by N/A
When she was satisfied that the only fragrance emanating from her skin was that of crushed rose petals, she gave her hair a quick blast with the hairdryer and slipped between the smooth cotton sheets, smiling at the joy of spending the night in a tropical-themed Santa’s grotto. Before her thoughts dissolved into dreams, she dawdled briefly on the tasks Claudia had planned for the following morning, but she discovered that what she was most looking forward to was the tree-lighting ceremony and the opportunity to spend more time with Zach.
Chapter Four
The next morning Millie checked the ornate alarm clock on her bedside table and was surprised to see it was only six forty-five. Nevertheless, she was wide awake and craved a fix of caffeine. She threw on a pale blue angora sweater and matching cardigan, collected her beloved scrap box of recipes that went everywhere with her, and galloped down the stairs to the kitchen. She filled the kettle and, while it boiled, took the opportunity of Claudia’s absence to scrutinise the culinary amenities more closely.
She slid her palm along the white marble worktops and pristine stainless-steel appliances, before delving into the double-doored refrigerator to discover a true treasure trove of treats which she mentally catalogued for later reference. She loved the central island unit, complete with circular sink and a hi-tech tap which produced instant boiling water at the touch of a button. Resting in the centre was a shiny yellow lever-arch file endorsed with the CC logo containing the laminated recipe cards for each dish to be featured on the Festive Feast course.
Another miniscule Christmas tree loitered in the corner, tastefully bedecked with ornaments in the shape of kitchen utensils; little silver cheese graters, miniature corkscrews, whisks, even a tiny pizza wheel and garlic press. But its quirkily dressed branches, and her bafflement over the mystery of Claudia and Tim’s yuletide restraint, paled into insignificant when she saw the view from the window.
Dawn had arrived and with it a brilliant white light highlighting the mounds of snow crowding against the French doors. A languid cascade of snowflakes still tumbled from the flat grey sky and despite being a confirmed sun-worshipper, from her cosy indoor position, Millie was able to recognise the beauty of the winter scenery. Many of the trees circling the house were naked of foliage, their limbs skeletal veins against the pewter-coloured backdrop, yet the greenery of the fir and spruce endured, their brush-like branches topped with a dusting of snow which had fallen from the treetop canopy like powdered sugar. Millie realised the estate must have provided the very trees whose delicious, crushed-pine perfume pervaded the corridors of the house as well as her bedroom.
In the distance, a helix of smoke spun from the chimney of the lodge at the end of the driveway down which she and Zach had travelled the previous afternoon. She knew Zach was an early riser - at least that was something they had in common - although she doubted the reason for his eagerness to greet the day was stubborn insomnia.
Continuing her solo exploration, she cracked open the door at the end of the kitchen and discovered the boot room Claudia had told her about yesterday, home to a medley of Wellington boots, green wax jackets, walking poles and an eclectic assortment of tweed and woolly hats. Millie smiled with relief – clearly former visitors to The Cotswolds Cookery School had also failed to bring their country attire with them.
She fixed herself a cappuccino and grabbed an almond croissant from the enormous walk-in larder. The pastry was buttery and sweet but reminded Millie of her mother and that she would be spending Christmas alone in the south of France. A spasm of guilt invaded her chest. Should she have turned down the chance to co-present the Festive Feast course in favour of a trip to see her family for the holidays?
She shook her head to dispel the sudden onslaught of remorse. When she had told her mother about the switch in arrangements, she had been adamant that Millie should grab the opportunity to spend the week with Claudia and had asked her to email regular photographs and updates with which to wow her Salsa club friends.
Millie drained her coffee in one gulp and placed her empty cup into the sink. She brushed the scattered flakes of pastry from the counter top and trotted out to the hallway to explore further. She had only taken a couple of steps when her toe connected with a loose wire and she fell headlong onto the polished parquet flooring, skidding along on her stomach to the bottom of the stairs like an Olympic skeleton racer. She sat up and rubbed her knee and elbow to disperse the pain, squinting into the gloom to see what had breached her path. Snaking along the floor was a coil of cable from the Christmas tree lights. Her lips cracked into a rueful expression until she saw Claudia rushing down the stairs to help her up.
“Millie, what happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s totally my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going – something I have a habit of doing, I’m afraid.”
“Thank goodness. Come on, let’s get you a coffee. Did you sleep well?”
“Like a yuletide log!” laughed Millie, as Claudia linked her arm and guided her back into the kitchen where she fixed them a cafetière and slotted the arch-lever file of recipes under her arm.
“Why don’t we take our coffees into the library? Tim got a fabulous fire going before he retreated to his workshop muttering something about working on a remote-control switch for the tree-lighting ceremony tonight.”
“Oh, yes, please,” smiled Millie, anxious to take a peek at her host’s sanctuary.
She followed Claudia across the hallway towards the library, this time taking care not to trip. An aroma of furniture polish, stale cigar smoke and nostalgia assaulted Millie’s senses as soon as she entered the room - a veritable cathedral of culinary literature and the place where Claudia had written all her cookery books. She chose a seat on the wrinkled Chesterfield sofa and Claudia perched on the edge of the wing-backed chair next to her.
