I frown at him. ‘Yes, but how did you—’
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’
I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of Poppy’s voice.How much did she hear of my conversation with Alex? I was planning on breaking the news gently about my lack of baking skills but maybe the cat’s out of the bag now.
‘Hey, Poppy,’ says Alex, ‘I just scraped your new assistant here off the ice. I think she needs to brush up on her skills a little.’
He gives me a huge, knowing grin and I flush scarlet. It’s fairly obvious he’s not just talking about the skating.
But Poppy seems totally unaware. ‘Roxy rescued me in the supermarket when I was weeping over a bag of flour. Thank God. Because she might just have saved my bacon.’
‘Or your mince pies,’ points out Alex.
Poppy nods. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve got the five hundred for tomorrow’s delivery to box up – plus we’ve got two hundred gingerbread men to ice. We’d better get cracking, Roxy!’
She starts walking off. ‘See you at dinner, Alex!’
I glance at Alex, perplexed.
‘I’m staying at the posh hotel here,’ he explains. ‘But I’ll be over at the Log Fire Cabin most nights. Poppy’s boyfriend, Jed, is one of my best mates from uni. We’re having a sort of Christmas reunion while I’m over here.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I’ll probably see you later, then.’
‘You probably will. With a haircut.’ Alex grins as I hurry after Poppy.
On impulse, I call back, ‘There’s nothing wrong with beach hair,’ and he gives me an impressed thumbs-up as if he totally agrees.
I’ve been dreading meeting all the guests at the Log Fire Cabin. Having to talk to them and think of something interesting to say. But it feels a little less daunting now that I’ve met Jed’s friend, Alex.
It will be nice having a friendly face around the place …
Chapter 6
Driving back along the road to the Log Fire Cabin, Poppy gives me a run-down of what I’ll be doing during my days here.
‘I really feel like I’m dumping you in at the deep end,’ she says, apologetically. ‘If it’s too much, just say so.’
‘No, honestly, it’s fine.’ The more hours I can spend at the Log Fire Cabin each day, the less time I’ll have to kick my heels at home, moping about Jackson, so I’ll get over him much faster. That’s the theory, anyway.
‘I haven’t spoiled your Christmas plans, I hope?’
I shake my head and explain about Mum and Dad going off on a cruise. ‘My flatmate, Flo, is away, too, with her family. They’re spending the festive season in New York.’
‘Ooh, lucky Flo!’
‘I know.’
‘So … I thought if you could make the desserts, I’ll concentrate on the main courses and we can do the starter together. How does that sound?’
‘Good,’ I say, as my stomach turns several somersaults in quick succession. Isn’t there a dessert called Eton Mess? That sounds right up my street.
As I park outside the house, I ask her how she first met Jed and her serious expression melts into a faraway smile.
‘He phoned me, thinking I was his brother’s girlfriend, Clemmy. He got the wrong number, you see. So he left a message inviting me – well, Clemmy – for Christmas. And, well, I phoned him back and told him he’d got the wrong number and we chatted …’ Her face is glowing just thinking about it.
‘So what happened?’
‘Well, I thought that was that. But there was something about his voice I really liked. And then I happened to be at the station when he was meeting Clemmy off the train.’
She shoots me a glance, her cheeks colouring up. ‘When I say I “happened” to be there, I actually went to the station deliberately. I suppose I was curious to see Jed in person. And it all sort of fell into place after that.’
‘Did you talk to him?’
‘Yes. He found out I was setting up my dinner party business and he just happened to need a caterer for over the Christmas holidays – so that was it!’
‘How romantic.’
She beams at me. ‘It was. I couldn’t quite believe it when we finally got together.’
‘And that was two years ago? And you’ve been together ever since?’
Her smile slips. ‘Two years, yes,’ she murmurs, almost as if she’s forgotten I’m there.
‘Do you live at the Log Fire Cabin with Jed?’
There’s a pause. Then she turns. ‘No, we don’t live together. I have my own flat in the village, although I stay over at Jed’s place once during the week. And most weekends.’
‘Lovely.’
