Bread, Dead and Wed

by Sherri Bryan

  The rider walked towards her, menacing in his bike leathers and black crash helmet.

  “Stay away from me, you thug!” Ava stepped back and grabbed Harriett’s arm. “My friend knows Shih Tzu, so you’d better not mess with us or she’ll karate chop you in the goolies.”

  “It’s Ju-Jitsu!” Harriett squeaked. “And I’m just a beginner,” she said, shaking Ava’s hand from her arm and casting a nervous smile at the leather-clad figure, “so don’t worry, I won’t be karate chopping anyone anywhere.”

  The bike rider took off his helmet and fixed Ava with a frosty glare.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief.

  “We’re not getting off on the right foot at all, are we? We’re going to have to try much harder.” Gavin Doyle’s big biker boots drowned out his sarcasm as they thudded against the pavement, the buckles jangling like a villainous cowboy’s spurs.

  “Sorry about that,” said Larissa, as she pulled off her helmet and shook out her curls. “It wasn’t intentional.” She put a hand on Ava’s arm and gave her an apologetic smile.

  “It’s not your fault,” said Ava, slightly pacified, her courage returning once she realised she wasn’t about to be set upon by a leather-clad homicidal maniac. “It’s his.” She jabbed a finger in Gavin’s direction. “He’d better hope I don’t start feeling odd—I must have gulped down at least a lungful of those fumes.”

  “Can we please just go inside?” said Harriett. “I don’t know why, Ava, but everything always turns into a commotion whenever you’re involved. You’re like a drama magnet.”

  Ava was about to answer when someone behind her stifled a cough. She turned and looked up to see the man and woman who’d been sitting by the fountain. “Oh, so you are taking part in the course?”

  The man finished his Danish pastry and licked the tips of his fingers. “Roy Tanner,” he said, his dark eyes darting from Harriett to Ava. “Pardon me for not shaking hands, but they’re a bit sticky, see? I’ll just go and see if I can find the bathroom before we get started. ‘Scuse me.”

  “And I’m Izzy Davenport,” said the woman, smiling shyly, her huge cornflower blue eyes dancing in a face covered with russet freckles.

  “Are you a couple?” said Ava. “How lovely that you’re doing this together.”

  “Together? Me and Roy? Oh, good grief, no!” Izzy laughed and shook her head. “We’re just friends.” She made sure Roy was out of earshot before lowering her voice. “Don’t tell him I told you, but his wife gave him the elbow last year, and he’s been a bit lost since the divorce. He booked this course as a surprise for her, but as she won’t be taking it now, he’s come along himself. He’s been a bit down in the dumps recently.”

  “Well, I hope he’s not banking on Roman Haley to cheer him up,” said Harriett. “He’s hardly what you’d call a ray of sunshine.”

  “I don’t think Roy’s banking on anyone to cheer him up,” said Izzy. “He said he’ll get over it in his own time. A cookery class isn’t the kind of thing he’d ever get involved in usually, but he thought doing something new would help take his mind off Becky.”

  “And what about you, dear?” said Ava. “Are you a Roman Haley fan?”

  Izzy grinned. “Only a huge one. And I get a bit star struck if I see a celeb, so if I faint when he walks in, pick me up, will you?”

  “Honestly, it’s beyond me why so many women think he’s such a heartthrob.” said Ava. “I can’t see the attraction, myself. He’s excessively hairy and he hardly oozes charm, does he? Mind you, I suppose it wouldn’t do it we all liked the same thing, would it?”

  They walked past the reception desk and through a frosted glass door, into a large bright room with windows on either side, and bright worktops in primary colours; the only splash of colour against the stark white walls, floors, and furniture.

  “Okay, everyone, Gavin and I are just going to get changed, so hang up your jackets, put your things in a locker, and choose a workbench,” said Larissa. “We’ll be back in a sec, and then we can get started.”

  ____________

  Gavin was halfway through the rules of the kitchen.

