“Morning. Please tell me there’s coffee.” Sheila made her way groggily into the kitchen. “I need a cuppa joe, real bad.”
“Merry Christmas to you too.” Val gave Sheila a sly look. “Up all night?”
“Shut up,” Sheila said. “Thanks,” she added to Jamie, who handed her a steaming mug. “Can I get another one?”
Jamie looked puzzled, but she poured another cup. Sheila disappeared up the stairs again.
“I don’t think she’ll be back down for a while.”
“I’ve got this under control, if you have something else you need to be doing.” Jamie dropped the peeled apple into a pot of boiling water.
“No,” Val said. “I just wanted to say—”
“I need sugar.”
Jamie’s knife clattered to the floor as she beheld Kathy in the chenille robe that Sheila had just been wearing. She wordlessly handed Kathy the sugar bowl.
“Thanks. Well,” Kathy said. “I guess, well, I’m in a better mood today. You can keep your rotten old inn. I think I’m moving to New York.”
The silence Kathy left behind was broken only by bubbling apples.
Then Jamie turned her shining eyes on Val. She looked like she’d just gotten her heart’s desire. Well, she had. Kathy wasn’t going to try to take the inn away.
Those eyes, Val thought. Those eyes and that mouth. That’s what got me started. But it’s what’s behind the eyes that is going to break my heart to leave.
She hadn’t really thought about what she’d want from Warnell Communications. She had expected to take whatever they offered. She supposed she should have an agent. But she knew that she would now ask for a filming schedule that let her come home often. And home was here, with those eyes. If only she could get them to smile at her again.
Kathy left the inn later in the morning. Thankfully, Mark Warnell seemed completely unaware of her presence. Throughout the afternoon Jamie and Val worked side-by-side in the kitchen, staging the preparation of dinner.
Pheasant à la Braise turned out to be pheasant breasts roasted on top of a layer of beef and under slices of bacon. While Jamie arranged the Vegetable Pie and Celery Ragout, Val was in charge of the Forcemeat Balls, a mixture of very lean bacon, chicken livers, lemon peel, bread crumbs and other seasonings, rolled and then lightly fried in oil. Once the meatballs were draining on paper towels—Val congratulating herself for only having to ask the very silent Jamie’s help once—Val turned her attention to helping Jamie with the Syllabub.
They had decided at the last minute to go for broke, and now the Syllabub was just a part of the whole dessert—English Trifle. Val supplied the ingredients in the order Jamie requested, and to her amazement dry white wine, sugar and lemon juice turned into a smooth, sweet liquid. Jamie whipped it into egg whites, then set it in the walk-in refrigerator to set up a little.
Meanwhile, Val soaked ladyfingers—Jamie called them something else—in rum and lined the bottom of what looked to her like a large jello mold. Jamie had already made the custard that she poured on top of the ladyfingers. Val couldn’t believe it would all turn out of the pan later.
Jamie never said an unnecessary word, even through dinner, when Mark Warnell could not say enough about the food. He even went out of his way to compliment Jamie on her part in making it. Jamie was polite, but very, very far away.
The rain let up during dinner and Val wasn’t surprised when Graham and Len decided to take a walk. Sheila, who had actually eaten very little, excused herself with a meaningful glance at Val and then Mark. Now that she knew the relationship, Val could see the family resemblance—certainly they appeared to have the same instincts for business.
Jamie insisted on doing the dishes, which left Val and Mark sipping coffee at the table.
“All I regret is not having a place for a few rockers so we could relax in style,” Val said. “But this is a working restaurant and it wouldn’t do to have the customers wanting to eat in a rocking chair.”
Mark chuckled. “Well, the chairs are comfortable enough to relax.”
There was a silence, then Val said hesitantly, “Mark, I know you said you wanted to discuss business tomorrow…”
“But why wait when everything is going so smoothly?”
“I have to admit I’m afraid something will go wrong,” Val said. He didn’t know the half of it.
“Well, let’s talk business. I don’t want to get into details, but I have a general plan I’d like to share with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“When Sheila brought this idea to me, I told her the most important aspect was loyalty. Your loyalty to Warnell Communications.”
“I am a loyal person, if I’m happy.”
“Makes sense. I’m going to want to ensure your loyalty by contract—”
“Which is fine as long as the contract ensures my happiness.”
Mark stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. “I didn’t think you’d be a pushover.”
“And I didn’t think you were Santa Claus.”
Mark’s laugh was genuine. “At least we understand each other. I can offer you a clear channel to book distribution, cable distribution, you name it. All I want to know is that you’ll stay with Warnell. I think Sheila will go out of her way to make you happy.”
“I’m sure she’ll try,” Val said, with a touch of wry humor.
“That’s my girl,” Mark said. “She can be a little obvious, but there’s nothing wrong with her business head.”
Val had not been thinking of business transactions, although with Sheila, sex could be a business transaction. Not interested, she thought.
“Believe me, we’ll earn enough money to keep you happy. And certainly enough for your cooking lessons.”
Val gulped. “Cooking lessons?”
“How are you going to sell cookbooks if you can’t cook?”