She nods. ‘Of course it makes sense for me to stay here every night until the baking contract ends at Christmas. But after that, it’s back to my own place!’ She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
As we walk in the imposing entrance, with its modern, oak wood staircase rising up to the first-floor bedrooms, the man himself – Jed Turner – runs downstairs. Seeing Poppy, his handsome face spreads into a beaming smile.
‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey,’ she responds with a shy smile.
‘And you must be Roxy. I hope she’s treating you well?’
‘Oh, yes. Very well.’ I smile and we shake hands. Then he takes Poppy into a loose cuddle and plants a lingering kiss on top of her head.
She relaxes fully into his embrace for just a moment. Then she pulls away. ‘Right. We have two hundred gingerbread men to ice.’ She reaches up and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘Let’s go, Roxy.’
She walks briskly along to the kitchen and I follow in her wake, turning back to smile at Jed. He’s standing there with his arms folded, staring after us, a pensive look on his face.
Icing gingerbread men turns out to be even more tricky than I’d imagined, and I need four tries – and much embarrassed laughter on my part and giggles on Poppy’s – before she deems me proficient enough to work on my own. I’m painfully aware that I’m slowing up the proceedings. But if Poppy is worried, she doesn’t show it. She just keeps making encouraging remarks and praises me to the skies when I finally get Santa’s red suit with white trim and black buttons almost perfect. He looks a little cross-eyed, but she doesn’t seem to mind about that.
‘Right, if we get these done by five, we can run through the recipe for the mince pies to get a head start for tomorrow. Then we can start on dinner. I’ve told them eight o’clock tonight because I knew we’d be working up to the wire.’
I nod, focusing on getting Santa’s pupils in the right place this time.
‘You’re very welcome to stay for dinner,’ she says suddenly, and I glance up. ‘You might as well. There’ll be plenty.’
She’s smiling encouragingly.
‘Oh, no. I really need to get back. But thank you.’ Flo will be desperate to know how today went!
‘Is there anything at all to read around here?’ says a voice.
We both turn to find a statuesque girl in her early twenties standing in the doorway, chewing gum in a rather bored fashion. She’s wearing a short, silky, pale lilac dress and skyscraper nude heels, and her hair flows down over her shoulders in sculpted honey-blonde curls.
‘I’m not being funny but is it always this tedious in the countryside?’ She crosses her arms and gazes around sulkily.
‘Oh, hi, Sophie,’ says Poppy. ‘Roxy, this is Sophie. She’s going out with Jed’s friend, Jack. Sophie, this is my new assistant, Roxy.’
I smile at Sophie. ‘Hi.’
She hitches her mouth up fractionally, flicks her eyes over me and continues chewing. ‘Well?’
‘Oh, books, yes,’ says Poppy. ‘If you go through to the study along the hall you’ll find a big bookshelf—’
‘I don’t mean books.’ She looks so horrified, I want to giggle.
Poppy raises her eyebrows questioningly.
‘Cosmo?’ snaps Sophie impatiently. ‘Harper’s Bazaar? Vogue?’
&nbs
p; ‘Ah, sorry, no. I’m afraid I don’t buy fashion magazines.’ She suddenly colours bright red and glances at me with a grimace that I don’t understand. ‘I mean, I do sometimes.’
Sophie eyes Poppy’s outfit of blue jeans and a plain pink T-shirt. ‘Perhaps you should read them more often. You might pick up some tips.’ She smiles to show she’s just being helpful.
If Poppy is annoyed, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she beams at Sophie. ‘Roxy, Sophie here is a very important person in the world of fashion magazine publishing. She’s the editor-in-chief of Dazzle.’
‘Oh. Dazzle? Wow, that’s amazing. I used to read it all the time.’ I’m genuinely impressed. Come to think of it, Sophie is dressed impeccably – as I guess she should be, representing such a stylish magazine as Dazzle.
‘But you don’t read it now?’ Her tone is a little accusatory.
‘Er, well, sometimes I do,’ I say awkwardly. Dazzle is pretty much all fashion, which I was well into in my teens. But since the accident, my twenties have been much more about covering up …
Sophie is looking quite put out. But maybe that’s just her normal expression. Still, better not mention I only ever flick through Dazzle now when I find a copy in the dentist’s surgery.