  “Now, I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know that cleanliness is key. Wash your hands, and wash them often. A kitchen is an ideal breeding ground for bacteria and we wouldn’t want anything that’s prepared in this kitchen to make anyone ill, would we?”

  “I don’t think anyone’s going to get food poisoning from anything that’s prepared in here,” said Harriett, wiping a finger across a worktop. “This place is so clean, it’s positively clinical.”

  Gavin nodded. “All the same, you’ll all be tasting your own, and each other’s bread when it’s baked, and don’t forget Roman will be dropping in later. He doesn’t get involved in the lessons but if he’s around, he does like to sample everyone’s efforts at the end of the day.” He patted his stomach and smirked at Larissa. “And Olivia Floyd-Martin might be here for the tasting session, too.”

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but the thought of cooking for Roman Haley makes me feel a bit queasy,” said Harriett, a look of unease spreading across her face. “He’s not the most complimentary critic, is he?”

  “Don’t worry,” said Larissa, cheerfully, “Gavin and I will be here to check everything throughout the day, and if something isn’t up to standard, it won’t make it past his lips. In any case, he won’t know who’s cooked what—we’ll just present him with a selection of everyone’s baking.”

  The room dimmed slightly as the light streaming in through the frosted glass door was obscured, seconds before it was flung open and Roman marched in, the weasel-faced brunette scurrying along behind him.

  There was a crash as the stainless-steel flour caddy Izzy had been inspecting slipped from her fingers and bounced off the worktop. “Oh my good grief! It’s Roman Haley,” she spluttered, fanning her hand through a white cloud.

  He cut her dead with a glare. “How very observant of you.” He stared around the room before making himself comfortable in an armchair at the front of the kitchen. “I trust you’ll all be leaving excellent reviews of the school, and your experience here, at the end of the course?” He didn’t wait for anyone to answer before turning to Gavin and Larissa. “Everything going according to plan?”

  As Roman spoke, Monique made sure the tape recorder got every word.

  Gavin and Larissa stood up a little straighter. “Everything’s going very smoothly,” said Gavin, a steely edge to his voice. “We were just explaining to the students that you like to sample their efforts at the end of the day.”

  “Good. That’ll keep them on their toes,” said Roman, completely ignoring everyone else in the room. “I’ll be back at half-past four, on the dot, and I’ll send Monique in later to let you know whether or not Ms. Floyd-Martin’s decided to grace us with her presence.” He pounded a fist on the arm of the chair. “I’m furious that she hasn’t bothered to get back to me yet.”

  As he turned and flounced out of the room without another word, Monique raced to keep up and Gavin shot him a look of pure contempt.

  “Oh, blimey,” said Izzy, dusting flour off herself. “That could have gone better.”

  “Who’s that woman with him?” said Roy.

  The smile left Larissa’s face for a split second. “Monique Hathaway—she’s Roman’s assistant. Just so you know, she records all Roman’s conversations. He’s had so many people threaten to sue him over the years for things he’s said, he asked Monique to start keeping a record so he can check back to see whether or not he actually did say what he’s being accused of.”

  “And he usually did,” said Gavin, with a dark look.

  Larissa clapped her hands. “Right, well, I think a change of mood is in order. “She threw Gavin a glare. “We’d better get on, or we won’t be ready for Roman when he comes back, and that’ll never do.”

  The next hour was spent going through kitchen etiquette, and all the equipment. “Okay,”
said Larissa. “As you’ll have seen from your itineraries, we’re going to be making bread today; mini raisin loaves, a cottage loaf, and granary baguettes. As with all the lessons, this will be a watch and learn format. Gavin and I will take turns with the practical demonstrations while the other will be on hand to help should you need to call on us. And don’t worry if you feel you’re being left behind—this isn’t a race, so we’ll wait until you’ve caught up. Everyone ready to start?”

  “Ready and waiting,” said Ava, tying her apron strings behind her back. “This could get messy. I always remember my mother telling me that dough should be as wet as possible for the best bread. ‘The wetter, the better’, she used to say.” She flashed a knowing smile at the rest of the class.

