I let myself into the cottage later that night, checked that Gloria was asleep and let the dogs out for their bedtime wee. I didn’t care that I’d got a bit of a rash on my chin from Tom’s beard, I didn’t even mind that my stomach was rumbling (the Eggs Benedict had been abandoned indefinitely), because there was a hope and happiness in my heart that I hadn’t felt for a long time.
I lay in bed and left the curtains open so that the stars could twinkle at me in the night sky. There was no moon to be seen and a million tiny pinpricks of light decorated the inky blackness. Two brighter dots caught my eye, a big one and a smaller one: Jupiter and Venus, I thought automatically. My mind wandered to Gabe and Noah. I imagined them lying on the banks of the River Ouse staring up at the same sky, gazing into infinity, Noah asking endless questions about how far away they all were and did anybody live there.
I love them, I thought simply. And I always would. But it was time for Gabe to move on, for me to move on and for all of us to find the right person to love.
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food had given me so much in such a short time: I had a new zest for life, I was part of a community who shared a love of food, and now that I had recaptured my passion for cooking, I never wanted to lose that connection again.
And Tom . . .
I sighed a happy sigh and closed my eyes. It was too soon to tell whether there was a future for the two of us. But the taste of his lips was still on mine and for now that was enough to guarantee me the sweetest of dreams.
Chapter 29
It was Friday morning, nearly the weekend. Rosie was arriving today, Gabe and Noah tomorrow, and on Sunday, Tom had asked me to spend the afternoon with him ‘in the wilds of Yorkshire’. The prospect of all of these things had put me in the very best of moods.
‘I’ve thought about it long and hard . . .’ I paused, waiting until I had Gloria’s full attention at the breakfast table. Her face was screwed up in concentration and she was breathless again, although that could have been the frustration of retrieving the last sliver of lime peel from the bottom of the jar. That was easily solved; I’d pop into the little supermarket in Plumberry and buy her a new one for tomorrow’s breakfast.
‘I’m going to sell my Nottingham house. Then my life will truly be here.’
‘Oh, darling!’ Gloria’s eyes glittered as she squeezed my hand. ‘That’s wonderful news. You’ve made me the happiest woman in Plumberry.’
I might contest you for that honour, I thought, remembering last night when Tom’s lips had pressed a line of sizzling kisses from my collarbone to that soft ticklish spot just below my ear.
‘And I can see how happy you are too.’ She smiled but then instantly pressed a hand to her chest with a wince.
‘Gloria?’ I frowned. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘Silly me.’ She managed a weak smile that didn’t quite fit with the look of discomfort in her eyes. ‘Swallowed a sharp bit of crust, that’s all.’
I eyed her beadily. ‘If you say so. But please be sensible today, don’t overdo it.’
Comfrey was curled up near the foot that was supposed to be raised. Her little toe was hidden by the end of the plaster cast and the others were vivid red. I nudged an empty chair out from under the table and nodded at it to make her lift up her leg.
‘Your toes look a bit puffy to me, do you think they’re swollen?’
‘Verity,’ Gloria soothed, cutting me off by touching my arm, ‘don’t worry about me. I shall keep off my leg all morning. I won’t have much choice, anyway; the physio is coming later and before that my solicitor is calling round to make some changes to my will. Lovely chap, divorced and totally in love with me, poor soul.’
‘You dark horse, Gloria Ramsbottom!’
‘Oh, yes.’ She sighed dreamily, fanning her face with a placemat from the table. ‘Percy took me to dinner a couple of times, but I knew pretty quickly we weren’t compatible.’
‘How?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No appreciation or savouring of his food. He treated me to chateaubriand at a smart hotel in York once. The most expensive meal I think I’ve ever had.’ She closed her eyes at the memory. ‘It melted in the mouth, I remember it vividly. But he gobbled his dinner down so fast I doubted he even tasted it. Literally. Worse than Sage.’
Sage, who was sitting statue-like under Gloria’s chair, nose quivering hopefully at the prospect of a dropped morsel, pricked his ears up and yapped.
Gloria obliged and dropped a piece of marmalade toast for him.