“So, the way I’ve designed the Festive Feast itinerary is that on Monday we’ll make an early start and showcase a sumptuous Christmas breakfast which we can enjoy together afterwards. On Tuesday we’ll be preparing a mid-morning brunch, Wednesday it’s the star attraction of Christmas lunch, then Thursday it’s a festive version of Afternoon Tea, and finally, on Friday, we’ll be creating the canapés for the farewell drinks party.”
Claudia opened the file and handed Millie a recipe for chickpea and cumin croquettes with a glossy photograph attached. She could almost smell the Indian spices and garlic waft through the air and her mouth watered in anticipation.
“Everything on the menu has been triple-tested apart from the four winning recipes from the villagers’ competition which is what we’ll be doing today. We have mini orange-marmalade roulades with dark chocolate ganache from Mrs Dartington who runs the village post office, and cranberry-and-white chocolate muffins baked in tiny terracotta pots with chocolate antlers stuck into the brandy buttercream topping, both of which we’ll be including in the High Tea tutorial on Thursday. Then there’s the egg and smoked salmon savoury cupcakes served in extra-large egg cups created by Old Mrs Greenwood, and the fourth and final recipe is a fabulous selection of sweet mince samosas designed by Mrs Singh who’s the secretary of the local WI. I thought we could also make a few batches of my grandmother’s special-recipe gingerbread and then we can take everything down to the village hall for the party after the tree-lighting ceremony.”
“Sounds like my idea of a perfect day,” sighed Millie. “How many enthusiastic foodies are you expecting for the Festive Feast course?”
“Eight. Two men and two women from the same law firm in London and their respective spouses. Leo Groves, the senior partner, and his wife Gina, have rented a cottage in St Ives for Christmas and they want to surprise their family with a gastronomic banquet made by their own fair hands on Christmas day. The others just want to brush up on their skills and have some fun away from the daily grind to six o’clock.”
“What time are they arriving?”
“Around five this afternoon. Gina said they were all delighted to accep
t our invitation to take part in the tree-lighting ceremony so that should give them enough time to settle into their suites and wrap up warm before we make our way down to the village green.”
Claudia paused to flick her hair behind her ears, revealing a pair of chunky red earrings in the shape of poinsettia leaves that complimented her cream-and-scarlet silk scarf that she’d tied in a complicated knot at her neck. Millie glanced down at her own attire and cringed when a voice - very much like Zach’s - commented on her lack of appreciation for the season. She really must ask Tim if she could borrow a couple of his jazzy golf jumpers if she was planning on leaving the house at all during the next week.
“Oh, who’s that ringing? It’s barely eight a.m.! Back in a minute. Why don’t you check through Mrs Greenwood’s recipe for the savoury cupcakes and see what you think?”
“Sure.”
Millie ran her eyes down the hand-written recipe and smiled when she saw it was in pounds and ounces. Nevertheless, if the end result was as delicious as the instructions sounded, they would be onto to a winner. She replaced the precious scrap of paper in the plastic folder and decided to explore the bibliographic paradise whilst she waited for Claudia to finish her phone call.
She padded across the colourful Persian rug to the bookshelf next to the fireplace, her heart pounding in anticipation of what she was about to discover. Books of all shapes and sizes had been crammed onto shelves lining three sides of the room. The fourth was made up of a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the vast expanse of lawn at the front of the property, complete with upholstered seats where any ardent bookworm could while away the hours with their chosen literary indulgence.
She ran her fingertips across the protruding spines like the keys on a piano and smiled. To Millie, all books provided a portal into another world: but only cookery books could guide the reader in the art of moulding seemingly disparate ingredients into taste-bud-zinging perfection.
The library at Stonelea Manor was no ordinary library, more a cornucopia of brightly-coloured gems waiting to be explored, to be freed from the prison of the shelf and their contents brought to life in the kitchen. There were cookery books Millie had not known existed; more a narrative comment on society at the time of writing than instruction on food preparation. Some were well-thumbed, the best friends of the busy professional cook, others pristine. Some were a single copy, while others were represented in multiple editions, updated over the years. The diversity of the published subject matter amazed her. There were books in many different languages, some with glossy photographs, some without. Each book contained a nugget of hidden treasure, promising an insight into what keeps body and soul together in their corner of the world.
She selected a book at random – for how could she possibly be expected to choose? – and was just about to turn the page when she heard the door creak open. She looked up to see Claudia, her apricot lips pursed, and her forehead creased with anxiety. Two spots of colour highlighted her cheeks and her hand trembled as she fingered one of her earrings.
“Claudia? What’s wrong?”
To Millie’s surprise, Claudia burst into tears and she rushed across the room to her side.
“I really don’t know why I’m crying. It’s not as though this hasn’t happened before!”
“What’s happened before?”
“That was Leo Groves on the phone. One of the women in his party is six months pregnant and her husband doesn’t want to risk driving from Kent to the Cotswolds in this weather. Their friends have decided to stay in Kent with them, so that means only Leo and Gina, and Mike and Marianne will be joining us this afternoon. I know I should have taken Tim’s advice and cancelled the course before we accepted any bookings, but as it was going to be the last one, I really wanted to make it the most fabulous one ever.” Claudia’s tears returned and this time she let them flow unabated, heaving in lungfuls of air as she allowed her emotions to run free.
