‘There’ll be plenty of time later to have a post-mortem on all of it,’ she said carefully. ‘We’ll sit in the garden, when Tom and Gabby have gone, and chat. I think we just need to try to relax a bit now.’
Poll nodded. ‘Yes, you’re right. You’re always right about things. But –’ she gave a little giggle ‘– it was all such fun, wasn’t it? And now it’s over I really loved it! Oh, Ella what if we win?’
‘God, Poll, don’t. I can’t think about that now. Because, if we win this heat it means we’ve got to do it all over again. But, yes, it would be amazing.’
Still buzzing, Ella leaned gratefully on the rocking chair and watched as the crew, helped by Ash, quickly and efficiently cleared up their equipment.
‘Dunno what went wrong earlier,’ the producer scratched his head as they rewound cables and unplugged banks of sockets and repacked the silver boxes. ‘Funny, that blip… Nothing showed up on the monitors though and it was all over in a second. Don’t think it spoiled anything – I’ll have to check the recordings back in the studio.’
‘We’ve had no complaints from Up On High,’ the director said, shaking his head, ‘so I’m guessing it didn’t interrupt the filming much – if at all. Very odd.’
‘It’ll be electrical atmospherics,’ the runner boy said, rapidly removing the props, ‘count on it. Thunderstorm somewhere. Right, is that the lot here? What’s next?’
The crew, inch perfect and well organised, soon had the kitchen almost returned to normal.
‘Shall we clear our stuff up now, too?’ Ella, slowly coming down from her high, left Poll beaming benignly in a world of her own, and walked across the kitchen to Ash. ‘Or are we having this lot warmed-up for supper?’
‘No way,’ Ash groaned. ‘I never want to see it or smell it or eat it again. We’ll ring out for pizzas, shall we? But –’ he grinned at Ella ‘– we were bloody brilliant, weren’t we?’
She nodded, still longing to hurl herself into his arms by way of celebration but managing not to. ‘We were. It all worked really, really well… and even the things that could have gone horribly wrong, didn’t.’
‘Mmm.’ Ash opened two more bottles of water and handed one to her. ‘Onyx certainly made a stunning entrance. Almost.’
‘Tom certainly thought so.’
They laughed. Then Ella stopped. ‘Ash, the, well, fairy stuff that happened – when Gabby had picked Roy’s dinner out of the freezer. It did happen, didn’t it? Trixie did rush in looking like a pensioner version of Titania? And she did sing another fairy song? And then it all went, well, odd, and Roy’s food did turn into the crystallised fruits, didn’t it?’
Ash shrugged. ‘Not sure what happened, to be honest. I was just bricking it when I saw Gabby with Roy’s food. But yes, I’m sure Trixie was there and I’m sure she sang some fairy stuff and then it went dark and, well, everything else was a bit of a blur.’
‘But Gabby and Tom don’t seem to have noticed anything really weird after the Puck-word, did they? Or the crew? They all knew something happened but none of them think it was – well – magical, do they? They’d have said something, and they didn’t, did they?’
Ash laughed. ‘What, like, “Oh, there’s Gossamer Snapdragon and her band of fairies galloping in to rescue us from imminent disaster by changing deep-frozen mice into crystallised fruits with the whisk of a wand”? No, can’t say they did.’
‘But,’ Ella insisted, ‘that was what happened. Somehow. Crikey, last time I was prepared to think it was some sort of illusion, but now… You don’t think Trixie can really work magic and conjure up fairies, do you?’
‘I honestly don’t know what to think. Either she’s a very clever illusionist, or it was really fairies… Nah, it couldn’t be, could it? More likely that she saw what was happening with Gabby, flicked the dimmer switch and did the changeover herself.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know, but I’m just damn glad she did. I owe her one. Right now though, I just want to get some air. Come on… the crew are almost done and we’ll have to say goodbye to Gabby and Tom. He’s still in the garden, isn’t he?’
‘Bound to be, especially if a near-naked Onyx is still out there too. He doesn’t look like he gets much fun.’
‘No, poor bloke.’
They picked their way towards the door, and the producer and the crew said well done, and you never know we might see you again, and thanks for the hospitality and for making it so easy for us.