‘Oh dear, I can see that wouldn’t have worked,’ I said with a cringe. If that was the secret to a happy relationship, Tom and I must be extremely compatible: we both adored food. I hugged the secret to myself; Gloria hadn’t been particularly encouraging last night and it was still early days with Tom. Far better to wait.
‘Never mind,’ she said practically. ‘He makes house calls and gives me a discount, so I mustn’t grumble.’
I glanced at my watch. Tom would be on his way to Manchester now to instruct his solicitor on the sale of Salinger’s.
‘You’d better be off,’ said Gloria wistfully, noticing my gesture. ‘You’ll no doubt have a busy day dealing with enquiries following Challenge Chester last night. Was it good, by the way? I fell asleep before the start.’
‘Brilliant. Amazing. Great publicity,’ I said, not meeting her eye.
At least that was what Tom had said in a text last night after he’d stayed up late to watch it on catch-up.
I screwed the top on to the blackcurrant jam and fed the last crust to Comfrey to cover up my pink cheeks. ‘With any luck the phone will be ringing off the hook.’
Watching Challenge Chester on my laptop was top of my morning’s agenda. I just hoped I’d get through the first hour in the office without having to answer any awkward questions, like why I hadn’t seen it last night and in that case what had I been doing at Tom’s.
My heart sang a merry tune as I cleared the breakfast table, made Gloria a second cup of tea and topped up the dogs’ bowl with fresh water.
‘Verity?’ Gloria called as I reached the kitchen door. She still had a hand pressed to her throat and I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly.
‘Yes?’
She held out her arms and I returned to the table for a hug.
She squeezed me tight, pressing her soft cheek to mine. Gloria gave great hugs. She smelled of Pears soap, lime marmalade and . . . my heart leapt as I realized it . . . home. Gloria, Plumberry, the cookery school . . . it had all become my home.
Finally, she pulled back to look at me.
‘I love you like a daughter; you know that, don’t you?’ she said with a sniff. ‘You, Gabe and Noah are all the family I’ve got. You’re what I live for. I can cope with the inconvenience of this stupid plaster cast and the constant throbbing of my stupid leg because I know I’ve got you.’
‘You soppy thing.’ I kissed her cheek.
‘Having you living here with me and seeing my cookery school finally open,’ she swallowed and there were tears sparkling in her eyes, ‘this has been my happiest time since Mimi died.’
We stared at each other for a moment.
‘For me too, Gloria,’ I said, ‘for me too.’
‘I thought you were going to be live tweeting last night?’ Pixie leaned against the door of the office. ‘I searched for the Plumberry hashtag and nothing came up.’
She was chewing gum, which she only dared do because she knew Tom was out.
I took off my headphones.
‘Internet went down,’ I said in a businesslike tone that didn’t invite comment.
I minimized the screen, which was playing Challenge Chester. I’d watched nearly the whole hour of it and I was thoroughly enjoying it. Tom was a natural in front of the camera. All those years of pretending to present a TV show had paid off, I thought, my heart pinging as I remembered last night. And when he twinkled his dark eyes at the camera I felt my stomach flutter as if he was looking
just at me.
I would have finished the programme by now, but Tom had rung earlier from his car to tell me that he’d arrived in Manchester and we’d chatted for ages.
‘A couple of my chef mates have phoned already this morning,’ he’d said. ‘They saw the programme last night and have volunteered their services if we ever want guest chef appearances. That might add something to your Supper Club idea, what do you think? Imagine the possibilities, V! It could be the start of something really exciting.’
He had been so fired up and full of enthusiasm that I’d been both touched and carried away with the idea myself. I’d already pencilled in our first Supper Club for the last Friday in June.
Pixie took a seat in Gloria’s chair and span round and round, blowing her fringe up out of her eyes as she turned.
‘Tom was a star; I think he could be a TV chef himself, don’t you?’
In spite of my best efforts to control it, my mouth lifted at the corners. I couldn’t get the sound of Tom’s voice out of my head from last night as he carried on a running commentary of our Eggs Benedict supper. He would be brilliant on TV, just as he was brilliant in the kitchen, and on the sofa, come to that . . .
