by Kate Forster
He saw her hug an older man who kept patting her on the shoulder, and she took his arm in hers and guided him over to the van.
‘Marc, this is Petey, my friend who makes the fudge. Petey this is Marc, who owns Pudding Hall.’
Marc put out his hand to shake and then realised he had a disposable glove on.
‘Don’t worry about it, young fella,’ said Petey. ‘I have been poorly for a few days but started feeling better when Christa brought me soup and cake. She’s a keeper.’
‘She certainly does like to feed people up,’ he said. ‘I’ve put on two kilos since she started.’
Zane called out to Christa and she left Petey with Marc.
‘She’s the most generous girl, and really wants to help people,’ said Petey, smothering a cough.
‘She does,’ agreed Marc. ‘I only found out she was doing this last night.’
Marc served a man some stew while Petey stood to the side of the doorway of the van.
‘Did she show you the old pub I mentioned?’ Petey asked.
‘No, is she planning on going there or buying it?’ he joked.
‘It’s where she should run her dining hall. She has a whole thing planned in her head. I told her about the pub and how it might be the right place, but I don’t know if she’s seen it yet.’
Marc tried to remember if she had mentioned a pub to him when she’d been talking about her dream but he was sure she missed that part.
‘Where is the pub?’ he asked, handing out some soup with a smile to an older woman.
‘Down at the end of The Street, on the banks of the river.’ Petey pointed in the direction of the river. ‘Nowt been in it for a few years. Would be a fine place.’
Before Marc could ask any more, he saw Peggy walking towards the van, rugged up and ignoring everyone but Marc as she came closer.
‘Soup or stew?’ he asked. ‘Or can I tempt you with some shepherd’s pie – not sure where the recipe is from but it’s getting good early press.’
‘Oh you think you’re a laugh don’t you, Mr Ferrier?’ Peggy scoffed. ‘Since you said you and Christa were here, I thought I might be able to help out now and then.’
‘Then you should talk to me,’ said Petey. ‘Peter Chandler, fudge stall owner at Shambles Market, widower, also part-time volunteer here.’
Peggy seemed to assess him from top to toe.
‘Peggy Walker, housekeeper, divorced, and shepherd’s pie maker for tonight’s takeaway contribution.’
Marc wished Christa could see this moment but she was busy talking to Zane. He watched her laughing at something Zane was saying and he wished he could be the one making her laugh right now.
Petey was now showing Peggy the shopping bags of items they were giving out, chatting away while Peggy seemed to inspect everything with an eagle eye.
Christa came back to the van then. ‘You okay?’ she asked.
‘Fine. What were you and Zane chatting about? He seemed to be making you laugh a lot.’ As soon as he said it, he knew he sounded churlish and stupid and tried to fix the sentence.
‘I should chat to him more – he seems like a nice guy.’
But Christa didn’t seem bothered by his comment. ‘He is – he’s lovely. You should definitely get to know him better.’
Christa came into the van and stood by him, helping to serve as the next wave of people came by for supplies and company.
Finally, the people trickled off as rain began to fall. Petey and Peggy had said their goodbyes to each other and to Christa and Marc.
By the time everything was packed up and put away, and Christa and Marc were in the car, he was exhausted.
‘It’s intense work, isn’t it?’ he said as he started the car. ‘And finishes so late.’
Christa took off her gloves and held her hands against the heater vents on the dashboard. ‘It is but it’s important. I don’t mind it. I’m used to the late nights.’
Marc drove through the streets and then down towards the river where Petey had directed him. He had looked up the pub and the address on his phone during a break and saw the potential that Petey had seen.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Christa, looking around the area as he pulled up outside the pub.
‘Why are we here?’ she asked.
‘Petey told me about this pub, said he had told you to look at it for your dining hall idea.’
Christa shrugged. ‘Yes, I did look at it but I don’t have the money or the experience to run such a big project. It would be irresponsible to think I could.’
‘Why couldn’t you?’ Marc challenged. ‘Anything is possible.’
Christa twisted her body towards him. ‘I looked up how many charities fail. People have great intentions but don’t have the infrastructure to do it successfully.’
‘I could help you,’ said Marc. ‘I can fund it.’
‘It’s not about money.’ She sighed. ‘I know what I am capable of and I have limits. I can feed people and care for them and support them but this sort of work requires a really strong infrastructure with policies and processes. We are dealing with people’s lives and mental and physical health.’
They sat in the car and looked at the pub, the moon high above them, shining a spotlight on the old slate roof.
‘It’s a great building,’ he finally said. She was right of course. If she was to do this it needed to be done right. This was more than just funding some endangered trees, which was the kind of philanthropy he usually engaged in.
‘It is,’ she said quietly.
The need to hold her hand was overwhelming and he didn’t stop himself. He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.
‘I have no doubt you will do this, Christa. You are a truly powerful woman.’ She held on to his hand and squeezed back.