Like reluctant slimmers escaping from a sauna, Ella and Ash then rushed out into the garden and greedily inhaled the gorgeous evening freshness.
‘Hi, superstars!’ Onyx, surrounded by removed-from-confines dogs, cats and hens, waved languidly from the swing seat. ‘Billy and Tom have been telling me all about it. It sounds really cool. Did you enjoy it?’
Together, grinning, their words tumbling over themselves and with a lot of repetition, Ella and Ash told her exactly how much they’d enjoyed it.
Billy and Tom, stubbing out their cigarettes, stood up.
‘I’ll go and see how Poll’s feeling,’ Billy said. ‘And if young George is still awake I can tell him all about it, too.’
‘And I,’ Tom said sadly, with a last lingering look at Onyx, ‘must go and join Gabby. She hates to be kept waiting.’
‘He’s a nice man.’ Onyx smiled as he disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘Very amusing and interesting. And much more handsome than he looks on the telly, don’t you think? Bit henpecked though, I’m guessing. So how does it feel to be celebs? Oh, and sorry about almost barging in and messing it up.’
‘It was really funny,’ Ella giggled. ‘I thought Tom was going to have a heart attack when he saw you.’
‘I wasn’t trying to scene steal, honest. I was trying to listen in and it all sounded really good, then the dogs came rushing up and jumped all over me and I sort of leaned against the door. I was mortified! Sooo – me nearly fouling up your culinary brilliance apart – do you think you’ve won?’
‘Too early to say.’ Ash patted the dogs, moved two cats to one side and sank down on the swing seat. ‘I reckon we were definitely better than the first two, but there’s still Thursday and Friday of the southern heats to go.’
‘You’ll walk it,’ Onyx said confidently, stretching her endless legs out in front of her and snuggling up to Ash. ‘I’m really, really proud of you.’
They smiled at one another.
Time to exit stage left, Ella thought miserably, suddenly feeling very weary. I know when I’m being a great big green gooseberry.
‘We’re having pizza later,’ she said to Onyx. ‘I’ll go and see what Poll and Billy and Trixie want then I’ll ring and arrange a delivery. Shall I count you in?’
‘Oooh, yes please. I’ve got some money in my bag.’
‘My treat,’ Ella said. ‘By way of an after-show celebration.’
‘But I wasn’t part of the show.’
‘No, but you’re part of the family,’ Ella said stoutly, thinking that torturing yourself was probably ever so good for the soul. ‘And you’re my friend – so what would you like?’
‘Oooh, brilliant then – I’ll have a veggie special with extra olives. Ta, Ella, you’re a star.’
Yeah, right, Ella thought. And I’m also head over heels in love with your boyfriend…
Two hours later, after answering umpteen congratulatory phone calls, none of them from Mark, as the balmy dusk spread gently over Hideaway Farm, and the midsummer sky was marbled pink and lilac and grey, they sat exhausted in the garden, round the wooden table, munching on pizza and sipping champagne.
They’d lived and relived every single minute of their appearance on Dewberrys’ Dinners.
Gabby and Tom and the entourage, followed by the film crew, had swept off, cheered wildly by the waiting crowds, and the house had seemed suddenly empty and very quiet without them.
It almost seemed now, Ella thought, licking cheese from her fingers,
as bats and moths skittered overhead, like it hadn’t happened. Like it was all a dream.
Trixie, sitting beside her, in a floral shirtwaister, delicately nibbling at a slice of Seafood Special, had been very quiet all evening.
Making sure that the others were all busily engaged laughing over Poll’s rather inebriated champagne-fuelled impersonation of Gabby, Ella leaned closer. ‘Trixie…’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘That thing you did – in the kitchen – when Gabby was going to take a bite out of Roy’s dinner, was it… ? Well, was it… magic?’
‘I didn’t do anything, dear.’ Trixie wiped her lips delicately with a piece of kitchen roll. ‘But my fairy friends helped avert a disaster, yes. However, as you don’t believe in them…’
Ella sighed. ‘I don’t know what to believe. I do know that something odd happened – again – and if it hadn’t then things would have gone very wrong indeed, and we certainly wouldn’t have stood a chance of going through to the next round and –’
‘And that’s all you need to know, dear.’ Trixie smiled kindly. ‘I have no intention of trying to turn you into a card-carrying fairy believer. I’m just delighted that we were able to help out tonight.’