‘Probably,’ I said vaguely. ‘But what struck me was how happy everyone was, and what a lovely thing it is to get together and share food and flavours and recipes. Making memories . . .’ I finished with a sigh.
Pixie arched an eyebrow. ‘Get you, all romantic for ten o’clock in the morning.’
My phone rang. I looked at the screen. Tom. Again.
‘Excuse me, Pixie,’ I said pointedly, choosing not to answer the call until she took the hint.
She heaved herself up off the chair, muttering under her breath about being the only one doing any work around here, and whipped her head round with curiosity as I answered the phone.
‘Tom!’ I smiled down the phone. ‘Long time no speak.’
‘I know, I know, I’m turning into a stalker,’ he laughed. My heart went gooey at the sound of his lovely Irish accent. It sounded stronger over the phone. ‘Have you watched it all yet?’
‘No, because I keep getting interrupted,’ I teased.
‘Well, hurry up because everyone else has,’ he urged. ‘Anyway, you’ll never guess who I’ve just had on the phone?’
‘Jamie Oliver?’ I idly flicked through my emails.
I’d had twenty-five messages from advertising people and thirty from Chester Fulwood fans who wanted to know if we had any signed souvenirs – actually, I was a bit cross with myself about not having any of those – plus tons of new Facebook likes and Twitter followers.
He hesitated. ‘OK, not that exciting. Fresh from the Sea. That new seafood company.’
‘Whatever the question, the answer’s no,’ I said briskly. ‘Remember how ill you were last time?’
On the other hand, as stressful as his illness was it had forced me back into the kitchen, so the company wasn’t entirely without its merits.
‘They were very apologetic about that and managed to trace a duff batch of langoustines back to . . . Anyway, the good news is that they want to run an event at the cookery school on June the ninth for bloggers.’
‘Here?’ I flipped to the diary screen on my laptop. ‘I thought they’d got their own venue. Don’t you think that’s a bit . . . fishy?’
‘Ha ha.’
He explained that their building had been flooded in last week’s storms and the repairs hadn’t happened as quickly as expected. Fifteen food bloggers were expecting a Cooking with Fish demonstration, plus a three-course fishy lunch and they had nowhere to put them and were prepared to pay a handsome sum for our facilities.
As it turned out we didn’t have a course running on that day, so as Dave would say the booking was a useful extra revenue stream. Providing they didn’t poison all the bloggers who’d then blame the cookery school and blog all about it . . .
I took the details from Tom over the phone and promised to phone Fresh from the Sea’s PR person, Rachel, and give her the good news.
After I’d finished watching Challenge Chester, I spent the rest of the morning sorting out admin and liaising with the printer for some new Supper Club leaflets until it was almost time for Rosie to arrive. Mags had been conspicuously quiet this morning and I was dying to know how her dinner with Dave had gone last night. I turned off my laptop and picked up my phone in preparation to go and wait for Rosie in reception when my phone beeped with a message.
It was Tom again. I laughed to myself; at this rate he’d never make it back to Plumberry before the start of the Perfect Pasta course.
Gosh, long message. I read it as I descended the stairs.
You know what you said last night about being trustworthy? Well I am too. I know this might not be the most romantic text you’ll ever get but it’s true. Talking to my solicitor about Rebecca has brought it to the fore. I won’t cheat on you like she did and I won’t steal your ideas like Liam did. But I can’t promise not to steal your heart. T x
Wow; I think he may have already done that.
‘Fifteen new bookings this morning,’ Mags cried as she saw me coming downstairs. ‘June is going to be a busy month.’
It was still May. Sometimes I forgot that I’d only been here since the end of April, it felt like much longer.
‘Brilliant!’ I dropped my phone in my cardigan pocket and squeezed behind the desk. ‘Gloria will be thrilled!’
‘I called in on her earlier,’ said Mags.
‘How did she seem to you?’ I said, smoothing the skirt of my dress as I perched on the end of her desk. ‘She was clutching her chest this morning as if she was in pain. Denied it, of course,’ I added ruefully.