‘And you are a very rich man who means well but has to understand that money can only go so far, though I do appreciate the interest and support. It means a lot. My ex-husband didn’t always think my ideas were good. Actually, he didn’t like any of my ideas unless he was a part of them.’
The car was still running, and he felt warm and safe with Christa, just them against the world under the moon.
‘Insecure people do that,’ he said. ‘Just so you know, I think your ideas are brilliant. In fact, I should offer you a role as my Chief Ideas Officer.’
She laughed but he noticed she didn’t take her hand away. The need to kiss her was intense but he knew that was too much. She hadn’t given him any signal she wanted to be kissed and holding hands didn’t mean anything more than support in the moment. Anyway, what would happen after they kissed? he thought.
Yes he was interested in Christa, but it would have to wait until after she finished working for him. Only then would he ask her out on a date. Hopefully that was something she was interested in.
‘Have you dated much since you split with your ex?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not much of a catch at the moment. Pretty jaded and angry with him and with myself for being so stupid.’
‘Why? What did you do that was stupid?’
She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms.
‘I let my ex take care of the business and I ended up with next to nothing,’ she said. ‘I was wilfully ignorant because I wanted to be looked after. I needed a break but it came at a cost and left me nearly broke. All those years of looking after my dad, paying the bills, making decisions when he was sick and drinking. Helping him back on his feet again only to have him die before I started at Le Cordon Bleu meant I wanted a break from being a parent to a parent. I did this to myself; it was a choice.’
‘But still, what a prick.’ And he meant it. He gave his ex the world and more when she asked for it when they split. Anything to keep her comfortable and the boys well cared for, though his ex had proven to be a less than present mother.
‘It’s okay; it is what it is. But I know I can’t do any business again with a partner. It has to be me alone becau
se I lost my power, my self-worth and my confidence and I miss it. I miss how I used to be.’
He saw her wipe a tear from her cheek and his heart ached for her.
‘If I can do anything, Christa, I will, okay?’ His promise sounded futile but he meant it. He would do whatever he could to make this pain go away.
‘Just talking is good. Thank you.’
She took his hand again. ‘After this is all over, this Christmas thing, and I don’t work for you anymore, maybe we could be friends.’
Marc held tight and looked at the moon. ‘I couldn’t think of anything I would like more. Let’s go home.’
There was some sort of energy between them he couldn’t place. It wasn’t just attraction but connection at a deeper level than he had ever felt with a woman before.
He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words.
‘Actually, I would like to see you when Christmas is over, like properly, for dinner or something, one you don’t have to cook.’
He heard her take a fast breath. Dammit, he shouldn’t have asked.
‘I would like that. I would really like that,’ she said slowly.
He turned her hand over and traced the callus at the base of her forefinger. ‘The chef’s mark,’ she said. ‘From chopping.’
He touched a scar on her wrist. ‘Burn mark from when I was an apprentice.’
‘And this?’ A feathery scar up the side of her hand.
‘A fall off my bike when I was nine.’ She smiled.
Marc held her hand up to his mouth and kissed the palm.
‘I can’t wait till Christmas is over,’ he said in a low voice.
‘Me neither,’ he heard her whisper and he had never wanted anyone more than her in this moment.
‘Let’s go home,’ he said and he drove them back to Pudding Hall still holding hands.
The lights were on when they arrived.
‘It’s two in the morning. Adam must be up,’ he said as he turned off the car.
And then the front door opened.
‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Christa said.
‘What?’ He looked at the people walking towards the car.
‘That’s my ex, Avian – no idea who the guy is though. Probably her new boyfriend.’
‘That’s my ex, Simon, oh God. Set me on fire and bury me under the house. Seriously, I cannot do this.’ Her breathing was becoming shorter and faster, her voice tight. Simon and Avian were approaching the car and waving.
‘Your ex-husband?’ Marc asked.
‘Yes, my stupid, selfish ex, who is the host of a new cooking show – that’s how he met her.’ They were nearly at the car.
‘Avian is producing it,’ he said. ‘I’m funding it for the new streaming network I’m buying.’
Avian knocked on the window. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to peer into the dark car interior.
‘I resign,’ said Christa. ‘Effective immediately.’
MAIN COURSE
19
Selene always answered Christa’s calls, no matter where she was and who she was with and the two-in-the-morning call from a sobbing Christa was no exception.
‘Sweetie, tell me what happened again? Simon, a pudding, the bird lady – it sounds like a fever dream or you ate too much Stilton.’
Christa took a deep breath. ‘That woman at the restaurant, who was with Simon, she’s the producer of the TV show. And she’s Marc’s ex-wife. And she brought Simon for Christmas.’
‘Oh, okay, yes, that’s bad.’
Christa tried to forget the moment she jumped from the car and ran inside, ignoring Simon and Avian, while Marc called her name and she heard Simon laugh. It was a mean laugh, one she knew too well.
Then she heard Marc come to her door and knock several times but she refused to open it, instead throwing her clothes into her bags and calling Selene.
‘So now I have to go and live in Siberia and make pinecone jam for a living.’
‘Pinecone jam? Is that even a thing?’