  The students followed along with Gavin as he measured ingredients and demonstrated how to knead the dough by hand until it was smooth and elastic.

  “My wrists are killing me,” grumbled Roy. “Is this the workout version of the course? I thought we’d be using electricity.”

  Larissa grinned. “Kneading by hand is hard work, especially if you’ve never done it before, but the results are so worth it. Take a rest if you need to but, believe me, there aren’t many things as satisfying as seeing bread come out of the oven that you’ve made yourself, completely from scratch, and completely by hand. We could use machines but this way’s much better.” She reached up and patted Roy on the shoulder. “Trust me, you won’t be sorry.”

  “She’s right,” puffed Ava, as she punched and pummelled her dough into submission. “Unlike making a cake, where a light touch is essential, making bread requires completely the opposite.” She blew her fringe out of one eye. “The more you bash the dough around, the better… unless you’re working with a no-knead dough, of course, when vigorous kneading isn’t necessary, but an extra-long proving time is essential. I remember when…”

  “Ava!” said Harriett, her cheeks bright pink and covered in flour. “We could do without the running commentary, if you don’t mind. It’s like sharing a bench with Mrs. Beeton.”

  Ava’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, and she gave a disgruntled tut. “Well, I’m sorry I spoke. I was only trying to share my extensive knowledge of bread making. I used to bake every day when Derek and I first got married, remember? But if you’re not interested, I won’t say another word.” She zipped a floury finger across her pursed lips and Harriett shook her head in exasperation.

  “Okay, everyone,” said Gavin, “when you’ve finished kneading your doughs, and they’re nice and smooth and stretchy, put each batch into one of the large bowls on your bench. Don’t forget to oil the bowl lightly first, then cover it with cling-film. We’re going to leave them for a couple of hours to prove, and then we’ll carry on after lunch. If you’d like to…”

  He was interrupted by the door flying open again, and Monique scuttling in, tape recorder in hand.

  “Just to let you know that I called Olivia Floyd-Martin to ask if she was coming to the tasting session this afternoon, and she’s confirmed she is, so make sure that everything’s perfect for her, won’t you?” She twitched and cleared her throat.

  “Everything will be perfect,” said Gavin, coolly. “Just as it’s been every day since we opened, and will continue to be. As I’ve told Roman countless times, we always do our best to maintain high standards, but you already know that, don’t you, Sneak? You must have recorded it on that little machine of yours a hundred times.

  “I’m warning you, Gavin,” said Monique, her eyes flashing with anger. “Stop calling me that!” She switched on the tape machine, thrusting it in front of his face. “I swear, if you say it again, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what? You’ll run and tell tales to Roman, like you always do?” said Gavin, speaking defiantly into the machine with a stony-faced expression. “Is it any wonder we call you Monique the Sneak?”

  Monique put her face closer to his, her lips curled in a sneer, and lowered her voice to a murmur. “If Roman hears what you just said, he won’t be very happy—you know how protective of me he can be. If I was you, I wouldn’t want to do anything that made him any more annoyed with you than he already is. Such a shame he found out about your extra-curricular activity.” She jerked her head towards Larissa. “How you thought you’d get away with it, I don’t know, especially as you know how he feels about that kind of after-work pastime.

  “And we all know how much you both need these jobs, what with your personal circumstances being as they are. Shame your name’s been removed from the shortlist of people who are in the frame to become the manager of this place.” She smirked. “Your days are numbered, Doyle. Roman’s on the lookout for replacements for you and Goldilocks over there, and I hear The President Hotel has some very good staff. I suggest you both start looking for other jobs, pronto.” She threw him a spiteful smile before twirling on her heel and leaving the room.

  Ava and Harriett exchanged a look of amazement. Being at the front of the room, with their scandal-seeking ears on stalks, they’d heard every whispered word Monique had said.

  “Did you hear that?” said Harriett to Ava out of the corner of her mouth. “She said Gavin’s days are numbered because Roman found out about his relationship with Larissa. The poor things—they must feel awful.”

