by N/A
Millie set down a jug of home-made brandy sauce to accompany the fragrant Christmas pudding that adorned the middle of the table like a piece of culinary art. In a nod to the desserts she had created in St Lucia, she had also made a huge passionfruit and mango pavlova with a froth of whipped cream in case Gina or Marianne preferred something less heavy after the main course.
“Okay, dig in everyone!”
“Oh, I can’t decide which to have,” announced Mike, twisting his lips in indecision.
“Why not have a slice of each?” coaxed Claudia.
“Great idea,” declared Tim, reaching out for the serving spoon, his eyes wide with relish.
In the end they all had seconds and Millie thought if she consumed another mouthful she would burst, until she saw the cheeseboard that had been Tim’s responsibility and noticed a particularly good Roquefort, in her view the king of French cheeses.
“Well, that was the best Festive Feast I have ever had!” declared Leo, pushing back his chair and rubbing his stomach in satisfaction as Claudia brought two cafetières of Blue Mountain coffee to the table along with a box of After Eight mints. “Gina, I just know we’re going to nail Christmas dinner this year. What do you think?”
“Definitely,” she laughed, her hazel eyes sparkling as she leaned forward to kiss her husband, her cheeks sporting red dots of delight. “I don’t know about you, but I need a lie down after all that food.”
“Me too,” giggled Marianne, wiggling her eyebrows and sending a suggestive glance in Mike’s direction as they helped to clear the table of the dessert plates and cheeseboard.
Millie deposited the crockery in the sink and ran her eyes despondently over the washing up as their guests trotted off up the stairs, chattering away about their plans for the rapidly approaching festive break.
“Well, that went amazingly well. Thanks Millie, I couldn’t have done it without your help.”
“I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I learned a great deal too. Would you believe it’s the first time I’ve made a traditional English Christmas dinner?”
Millie glanced at Claudia who had taken on the appearance of a deflated balloon, her earlier buoyancy vanished into a chasm of tiredness. Her heart performed a flip-flop of sympathy and she smiled at her new friend and mentor.
“Look, why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap too? I’ll finish up here.”
“I can’t leave you with all this to sort out!”
“It’s no problem. You might have noticed that I’m not the tidiest of cooks, but I’m on a journey of self-improvement guided by my friend and colleague at Étienne’s, Poppy, and ably encouraged by my sister, Jen. I’m used to blitzing a room after a cookery session.” She laughed, then softened her expression as she scrutinised Claudia’s face, not surprised to witness a surge of relief flick across her expression.
“If you’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you tomorrow for the brunch tutorial and if you need any help with decluttering the house before Dexter and Sven arrive, then I’m at your disposal, although I see that you’ve already done most of the hard work.”
“There’s just the kitchen to sort out after tomorrow’s tutorial, and Tim thinks we should take down the tree in the hallway, too. It’s ridiculous that we’ve got to go to so much trouble to impress a buyer. Surely he should have enough vision to see beyond the décor!”
“Don’t ask me, I prefer a house filled with as much bric-a-brac and souvenirs of a life well lived as possible! The more the merrier, in fact. It’s just so much more homely, especially at Christmas.”
Claudia looked as though she was about to say something else but instead she squeezed Millie’s hand, gave her a weak smile, and disappeared upstairs with an exhausted Tim in tow. After all, he had been up at the crack of dawn to put the turkey in the oven.
Millie sighed as she contemplated the task ahead of her, but she had seen worse, much worse. She pulled on a pair of Marigolds, tuned in the radio to a channel playing non-stop Christmas songs, and started to hand-wash the crystal before loading up the dishwasher with the pots and pans and utensils. With the music providing a rhythm to work to, the kitchen was spotless in no time and Millie was so proud of herself that she took a quick snap to send to Poppy as evidence of her achievement.
She was about to press send on her text when she paused, a swift kick of homesickness hitting her in the abdomen. She was suddenly desperate to hear Poppy’s voice, to hear all about her date with the hunky French sculptor and her plans for the Mistletoe Ball.