Millie squeezed Claudia’s hands and gave her the space to recover her composure in her own time. Concern whipped through her brain, and again a myriad of questions about what was going on with the cookery school’s future nibbled at her curiosity. But they could wait. What Claudia needed was something to divert her attention and Millie had the perfect solution. It was what she always did when life tossed a random grenade in her path.
“Come on, I think a session of extreme baking is what we need.”
Claudia smiled, her strikingly green eyes lighting up immediately. “Agreed!”
Millie grabbed the file of recipes and followed Claudia back to the kitchen. She unfolded one of the cookery school’s logoed aprons and tied the strings securely around her waist.
“Right. What shall we bake first?”
“I think it has to be my grandmother’s gingerbread recipe smothered in lots of lemon icing. After all, that’s what started everything off at the Claudia Croft Cotswold Cookery School, and the Berryford tree lighting ceremony wouldn’t be the same without it – paired with a mug of hot chocolate laced with brandy.”
Claudia placed a huge silver soup pan on the hob and got busy adding catering-sized tins of golden syrup and treacle to the melting butter and sugar, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. “Look, there’s the original recipe for the gingerbread.”
Instead of handing her a sheet of paper containing hand-written instructions, Claudia pointed to a framed picture on the wall that Millie hadn’t noticed before. She strode over to take a closer look.
“Gran wrote it on the back of a Christmas card that my Grandfather gave her when they were courting in the nineteen forties,” explained Claudia, her eyes sparkling under the glare of the overhead lights. “The party in the village hall after the tree-lighting ceremony has become a sort of village tradition, where everyone contributes something from their own family’s recipe book, or they make the decorations or the spiced punch, or help with the music, or give people taxi rides home afterwards. It’s become a real community thing – this year the children from the local primary school are coming to sing a few carols. It was after one of these nights, ten years ago, that Tim had the idea of opening a cookery school at the manor, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
When the gingerbread was safely in the oven and producing intoxicating aromas of spicy ginger and warm sticky treacle, Claudia and Millie set to work preparing the orange marmalade for the roulades and the brandy-flavoured buttercream for the muffins. They took a short break for lunch before resuming with the sweet mince samosas, which Millie’s loved, and the savoury cupcakes.
“Wow, these eggs are really fresh! Look at the colour of the yolks!”
“I get them from Jim Garitty’s farm. I try to source local produce for all the cookery school’s menus as much as possible, as well as using the local services. That’s why we run the annual competition to find four family recipes to feature on each one of the courses on the Festive Feasts itinerary, with Gran’s gingerbread taking the fifth spot as one of the sweet canapes. It’s the perfect way to keep the old recipes alive. In the new year, Tim and I collate them into a booklet to sell for charity. We now have forty recipes and I was hoping to pull in a few favours at my publishers and have a book published, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen now.”
“Claudia, why…
Claudia had just slid the last tray of the egg and smoked salmon savouries into the oven when there was tinkle on the doorbell.
“Ah, that’ll be Leo and Gina, and their friends Mike and Marianne. Would you mind decorating the gingerbread slices with those edible holly leaves whilst I show them up to their rooms?”
“No problem,” smiled Millie, resigned to the fact that the mystery of the school’s impending closure would continue for a while longer. Maybe she could corner Tim and ask him about it.
Claudia reached over to give Millie’s forearm a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Millie… for everything.” And then she dashed from the kitchen to greet her guests.
Millie took
a moment to survey the kitchen for the first time that day and what she saw didn’t surprise her in the least. The area that Claudia had been working in was as pristine as when they had started; tidy worktops, utensils washed, dried, and returned to their respective homes, the ingredients they had finished with returned to their respective shelves in the larder. Whereas, despite her strenuous efforts to corral her clutter demons, Millie’s side of the kitchen looked like a scene from the Cotswolds Culinary Catastrophe. Although, in order not to douse herself in too much despondency, she had to admit that she had seen far worse and she resolved to thank Poppy for her contribution to her progress as it was obviously producing results – albeit with a long, long way to go.
She gathered everything together, loaded the industrial-sized dishwasher and slammed the door shut. She inhaled the enticing aroma of cooling gingerbread and set about decorating the squares with tiny sugar paste holly leaves and red berries and arranging everything on huge silver platters to transport to the village hall in good time for the switching-on of the lights.
The old Millie would have left the remaining crockery and cutlery in the sink, but the new improved Millie located a pair of Marigolds, filled a bowl with soapy water, and set to washing down the benches and buffing up the silver coffee machine that had been splashed with brandy buttercream and a splodge of something green and gooey she didn’t recognise. She didn’t pause until every last spatula was resting contentedly in its allocated spot.
An image of a suitably-impressed Zach floated across her mind, with Millie centre-stage as she presented the kitchen to him like a showroom sales assistant keen to earn that month’s bonus. A spasm of electricity shot through her chest and headed southwards when she remembered that she would be seeing him in a couple of hours in Berryford.