‘But, can’t you explain – ?’
Trixie shook her tightly permed hair. ‘No, sorry, dear. Explanations would kill the magic, and you don’t need them. Just trust, dear, that’s all you need.’
‘But,’ Ella insisted, ‘I can’t trust if I don’t understand… and those names you called out… Puck – which was really funny because Gabby’s a bit thick and thought you were swearing – and I’ve heard of him, of course. But Mustardweb and Cobblossom and Peaseed?’
Onyx looked up. ‘Did you just say Puck? And Cobweb, Peaseblossom and Mustardseed?’
Ella frowned towards Poll, Ash and Billy. ‘Yes, or at least I tried to. Clearly I didn’t get the names quite right, but I don’t really think we should be talking about them in public – oh, sorry, but I really, really don’t want Poll to overhear this conversation because she’s addled enough already. But do they mean something to you? Do you recognise them?’
‘Course I do. I’m Reading Uni’s Eng Lit queen, remember? They’re Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream fairies – and a very suitable topic for tonight. But, honestly, Ella, isn’t a literary discussion a bit heavy given what you’ve been through today? Why are you –?’
Ella looked across at a smiling Trixie then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, but thanks, it explains a lot… I think.’
Chapter Thirty-two
‘Right.’ Poll bustled into the peaches and cream sitting room. ‘Are we all ready?’
Ella, Billy and Trixie nodded. George drummed his heels.
‘Ash not here yet?’
Ella shook her head. ‘He texted just now. He’s on his way.
He got stuck with a lot of customers out at Angel Meadows again.’
‘Poor Ash.’ Poll plumped herself down on the sofa beside Ella. ‘It must be doubly difficult for him – selling ice creams in the middle of the hottest summer since nineteen seventy-six and being recognised everywhere he goes. No doubt he has to tell the tale over and over again.’
Ella chuckled. They’d all been treated like superstars ever since last week’s programme. Everywhere they went they were asked the same questions. She felt like typing up a fact sheet and handing it out.
Yes, Gabby was exactly the same in real life.
No, Tom wasn’t putting on a doormat act.
Yes, it had been scary.
Yes, they’d loved every minute of it.
No, they didn’t think they were going to win.
But in a very short space of time, Ella thought now, butterflies racing up and down in her stomach, they’d know.
Now it was eight o’clock on Monday, Dewberrys’ Dinners was about to start with week two: the eastern heats, and the southern area Weekly Winner would be announced.
‘Don’t get too disappointed – I still think they’d have rung us before now if we’d won, duck,’ Billy said. ‘Stands to reason, they wouldn’t leave it to chance. And them ones from Bedfordshire on Friday night were right good, weren’t they?’
Ella and Poll nodded. They had been.
On Thursday, the Wiltshire contestants, a quartet of very up-themselves self-made entrepreneurs, who’d already changed careers several times and thought it was ‘a toss up between writing a novel next or becoming a celebrity chef – but honestly, Gabby, writing’s easy, isn’t it? Anyone can write a book. So, always wanting to challenge ourselves, we’ve taken the harder creative option…’, had failed spectacularly with their culinary take on ‘Foodie Food for the Twenty-first Century’.
Their samphire had gone gritty, their aubergine and venison stack with broad bean purée had looked like dog vomit, and their imaginatively arranged three minimalist puddings with spun sugar drapery – ‘just a little taste of heaven especially for you, Gabby’ – had turned into a hellish, blackened, burned-on glob.
Hideaway Farm had whooped and clapped and cheered no end.
But the Bedfordshire team – two rather sweet, very young and very much in love couples – had produced a meal Cath Kidston would have killed for. Each tiny course was so artistically pretty – delicate and ethereal, sprinkled with little pastel flower petals and whimsy pea shoots – it had looked and clearly tasted – judging by Gabby and Tom’s ecstatic reaction – wonderful.
They’d win, Ella thought sadly. She knew they’d win.
With trembling hands, Poll pressed the television’s remote control and, after a couple of false starts, ‘Pickin’ a Chicken’ bounced into the room.