‘My mum insists on giving me her back copies of The People’s Friend. Any good?’ offers Poppy. I glance at her. She’s gazing innocently at Sophie but I’m fairly certain she has her tongue firmly in her cheek.
Sophie doesn’t even dignify this with a reply.
‘How’s the hotel?’ Poppy asks. She turns to me. ‘Sophie and her boyfriend are staying at the same place as Alex. You know, when I first came here, it was just a sad, rundown old cottage. And look at it now! A gorgeous boutique hotel! Sylvia’s done a superb job transforming it, don’t you think?’
‘It does look lovely,’ I agree. ‘Especially all decorated for Christmas.’
Sophie wrinkles her perfect nose. ‘It’s okay I suppose, although the rooms are quite small. It’s not a patch on The Lawns,’ she adds, naming a five-star hotel twenty miles from here. Renowned for its elegance and attention to detail, it also boasts a Michelin-starred chef. ‘We stayed there a few nights ago.’ Sophie gives a theatrical sigh. ‘So romantic. The bedrooms are big enough to host a party!’ She picks up one of the mince pies and holds it aloft, examining it with her pinky finger in the air. She takes a tiny bite, chews doubtfully, then drops the rest in the bin.
Walking out, she calls back, ‘A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’
Poppy and I stare after her with our mouths literally hanging open.
‘What a bloody cheek! That woman thinks she’s royalty just because she edits a fashion magazine,’ mutters Poppy once she’s gone. ‘And as for her romantic night at The Lawns – excuse me while I puke!’ She shakes her head wearily. ‘I’m just not in the mood to hear about love’s young dream at the moment.’
I heave a sigh. ‘I know what you mean.’
I’d like to ask Poppy about her relationship with Jed but I definitely don’t know her well enough yet – and she is my boss, after all.
‘God, I’m starving. What time is it?’ Poppy glances at her watch, then crosses the kitchen, pulls the fridge door open and peers inside. She brings out a Tupperware box and sniffs the contents. ‘Kedgeree leftovers. Would you like some?’
‘No, thanks. You go ahead.’ I grin as she gets a fork and starts chomping through the fish and rice concoction in the box. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer it hot?’
She grins. ‘Not bothered. I can’t seem to stop eating these days. It must be the worry.’
‘Worry?’
She shrugs. ‘That I won’t be able to fulfil this contract. There’s so much depending on it. I want to take the business to the next level – perhaps even start employing a couple of full-time staff. But if this doesn’t work out …’ She shakes her head and munches faster.
‘It’ll be fine. We’ll do it.’ I try to sound reassuring, although I have absolutely no idea if it will be fine.
‘I thought we could have trifle for dessert,’ she says. ‘I found a box in the cupboard. Nice and quick.’
I feel a big surge of relief. Yes! I can make trifle from a box! We have it every Christmas when I’m at Mum and Dad’s!
Poppy presents me with a lovely cut-glass bowl, the box and a tin. I pat the canned fruit cocktail happily. You can’t go wrong with a tin!
‘Shall we make the custard from scratch?’ she asks.
I stare at her blankly then glance at the box. I didn’t know you could make custard from scratch.
She nods. ‘I know, I know. You’re right. Far too time-consuming! Let’s just stick to the packet variety.’ She opens the trifle box and looks inside, drawing out the packets of jelly and custard that I happen to know you just add hot water to. Even I can do that!
Poppy grins, pops the packets back into the box and hands it to me. ‘There you go!’
And there, indeed, I went. With a huge feeling of relief.
I make the trifle in no time, according to the instructions, and when Poppy asks me to whip some cream for the top, I casually ask where she keeps her ‘balloon whisk’. (I learned about balloon whisks when I was watching cookery demos on YouTube.)
Peeling a load of prawns for the starter is easy by comparison.
Every time I need to go to the fridge for something, I peer at my trifle with pride.
First dessert made. And I think I got away with it!