“I can cook,” Val said, not very convincingly. She sighed. “How did you know?”
“Sheila doesn’t remember what a great cook her mother was, before she was ill. When we had the time together I was kitchen helper. Sheila can’t cook a lick—she’d never figure out who was doing what. It only took me a few minutes to see it. You’re going to need those lessons.”
“I made the meatballs, almost by myself.”
Mark laughed. “Let’s not tell Sheila. It would break her heart.”
Val opened her mouth to say Sheila knew, then stopped herself. Let them work it out. “If you’d known ahead of time would you have come?”
Mark shook his head. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t have believed you could pull it off. It’ll be easier with TV.”
“Jamie says all I need is practice.”
“Jamie is a damned fine cook. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a Christmas meal like that. It was elaborate without being oppressive. I could enjoy eating every bite. Any chance she’ll want to continue as your… assistant?”
Val thought about it. “I don’t think so. This place is a part of her DNA.”
“Sounds like Sheila’s mom. I couldn’t budge her from Cape Cod for more than two weeks at a time.”
They sipped their coffee in a companionable silence that surprised Val. “I’m a little stunned by it all,” she said, finally.
“I know people,” Mark said. “Wouldn’t be where I am if I didn’t. So do we have an understanding?”
“We do.” Val felt a rush of excitement, dread and hysteria.
“And when the lawyers are wrangling and trying to earn their money from both of us, I’m gonna call you to cut through their crap. You do the same. We both want this.”
“All lawyers, and plastic surgeons, should be shot.”
“Not all of them,” Mark said. “But I’d be willing to talk about palimony lawyers.”
Val laughed. “Jamie hid some more of those chocolate leaves in the kitchen. Want some?”
“What do you think?”
Jamie waved goodbye to the Warnell party and the car disappeared into th
e watery midday fog. If she didn’t get this tired making lunch for fifty, why had five been so exhausting?
It had been a vast relief when Val told her that Mark knew who the genius was in the kitchen, but then she’d said that Sheila and Mark were not to know that each other knew. God, it was stupid. This whole thing had been stupid. A colossal waste of time. Nothing good had come of it.
Thank God they were gone, at last.
Val had been glowing since Christmas, when she and Mark Warnell had devoured almost a pound of chocolate leaves and diamonds after dinner. Sheila was sparkling with good humor and even Graham had looked as if his low expectations had been raised. But no one said anything to Jamie about a deal, and Val had spent all her time with Sheila yesterday while Jamie cooked and cooked and cooked.
Talk about being taken for granted. She’d cried herself to sleep last night, beyond Liesel’s gentle comforting, and woke up prepared to wallow in self-pity. She’d done well in that department today. Aunt Em would have scolded her plenty.
Val was turning back from the street and Jamie realized that she and Val were alone in the inn for the first time since they’d painted with chocolate.
Surely there was something to do in the kitchen.
She was rinsing out stockpots when Val put her arms around her from behind. She stiffened, then relaxed against her.
“Jamie, we have to talk.”
“I know you’re leaving.”
“Yes,” Val admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be forever. It’s up to you.”
Jamie shuddered as the heat of Val’s body penetrated to her aching heart. “Stop that. I can’t think.”
“I don’t want you to think.”
“I need to think.”
“At least take your hands out of the sink.”
Jamie dried her hands, then turned to Val. “What do you mean it’s up to me?”
“I’ll need to live in New York during taping. And sometimes I’ll be on a live shoot somewhere.”
“And?”
“Well, this all assumes the program takes off, and the book tie-in does well, too.”
Jamie wanted to scream at Val to get to the point.
“But I’d only be filming five months out of the year. The rest I could spend doing projects, or writing at home.”
“Oh.”
“Jamie, I want this to be home.”
“You want to live here?”
“No, you idiot. I want to live with you. Wherever you are is home.”
Jamie had been shocked into silence too many times to count these past weeks. Val did that to her. She stared at Val for almost a full minute, then finally managed, “Calling someone an idiot is a strange way to ask to move in.”
“You are an idiot. Why have you been treating me like the plague ever since—you know.”
“Because I didn’t know how you felt.”
Val gave an exasperated snort. “You’re the one who ran out when I tried to talk to you. You are an idiot.”
“You’re going to be famous. There are going to be lots of women after you. Sheila was after you.”
“I am only caught when I want to be. And you have caught me.”
Jamie’s lower lip quivered. “I love you, Val. This can’t be happening.”
“Why ever not?” Val let out a whoop and swept Jamie into her arms. “She loves me!”
Jamie let herself be thoroughly kissed. When Val wanted a breather, Jamie pulled her head down again.
This was madness, she told herself. It would never work out.
“Jamie, oh Jamie,” Val breathed into her ear. “I’ve been so afraid that you didn’t even like me. That you thought I was silly and vain and not worth your time.”
“I’ve been pretty much thinking the same.”
“How could you not realize that I loved you?” Val tipped Jamie’s head up to meet her gaze.
Jamie felt the small part of her she’d been holding back uncoil. Val had actually said it. Before it was too late to pull back, she said, “Because of Jan. And because I know there were probably a lot of Jans.”
“You want the truth?”