“Hi Poppy, it’s Millie.”
“Hey, Millie, great to hear from you! How’s things going at the showbiz end of the profession?”
Millie laughed, overwhelmed with delight to be speaking to her friend. “Everything’s going well. The guests on the course are great and I’m loving working with Claudia. I’m working hard on the lessons you’ve taught me on the subject of tidiness, and to prove it I’ve sent you a couple of photographs. You’d love Claudia’s kitchen, Pop, it’s amazing!”
“I’m so jealous! We’re run off our feet here with the Christmas trade. Étienne has even deigned to appear front-of-house to help out, but it’s not helping with his temper. Why are you French people so temperamental?”
“Passionate, we call it,” giggled Millie, aware that her French accent had grown stronger as she became more animated in her excitement at being able to talk to Poppy. Of course, it was also more evident over the telephone too.
“Talking of passionate, spill the details Harper!”
“What details?”
“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen the photos of the broodingly handsome Zach Barker, remember! Are the two of you curled up in a little love nest, hiding from the snow in front of a roaring log fire, feeding each other morsels of mince pies and knocking back the Champers?”
“Actually…”
“Oh my God! You are!”
“We are not!”
“But something’s going on I can tell from your voice. Come on, Millie, humour me. François still hasn’t accepted my invitation to the ball at the weekend; he clearly likes to keep a girl dangling until she’s finished her chiselled masterpiece – although masterpiece might not be the best description for my disastrous attempt at recreating my favourite childhood pet, Barnaby, in stone.”
Millie suddenly wanted to divulge every detail of her dinner date with Zach and seek her friend’s sage advice. After all, she did have a mountain of experience in the romance arena. She launched in, embroidering the tale with humour to conceal her uncertainty about how Zach felt about her.
“So he didn’t kiss you?”
“No. I think he was going to, but something stopped him at the last minute. You know, after what happened with Luke, I really don’t want to get involved with someone who keeps secrets. I need honesty, even when the truth might hurt, it’s better than skulking around, avoiding talking about what’s important.”
“But hadn’t Zach just told you that he’d landed a new job in Scotland?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think he could have been reluctant to progress things in order to protect you? With the best will in the world, it’s difficult to continue a relationship when one party lives in another country.”
Millie sighed, gratitude for Poppy’s friendship washing over her like a warm comfort blanket.
“You’re right, Poppy. Thanks for being my love guru!”
Of course, Zach wouldn’t want to embark on a new relationship when he was about to make a fresh start, whether that was in Scotland or the Caribbean, and if she had taken the time to think things through, she would have understood that. All Zach had been doing was protecting her – and himself.
The realisation that his behaviour had nothing to do with his feelings for her didn’t fill her with relief but with sadness that any hope of having Zach in her life on a permanent basis had been crushed. Her emotions tumbled painfully, like one of Tim’s broken washing machines, so she quickly c
hanged the subject, asking for all the gossip on the other members of Étienne’s team which Poppy recounted with gusto.
As she climbed the stairs to her suite, she resolved to discard her regret that her future probably wouldn’t include Zach, and to enjoy every moment she could spend in his company. She reminded herself that his cheerful, quirky and mischievous personality had been the bright star in her all-encompassing gloom when she’d arrived heartbroken in St Lucia, and that she had never expected to find such solace in the sun, let alone meet someone who would teach her how to be happy again. How, by approaching life with a braced sword of optimism, gave the bearer more than an equal chance of winning the battle.
Chapter Thirteen
Dawn was only just beginning to breach the horizon when Millie woke. Again, she had slept well and tossed back the covers to leap into the day with a spring in her step until reality crashed into her thoughts. Dexter would be arriving at three o’clock and there was a great deal to do before the house was ready to show its face to its potential new owner. She wanted to save Claudia from as much work as possible, so she left her curls to dry naturally, using a trick Ella had taught her in the Caribbean to tackle the frizz by running a splodge of coconut oil all the way from root to tip. She pulled on a pair of smart black trousers and a crimson sweater with snowflakes on the front and cantered down the staircase.