From about seven o’clock, there are lots of comings and goings out in the hall but I’m too busy trying to present the prawn cocktails with panache (like they do on MasterChef) to pay much attention. Soon, the kitchen is filled with the delicious aroma of Poppy’s lasagne and, before I know what’s happening, she’s loading the starters onto a large tray and carrying them through to the dining room.
I watch them go like an anxious mum dropping her kids for their first day at a new school. When the dishes come back empty with no report of complaints, a feeling of sheer relief rushes through me, making me feel quite light-headed. Maybe I’ll be able to do this!
When it comes to dessert, Poppy insists I should carry my trifle into the dining room myself. It will be a good chance, she says, for me to meet all the guests.
I’m a little nervous but at least I already know Jed and Alex, and I’ve met Sophie. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to Alex seeing my beautiful trifle because then he’ll realise I’m not quite such a flop in the kitchen, after all …
My hands feel a little sweaty from nerves so I run them down my jeans a few times and pick up the bowl. Walking through the hallway, I’m concentrating so hard on not tripping over any rugs that I’m not even looking at the diners.
‘Presenting … Roxy’s trifle everyone!’ says Poppy.
I look up and meet Alex’s eye. He gives me a big encouraging smile and a sly wink, which bolsters my confidence. He’s had the haircut he promised. It suits him short.
My gaze slides to Sophie. She’s eyeing the trifle with a wary look as if she’s worried I might poison her. Her head is resting on the shoulder of the man next to her.
A second later, my eyes collide with his and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
‘Jackson?’ I gasp, my knees turning to blancmange.
‘Roxy?’ growls Jackson, shock written all over his handsome face.
The blood rushes to my head and I think I might keel over.
I manage to save myself but not the trifle, which slides out of my damp grasp and lands on the wooden floor with a spectacular, rainbow-coloured crash.
Chapter 7
Flo can’t believe it when I get back and break the news about Jackson.
She makes me sit down in the best armchair and supplies me with a large glass of wine to combat the shock. I refuse her chocolate offering because my insides are in complete tatters. But as she listens to my story, she systematically unwraps and eats three Mini Rolls, one after the other.
‘H
e just turned up at the Log Fire Cabin with his new girlfriend and you had to serve him dinner? You had no warning whatsoever?’ Her eyes are round with disbelief.
I rake my hands through my hair and stare at my flatmate in anguish. ‘I can’t go back there, Flo. Imagine having to face him every day, and know that he’s tucked up every night with the delectable Sophie at that bloody boutique hotel!’
She nods in sympathy and holds out the Mini Roll plate.
I shake my head. ‘Thanks, but I think I might be sick.’
‘So that French girl who answered his phone …?’
‘A one-night stand? Before he got with Sophie? Oh, God, I don’t know!’ I wail, grabbing a Mini Roll in desperation.
‘The bastard doesn’t waste much time,’ murmurs Flo.
‘I know. But how can I let Poppy down? She’s relying on me.’
Flo frowns. ‘Listen, hun, all’s fair in love and war. You have to do what you have to do. And if you can’t face the thought of seeing Jackson and Sophie every day during the festive season, you’ll just have to tell Poppy you’ve changed your mind.’
I nod. ‘I think I’ll have to. I’m sure if I explain why, she’ll understand. She’s such a lovely person.’
Later, in bed, I lie there wide awake, thinking back to the catastrophe that was the trifle incident. Jackson looked just as shocked to see me as I was to clap eyes on him. In a way, it was quite fortuitous that I dropped the trifle because it meant that, in the ensuing kerfuffle of getting it all cleaned up, we were able to skate over the fact that we’d been far more than just acquaintances. Sophie kept shooting me funny looks when she thought I wasn’t watching, so she obviously suspected something. I was just glad no one at that table had apparently seen my tragic proposal of marriage on live TV … Unless they were being diplomatic and just pretending they hadn’t.
Next morning, I’m feeling totally drained from the emotion of the day before. I sit at the kitchen table, huddled in my dressing gown, drinking tea and trying to psyche myself up to phone Poppy and explain it won’t be possible for me to continue at the Log Fire Cabin. My heart sinks every time I imagine her reaction. But Flo is right. It’s all about self-preservation. I have to do it.
Second Chances at the Log Fire Cabin Page 5