Gabby, in silver tonight, and Tom, looking even more Heathcliff-dishevelled, prepared for their opening lines. Ella still found it funny that before last Wednesday she’d imagined, in her innocence, it was just Gabby, Tom and the contestants in the kitchen – now she knew just how many people were beavering away out of shot to make the programme appear that homely, relaxed and easy.
‘Hello, everyone!’ Gabby beamed at the camera. ‘I’m Gabby Dewberry, and welcome to day one, of the second week, of the first heat, in the new series of Dewberrys’ Dinners.’
‘That sounds more like Countdown!’ Tom guffawed.
Gabby gave him a Look.
Tom stopped guffawing. ‘Er, yes – hi, and I’m Tom Dewberry, and on yet another scorching Monday evening, we’re in Norfolk for our first eastern area heat.’
Gabby glittered. ‘But before we introduce you to tonight’s eager chefs, we have the results of last week’s southern area cook-off. As you know, we select just one team of chefs from each area for our Finals Week.’
‘Yes,’ Tom agreed, ‘and this time it was a very, very hard decision to make. Last week’s cooks were all exceptional.’
‘No they weren’t!’ Ella snorted. ‘We were! OK, and maybe the Bedfordshire ones. Most of the rest of them were rubbish!’
‘However –’ Gabby twinkled ‘– after much deliberation, we’ve reached our decision, haven’t we, Tom?’
‘We have.’
‘Oh, for Lord’s sake!’ Poll shrieked. ‘Just get on with it!’
‘It won’t be us.’ Billy reached over and clutched her hand. ‘Like I said, they’d have told us before now.’
Gabby looked solemn. ‘The southern area Weekly Winners are…’
There was a silence. Tom and Gabby stared at one another.
‘God!’ Ella exploded. ‘I hate it when they do that to ratchet up the tension. They do it on all the reality shows, and it always irritated me before, now I think it’s just unbelievably cruel.’
Poll buried her face in a cushion.
‘And our first lucky Weekly Winners – who will be going on to cook for a second time in the Dewberrys’ Dinners finals week commencing the twentieth of July – are…’ Gabby paused. ‘Ooh, shall we do this together, Tom?’
Tom looked a bit surprised but nodded.
Mor
e silence.
Ella wanted to punch the screen.
‘The first Weekly Winners are…’ Gabby and Tom moved together and glittered in unison. ‘Berkshire’s Hideaway Farm!’
‘See,’ Billy said, ‘told you we wouldn’t…’
‘But we have!’ Ella shrieked with excitement grabbing Poll up off the sofa and dancing round and round with her. ‘We have! We have!’
‘Have we?’ Poll burst into tears. ‘Have we really?’
‘Yes, really!’
‘Oh, blimey… Are you sure? And please could we stop jigging now?’ Poll gulped. ‘I feel a bit sick.’
George scampered round the room with his T-shirt over his head, punching the air – he’d picked up some very doubtful habits from Doll Blessing’s children – while Billy sat and nodded happily. Only Trixie, smiling gently to herself, seemed relatively unmoved.
Ohmigod, though!
Totally stunned, Ella clapped her hands to her mouth. ‘Bloody hell, we’ve done it! Oh, I can’t believe it. Oh, I wish Ash was here – where is he? I can’t wait to tell him! Oh, and there’s the telephone going – it’ll be half the county wanting to share in the glory… and… crikey, my mobile’s going mad too.’
Poll, gently extricating herself from Ella’s clutches, staggered out of the room to answer the phone, followed by a skipping and still air-punching George.
Ella, skimming through her barrage of congratulatory texts from practically everyone who knew her – except Mark, of course – still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d hoped and dreamed that they would win – and now they had and they were one huge step closer to Ash having his own restaurant and…
Trixie folded her magazine as, on screen, the team from Norfolk started doing something pretty awful with the innards of a chicken. ‘Well done, dears. I’m very, very happy for you.’
‘Thanks, Trixie, love,’ Billy said. ‘But I was still sure it wasn’t going to be us.’
‘Oh, I knew it would be.’ Trixie smiled sweetly.
The Way to a Woman's Heart Page 25