Every time she walked into Stonelea’s kitchen a burst of pleasure erupted in her heart. It was a truly amazing place and she was gutted for Claudia that she was about to lose it. She started to prepare the ingredients for that day’s tutorial into six separate sets of bowls to make the presentation as easy as possible to follow. The DJ of the local radio station was playing a non-stop medley of jaunty Christmas tunes causing her hips to sway, and as she inhaled the delicious aromas of cinnamon and buttery pastry her sprits ballooned. She really was at her happiest when indulging in a frenzy of baking-related activities.
Nine o’clock came and went and there was no sign of Claudia. The tutorial was due to start at nine thirty so that the food they prepared would be ready for brunch at eleven. Millie set out the ingredients on the respective workstations and stood back to survey her hard work.
“Wow, this all looks fabulous!” declared Marianne, her green eyes shining as she paused briefly at the kitchen door before striding straight to the drawer that contained the freshly laundered aprons. “You know, I’ve told Mike that instead of keeping our place in Marbella as a holiday home - which we get to visit once or twice a year if we’re lucky - we should invest in a something like this, but on a smaller scale, obviously. When I spoke to Claudia about it yesterday, she told me to go for it. Did you know that before she set up the Paradise Cookery School in St Lucia, she’d been thinking of expanding her repertoire here by organising courses aimed at the younger generation – a Cool Kids Cookery Course in the Cotswolds?”
“No, I didn’t…”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea. It’s really important to teach our children to cook healthy meals – and it’s a much more valuable life skill than learning to speak French or Spanish, in my opinion. She should definitely run a few courses in the school holidays.”
“I agree,” smiled Millie, trying to disguise her reaction so that Marianne didn’t ask any more questions about the future plans of the school. She didn’t want to lie to her, but she knew Claudia wouldn’t want her private business about the imminent demise of the whole Claudia Croft Cookery School being made public. She decided to change the subject. “Where’s Mike?”
“On his way down, don’t worry. He won’t miss this session – he loves brunch. We never miss an opportunity to indulge on a Sunday morning, sitting at our kitchen table with the newspapers. It’s the only time we get to relax together without interruptions. The working week is so full-on, then Saturdays are spent rushing around catching up on chores and entertaining – so Sunday is sacrosanct. I wish we had more time to do that, actually. Ah, here he is. Mike, I was just telling Millie that I’d love to run a cookery school at our villa. Oh, and I’d have embroidered aprons and chef’s hats and give everyone a file filled with laminated recipe cards to take home afterwards. Oh, and we’d do healthy Spanish tapas and…”
“Morning everyone. I’m starving,” interrupted Leo as he strode towards the coffee machine accompanied by a waft of spicy aftershave. “Can’t wait to get stuck in and sample today’s brunch. Then, my friends, I have a treat planned for us.” Leo’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“What?” asked Gina, following him into the kitchen, grabbing a slice of home-made panettone on the way past.
“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? But trust me, you’re going to love it.”
Millie smiled. Leo had confided in her at the beginning of the week that he had scored four Grand Circle tickets for the pantomime in Oxford that night. They were going to enjoy an evening of unbridled theatrical fun before going out for dinner. She knew they’d have a great time.
Millie glanced at the clock and then at the door into the hallway. It was nine forty-five and a coil of concern had begun to weave through her chest as she wondered why Claudia hadn’t arrived yet.
“Okay, so today we’ll be preparing Eggs Benedict with the best hollandaise sauce you’ve ever tasted and finished with a dash of caviar. Then, we’ll rustle up a delicious smoked salmon and mascarpone tortilla before moving on to the Brioche French toast which we’ll serve with thinly sliced bananas and warm salted caramel sauce. Why don’t you make a start on chopping the pistachios for the Stollen muffins and I’ll be back in a minute?”