‘In Siberia it is.’
Christa thought about Paul’s attachments to his pinecones and started to cry again.
‘And I think I like Marc, like, like like him’ she admitted, sitting on the bed.
‘Oh, that’s intense. And how does he feel?’ asked Selene.
‘We held hands and agreed to not do anything until after Christmas.’
‘Somewhere Jane Austen is nodding her approval.’
Christa lay back on the bed. ‘I can’t stay with Simon here. It’s humiliating.’
‘You like Marc and he likes you and yet you want to leave because of Simon. When are you going to stop letting this idiot control your life, Christa?’
Part of her wanted to hang up on her best friend and the other half knew she was right.
‘He forced you to leave the restaurant. He gave you nothing. He took credit for all your signature dishes. Why don’t you ask him if he wants to date Marc and then you can just get it over and done with? Since you’ve given him everything else in your life.’
Christa covered her eyes with her hand. ‘Ouch, that hurt.’
‘It was meant to,’ said Selene. ‘Do what you have to do but please stop changing your life to suit Simon’s agenda. You’re better than that and better than him. Okay?’
‘Yes, okay,’ she mumbled.
‘Call me tomorrow and let me know what you have decided to do but you know what I think and you know I am right because you wouldn’t have called me and asked otherwise. You knew the answer all along.’
After hanging up, Christa pulled on her pudding PJs and was sat on her bed thinking about what Selene had said when there was a knock at the door. She opened it, expecting Marc but instead it was Adam in a dressing gown and with tousled hair.
She hadn’t had much to do with Adam. He was intimidating with his business-like manner but when he drank a glass of wine and laughed, he was almost fun. But she liked Paul and she knew Paul liked her.
‘Hi?’
‘Marc tells me you want to leave,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Come in, I don’t want this broadcast to the house.’ She opened the door for Adam to step into her room.
‘Sit,’ she said, gesturing to the sofa while she sat on the end of the bed.
‘Are you here to ask for the deposit back?’ she said. ‘I can arrange it. I haven’t spent anything.’
‘Not at all. Marc said I should pay you in full if you want to go.’
Christa frowned. ‘Okay?’
‘Marc doesn’t know I’m here, but I want to talk to you about him. About Avian. I am overstepping boundaries but there are things you should know.’
Christa sighed. ‘This is where you tell me that Marc is still in love with Avian and I am merely a pawn in their shitty toxic marriage and Simon is being used a decoy and I should be aware that I will never win and nothing is real.’
Adam’s face was shocked. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’ Christa was so tired she honestly did think she was having a fever dream now.
‘No.’ Adam started to laugh and tried to quiet himself. ‘What sort of cheesy romance novel storyline have you just concocted?’
Christa couldn’t help see the funny side also. ‘I don’t know, it seemed legitimate when I was saying it.’
Adam shook his head. ‘If this chef thing doesn’t work out then become a romance writer, okay?’
She giggled and then became serious. ‘So why are you here then?’
Adam waited for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts.
‘Marc is falling in love with you. I have no doubt about it and neither does Paul, and we have known him for twenty years.’
‘He hardly knows me,’ said Christa. ‘And besides, if he is falling in love with me, why is he sending his lawyer to tell me? That’s not your story to tell.’
‘That’s the thing, he doesn’t know he’s falling in love with you, so I don’t wa
nt you to go.’ Adam took a deep breath. ‘Avian is a stone-cold bitch who uses people and then discards them when they’re done being useful to her. Marc was useful because of his money but then she was tired of being a parent, tired of being a wife, tired of being nothing – according to her – so she left Marc and the boys. He does ninety per cent of the time with them. He’s not perfect but he tries. But since you’ve been here, he’s actually spending quality time with them and working less, which I could take or leave, but still, he’s present. And it’s because of you.’
She shook her head. ‘Me spending time with him and the twins doesn’t mean he’s in love with me.’
Adam crossed his arms. ‘I challenge that statement and I put it to you that he can’t keep his eyes off you. That he talks about you when you’re not around and that he looks at you in a way he never looked at Avian.’
Christa was silent.
‘Do you know the number of women who throw themselves at him?’
Now she looked up. ‘I don’t care. Are you trying to suggest that I should be grateful that the rich handsome American is even looking at me, the round, nearly broke, pastry chef?’
Adam stood up. ‘No, it means that he chose you and I want you to wait and find out if you want to choose him, because he’s a helluva guy and you’re a great woman and together you could be amazing.’
He walked to the door and put his hand on the door handle.
‘If you want to go, message me in the morning and I will arrange payment, but I hope you don’t because more than Marc, the twins will be devastated. They also adore you. You have won the Ferrier men’s hearts.’
He left then, closing the door quietly behind him, and Christa fell into bed, closing her eyes, where she prayed for dreams about anything other than Marc and Pudding Hall as she drifted off to sleep.
20
The sound of the twins laughing echoed down the hallway as Marc walked towards the kitchen.
Could he hope that Christa had stayed?