Jamie nodded and swallowed.
“There have been lots of Jans. But I’ve never said I love you to anyone. To anyone. Ever. Not in my whole life. Only to you. Because until I met you I didn’t know there could be more.”
Jamie smiled slightly.
“What’s so funny?”
“You sound like a Hallmark card.”
“That’s the thanks I get for baring my soul?” Val failed at looking irate.
“I’m going to take some convincing,” Jamie said. “I’m not the most trusting person.”
“Darling, I intend to convince you every minute of every day. How do I start?”
“You start by taking me upstairs.”
“In the middle of the day? That’s scandalous.”
Jamie grinned. “We open for business tomorrow, remember? We’re not going to get another chance to behave badly.”
Being loved. It was a new sensation for Val. Jamie’s kisses began gently, then slowly became more impassioned. When Val would have gotten right to serious business Jamie pushed her down and said, “Let me.”
Val was panting, writhing almost, by the time Jamie’s mouth ended its exploration of Val’s breasts, ribs, stomach. She reached for Jamie, tried to slip Jamie’s knee between her legs.
Jamie said, “Let me.”
She settled down between Val’s legs. Val had watched Jamie create the most minutely detailed delicacies and yet she had never really understood the extent of Jamie’s patience. The pace of her tongue, slipping through Val’s wetness, was slow, so very slow. Hard and fast, Val knew she liked it hard and fast. Jamie was so…slow, so gentle.
A fire was building inside her as she surged over and over against Jamie’s patient mouth. She gripped Jamie’s hands until she wondered they didn’t break. She trembled on the brink of ecstasy, but when she finally came she didn’t fall over the edge but instead soared to blinding heights.
When she was able to move again, she reached for Jamie.
Jamie said, “Let me.” Her fingers slid into Val. “You’ll get your turn.”
“If I’m still on the planet.”
“Believe me, I’m not letting go of you.”
Val had watched Jamie flute and pinch too many pie crusts to count. Delicate little motions that required dexterity and patience. Those expert fingers were finding parts of Val she hadn’t known could feel pleasure. She thrust herself toward them, needing.
Jamie was kneeling now, her mouth nuzzling at Val’s breasts. She raised her head, and gasped. “I can’t wait any longer. I thought I could.” Her fingers dove more deeply into Val and her mouth returned to Val’s breast, hungrier this time.
Val met Jamie’s thrusts. She knew she was crying. She longed to make love to Jamie like this, but that would mean stopping Jamie, which wasn’t humanly possible. Jamie was crooning in her ear, then Val was gathering herself, shuddering. The world dropped out from under her and she slammed to a climax so profound that she saw stars.
As it turned out, the bed frame had slipped off the legs. Val shuddered back to consciousness to find the bed at a sloping angle.
Jamie was smiling. “I have a new project for you.”
Val ignored the smile. She pulled Jamie to her, kissed her, then pushed her down into the bed.
Epilogue
Dear—well, I don’t know what to call you.
It doesn’t seem right to call you by your given name, and I can’t really say Mother, either. So I’ll just say Dear.
I’m writing just to let you know that some things have changed in my life recently. I published a small cookbook and my partner is going national this week with her home improvement show. Until now the show was only seen in major markets, as the TV folks say. But now her syndication has gone national and she’s very happy. I’m glad, because it means she can come home for a while. She may even be able to get the st
udio moved from New York to Los Angeles. That would make me very happy.
I’m enclosing a copy of the cookbook. Maybe the sisters can use it. It’s easily adaptable to large groups. Wish me success with it, because I’d like to write another.
I do think about you from time to time, hoping that you are happy.
—Jamie
I could forgive Jamie Onassis for snatching Val out from under my nose, except that she did it with no game plan. I’m convinced she didn’t think through anything—she just won Val’s heart without lifting a finger. So the woman can cook. I don’t see the attraction.
Valkyrie Valentine is a household name. She’s the Martha Stewart for younger women—less fussing, more working with drills. Her Month of Sundays book tie-in has her picture on the front, wearing a tool belt and a chef’s apron. I know that’s why it’s selling like hotcakes at stores in the Village.
Valkyrie Valentine was my idea. My baby. My woman. And I ended up with accolades from the Warnell board of directors and more assurance that I’ll be their choice of successor when Daddy decides to retire. Not a bad reward. I should be happier than I am. It just seems like I should have gotten more, somehow. I am surprised that I still enjoy finding Kathy in my bed when I’m in New York. She likes living there. Neither of us is faithful. But I’m sure that Jamie Onassis is faithful, like a trained puppy. I have asked around about Val’s love life on the set, but everyone says she’s a workaholic.
Nothing turned out the way I had planned.
Val stretched lazily and reached for the soap. Water sloshed from one end of the tub to the other as Jamie shifted position. “Let me do your back now.”
“This has been the most humid July on record. You missed some pretty awful weather.”
Val glanced out the window at the ocean. It didn’t look awful from up here. “It’ll be winter all too soon.”
“The kitchen is like an oven,” Jamie said.
Comprehension dawned. “What are you getting at?”
“I’m not getting at anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re projecting.”
“I am not. You want something.”
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