Aware that Gina and Marianne were gaping in surprise at her unexpected exit, Millie dashed out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs when she bumped into Tim on the landing, his face paler than she had seen, his dark pewter eyes creased in concern.
“Tim? Is everything okay?”
“Actually, I was just coming to see you. I’m sorry but Claudia has spent most of the night in the bathroom. Looks like she’s come down with a winter vomiting bug. She’s upset but I’ve insisted that she rests and she’s just fallen asleep. Could you handle the tutorial by yourself today? I’m available if you need any help.”
“Oh, poor Claudia. Do you think you should call the doctor?”
“I suggested the very same thing, but she’s adamant that it’s a twenty-four-hour virus and she’ll be as right as rain when she’s slept it off. Of course, like all these things, it couldn’t have come at a worst time, what with Dexter and Sven on their way down from London, but best laid plans and all that. I told Claudie that I’m more than capable of performing the required estate agent duties. I have been a bloody architect for the last twenty-five years!”
Tim ran his fingers through his thick hair causing it to appear even more bouffant that usual. He pinned a determined smile on his face and met Millie’s eyes.
“Alright, lead the way, Chef! I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a sous chef for the day. Claudia has consistently refused to indulge me - she’s seen my workshop and thinks I’ll trash her kitchen, which is an opinion I have to say I find rather insulting, even if it is based on fact.”
“Tim, it’s no problem if you would rather stay with Claudia. I can manage – in fact, I’ve already done all the preparation, it’s just a matter of the presentation and the eating.”
“Even better – they are the best bits. Come on!”
Tim strode into the kitchen like a silver-haired Marco Pierre White, strapped on one of Claudia’s signature aprons and stood at the presentation workbench like a professor behind a lectern eyeing his students over his spectacles.
“Hello, everyone. I’m afraid Claudia is feeling a little under the weather this morning, so I’m delighted to inform you that Millie has agreed to take on the starring role today, ably supported by Yours Truly. Take it away, Millie!”
Trying hard not to giggle at Tim’s rather show-biz introduction, Millie launched into delivering the fourt
h Festive Feast course of the week, grateful that brunch was one of the easiest meals to guide their guests through. Once the Stollen muffins were safely baking in the oven and the aroma of ground almonds and melting marzipan filled the air, the group set about making the Brioche French toast.
“Ah, if there is one fragrance that screams Christmas it’s cinnamon,” sighed Gina, licking her fingertips and rolling her eyes in exaggerated ecstasy.
“And cloves,” said Marianne, whose hair sported a sprinkling of the edible glitter she had used to finish off her blueberry-cream tea bread that had been baked in a Bundt tin and drizzled with a generous helping of lemon icing.
“Or a hot rum toddy,” added Mike, who had made an early start on the brandy that Millie had brought from the library to add to the sweet mincemeat.
Tim proved to be an entertaining and hilarious co-presenter and laughter reverberated around the room from the off. He looked like he’d stepped into the shoes of an inept inventor, cooking up madcap experiments and causing even more culinary chaos than Millie was used to, which was certainly saying something.
Millie had intended the champagne for the Buck’s Fizz to be opened when they sat down to eat, but Gina had other ideas and before long she and Marianne were giggling and teasing Tim about showcasing his wacky contraptions on Dragon’s Den. They encouraged even more outrageous shenanigans involving a sieve and a large commercial bag of flour that turned his hair and most of the workbench into a snow-topped scene, intersperse with dots of custard-yellow sauce and sliced boiled egg.
Leo was the only member of the group sober enough, and sensible enough, to complete his brunch to any reasonable standard, but he played his part in the comedy show by displaying his skills as an accomplished impersonator of a selection of famous TV chefs, observing their various quirks perfectly. By the time they sat down at the table, they were all ravenous and every morsel was devoured swiftly with lip-smacking appreciation.