supposedly fiddling with her Fit-Bit, I haven’t noticed anything else suspicious. She does receive a lot of texts, though, which always make her smile.’

  ‘They could be from anyone.’

  ‘True. But I’ve never seen her receive one when Andrew’s in the room.’

  ‘Coincidence?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘Very possibly,’ said Melody. ‘Now, enough nattering. What are we making?’

  ‘Ugh. Far too much,’ puffed Kate. ‘It really would be easier just handing over a cheque. But, in order to preserve any scrap of credibility I may have at nursery, I’m pushing the boat out. We are making a heavenly hidden cake – with apples and courgettes; carrot cake muffins; raw ginger crunch – packed with dates, which I have made once before in a fit of domesticity and which was rather delicious; and, among a few other things, raspberry and pistachio brownies.

  ‘Phew! Best get a move on then.’

  A short while later, apron donned and beating together coconut sugar, eggs and vanilla for the brownies, Melody said, ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about the new locum vet. I didn’t know he’d started. There I was, all set to face the formidable Jen, who, you have to admit, was a bit scary. And there’s this dishy guy standing there. Wherever did you dredge him up from?’

  ‘The, er, agency found him,’ muttered Kate, avoiding eye contact with her friend as she lined a loaf tin with baking paper for the ginger crunch. Half of her desperately wanted to fess up about her and Gregg’s past. The other half warned that she shouldn’t. Not until she’d told Andrew.

  ‘Well, he can use his stethoscope on me any day of the week,’ the younger woman tittered.

  ‘Phwoar! Something smells good,’ exclaimed Andrew when he arrived home that evening. Entering the kitchen, he screeched to a standstill, gaping at the array of freshly baked produce: the chocolate chip cookies – made with coconut sugar; the strawberry and raspberry tart topped off with ground almonds; the apple tart, dusted with cinnamon; and the mound of pecan-pie bites.

  ‘Baking,’ Kate informed him. ‘For a fundraising day at nursery tomorrow. I’m in charge of the cake stall – apparently.’

  He screwed up his nose. ‘You didn’t mention that before.’

  ‘Probably because I didn’t know. Mrs Allen took great pleasure in informing me this morning. And you can bet your bottom dollar she’ll be expecting me to turn up with half a dozen frazzled jam tarts and some shop-bought sausage rolls.’

  ‘Well, she’s in for a surprise then, isn’t she?’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Can I try one of these?’ He dropped his laptop case and phone onto the table and r
eached for a pecan-pie bite.

  ‘Just one,’ instructed Kate. ‘But don’t let the kids see. I’ve had to ban them from the room, otherwise they’d have troughed the lot.’

  He bit into the buttery crust. ‘Mmm. It’s good. Very good.’

  Kate puffed out an exaggerated breath of relief. ‘Thank goodness for that. Anyway, dinner will be ready shortly.’

  ‘Great.’ He swiped a crumb from his bottom lip. ‘I’ll just nip up and have a quick shower.’

  He strode from the room, leaving his laptop case – and mobile – on the table. Kate stared at the phone, her heart beginning to race. What secrets was that tiny computer privy to that she didn’t know about? Was it the originator of the texts Domenique received? Dare she look? Armed with first-hand proof, she’d definitely have the courage to confront him. Heart now pounding, she took two tentative steps towards the table before Andrew bowled back in, snatched up the mobile, then loped out again.

  Doing absolutely nothing to allay Kate’s suspicions.

  At nursery the next morning, Mrs Allen’s normally sour face was a picture of incredulity as she watched Kate unload her wares for the cake stall. And adding to Kate’s sense of victory was the fact that Frances – in charge of the tombola, which no doubt included lots of smelly flowery things – was also observing the proceedings.

  ‘Well, I never,’ exclaimed Mrs A. ‘That is… I didn’t expect such… a lot. Such a lot of… things.’

  ‘Did you buy them from the supermarket?’ demanded Frances.

  ‘No,’ replied Kate through a serene smile. ‘I made it all myself. With a little help from one of my cookery club friends.’

  ‘Cookery club?’ the women chorused.

  ‘Yes,’ sniffed Kate, adding a hint of haughtiness to her tone. ‘The Cotswolds Cookery Club. It’s quite famous actually. Its founder is now a regular contributor to the Galloping Gourmet.’

  ‘The Galloping Gourmet,’ gasped Mrs A. ‘As in the national cookery magazine?’

  ‘One and the same.’

  Mrs A and Frances exchanged an impressed look.

  ‘And how does one, um, go about joining this club?’ enquired Mrs Allen.