‘I didn’t see her.’ Mags took a diamanté hairclip out, tucked a stray blonde wisp into her bun and repinned it. ‘I called up the stairs but I could hear the shower running, so I left her a note instead.’
‘I helped her to have a bath this morning,’ I said. ‘That means she’s crawled up the stairs by herself. She’ll be exhausted.’
Mags frowned. ‘And isn’t it odd that she felt the need for a shower?’
I nodded. ‘Very. Maybe she’s suffering from the heat again?’
My stomach lurched. Going upstairs was a major event for Gloria: up on all fours and down on her bottom. She avoided doing it if she could and rarely went upstairs without Mags or me to help her.
‘Let’s ring her,’ we both said together.
Mags grabbed the phone but before she could even dial Gloria’s number, her mobile rang.
‘Gloria!’
She mouthed Phew to me and I gave her the thumbs-up.
‘Everything OK? Did you see my note?’ Mags asked.
Gloria’s voice was too tinny and faint for me to catch.
Mags chuckled. ‘He would. Yes, I’ll tell her.’
She paused and frowned. ‘All right, but not too far. Bye, chuck.’
‘Well?’ I asked as Mags replaced the receiver.
‘The solicitor has been and scoffed all the biscuits. She’s going to walk up and down Hillside Lane to mobilize her hip a bit. The physio has rescheduled the appointment to half past five. Also,’ she added, ‘she says we’re to stop fretting about her.’
I felt my shoulders relax from their hunched position under my ears. I nodded slowly. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Her biggest concern is being a burden.’ Mags sighed. ‘I keep telling her not to be daft.’
‘Anyway, she’s fine for now. So?’ I nudged her shoulder. ‘How was your date with Dave? Did it live up to all that anticipation?’
She blushed and clasped her hands in her lap demurely. ‘He was a perfect gentleman.’
Pixie pushed her way backwards through the door from the Aga kitchen with a pasta machine tucked under her arm. She took one look at us and put the machine down on the desk.
‘You’re talking about Dave, aren’t you? Is he a good kisser?’ She winked at me.
Mags, who was normally t
he first to enter into a lewd discussion involving anyone else, seemed extremely reticent now that the boot was on the other foot.
She tilted her chin up. ‘A lady never divulges such things.’
‘You didn’t get any action last night, then,’ Pixie snorted. ‘We were relying on you for some juicy gossip, weren’t we, Verity?’
A rosy feeling crept across my cheeks as I tried not to think about my own ‘action’; I’d no wish to divulge either.
‘Your friend’s here,’ said Mags with a touch of relief.
I fanned my face; her and me both . . .
She nodded towards the car park where Rosie’s car was drawing to a halt. The car door opened and a foot encased in an impossibly high heel touched the tarmac.
‘How can she drive in them?’ Mags marvelled.
‘Because she’s a goddess,’ Pixie said breathily.
A slender, tanned leg appeared. Rosie was dressed in a crisp white fitted blouse, tight black skirt and red shoes. She shook her black hair off her face and shut the door with her bottom. She was on the phone, waving her arms about animatedly as usual, and even from this distance I could see she was frowning. But she raised a hand in a wave when she saw us.
‘Go and make her one of your special caramel lattes, Pixie,’ said Mags. ‘She looks like she needs cheering up.’
I scurried out into the car park to greet her as Rosie ended the call and we squealed and hugged our hellos.
‘I’ve got so much to tell you!’ I exclaimed. ‘We’ve been on TV, the cookery school is fully booked, and—’
I broke off, not wanting to mention Tom yet. There was time for that later, away from the cookery school.
‘You have been busy.’ She raised an eyebrow at my exuberance. ‘It’s only a week since I saw you.’
I nodded gravely. ‘A lot can happen in a week. An awful lot.’
‘What a relief to step out of the rat race for a day,’ said Rosie, sinking on to one of the picnic benches on the deck and gazing out over the river. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, spending your days in a beauty spot like this.’
I did actually, I thought with a secret smile.
The Plumberry School of Comfort Food Page 28