  “And what about Olivia coming to the tasting session?” muttered Ava, her sulk of moments before forgotten. “If what Harry told us yesterday is true, why on earth would she have agreed to set foot in this school?”

  Harriett shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?”

  As Gavin glowered, Larissa pointed to the far side of the kitchen, her face flushed. “Er, sorry about that. Lunch has been set out for you in the staff dining room, just through that door. Help yourself to as much as you like, but please be back by two o’clock. We’ll see you all later.”

  ____________

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious there’s no love lost between Gavin and Monique,” said Roy, loading his plate with sandwiches, “I was trying to hear what she was saying, but I couldn’t make it out.” He gave Ava and Harriett a pointed look. “You didn’t happen to hear, did you?”

  “No. No, we didn’t,” said Harriett, jumping in before Ava said anything, and accidentally gave the game away about Gavin and Larissa’s relationship. “Whatever the problem is, though, I expect it’ll blow over soon.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be shaking in my shoes when Olivia Floyd-Martin walks in,” said Izzy, as she scattered croutons over a bowl of pea and ham soup. “It was bad enough when Roman turned up, but Olivia’s the real deal as far as I’m concerned. The way she’s got to the top of her field through sheer hard work is amazing. And she hasn’t needed any TV show to help her get there. They’ve both got massive egos, though, haven’t they? I’ll be interested to see how they are in each other’s company.”

  “Actually,” said Ava, who couldn’t bear to let the opportunity to name-drop pass her by, “Harriett and I know Olivia quite well. Of course, you don’t live in St. Eves, do you, but we’ve lived here all our lives.”

  “What, you mean you actually know her?” said Izzy, wide-eyed as she buttered a bread roll.

  “Oh, yes,” said Ava. “And as we’re talking about her…” She took a furtive look around the dining room. “I shouldn’t really tell you this, but…”

  “Then don’t,” said Harriett, giving her a warning look. “You just can’t help yourself, can you? You see a chance to gossip to someone, and you’re off.”

  “Oh, piffle,” said Ava, waving away Harriett’s concern. “It’s perfectly harmless information.” She turned back to Izzy. “Anyway, years ago, when Olivia was just starting out, she worked at a restaurant out in the sticks called The Old Barn.”

  “Didn’t she start her career at The President, then?” said Roy.

  Ava shook her head. “That’s what most people think, but we know the real story.”

  Izzy gave her a quizzical look. “What story?
”

  “Well, she was working at The Old Barn as a commis chef when the sous chef and the head chef both went down with flu. She had to step in at short notice, and that’s when she got a real taste for running a kitchen. It went so well, she stood in regularly after that but one night, a restaurant critic for the local newspaper came in and complained about one of her sauces. From what we can gather, he was perfectly polite about it, but Olivia went bonkers. She’s a bit like a mother bear protecting her cubs when people criticise her kitchen, you see. Anyway, the next time he came in, she threw him out.”

  “Oh. Well, I can understand she didn’t like the criticism, but that’s what restaurant critics do, isn’t it? They critique,” said Izzy. “It was a bit petty to throw him out.”

  Ava shook her head. “No, dear, you don’t understand. When I say, “she threw him out”, I mean that quite literally. She threw him out of the restaurant through a plate-glass window. Apparently, he recovered from his injuries, but one of the conditions of him not pressing charges against her was that she had to promise to see a professional about her anger issues.”

  “Wow!” Izzy’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Roy, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth. “I got caught short this morning when I went out for a walk, and had to stop at The President to use the loo. There’s a full-size framed photo of her hanging in the lobby, and she looks mean.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t look quite so mean if she made a little effort to look less like a street-thug, and more like a lady,” said Ava. “She’s a prime candidate for a makeover, that one.”

  Roy shrugged and wiped a blob of mustard from his chin. “I dunno about that, but I wouldn’t cross her, that’s for sure, and I’m six-foot six. So what happened after she threw the bloke through the window?”

  “She came back to St. Eves, started having therapy, and ended up at The President Hotel with her tail between her legs,” said Ava, spreading paté onto a cracker.