‘Yes, thank you.’ I sat still and fiddled with my watch.
‘What is it?’ he said.
Slowly I met his gaze. ‘I hope I don’t let the family down tomorrow, Edward.’ Better warn him—just in case the cooking went pear-shaped.
Abruptly he stood up, as if jolted back to reality by the potential whiff of failure. ‘We’re relying on you, Abbey. The future of Applebridge Hall is at stake. Remember, strong Croxley women never lose that stiff upper lip. There’s a torch in the cupboard to the right of the cellar entrance. You might need it to find your way back to your bedroom if you are the last up and we’ve switched off the lights. We don’t leave them on unless we have to. It’s all about cutting costs.’ Any warmth in his eyes had now evaporated. ‘Until morning, Cousin.’
He was right. I had to get a grip and find that stiff upper lip Lady C liked talking about. If Abbey could help war orphans, the least I could do was cook in front of a camera. Still, talk about a lack of sympathy! I could have done with an encouraging hug or, at the very least, a squeeze of the arm as he brushed past me and out of the library. But then Edward wasn’t touchy-feely. In fact I couldn’t even imagine him cuddling a girlfriend. Like those hunks from The Vampire Diaries, he’d probably rather suck them dry first…
Mmm, thinking of sexy vampires, I could imagine kissing Edward’s cherry-coloured stubborn lips that not nearly often enough curved into a smile…
Urgh! No. That was mega wrong. I mustn’t ponder his snogability if I was to keep up this charade of us being cousins. I shook myself and, with new determination, slipped out of the library and made my way along to the west wing kitchens.
Mr Thompson was still up, sitting at the pine table, gun laid next to a small glass of whisky. He muttered something about trespassers before tilting his hat at me and going outside. I grabbed the torch, switched on the cellar lights and made my way down to the little desk and chair positioned next to rack after rack of wine.
Despite the warm day, I shivered slightly – through cold or fear for tomorrow who could tell. I took a deep breath. How difficult could it be, throwing together a few ingredients? Billions of people did it every day, all around the world.
I pressed the button and the computer sprung to life. I thought about Nick and his kiss and how I only had two weeks to sex up Applebridge Hall. Instead of typing in Nigella or Delia, I typed in Facebook and entered my password. There I was, in my account, under my mum’s name, Eleanor Goodwin. Not Gemma, cos this weird ex once cyber-stalked me, sending virtual voodoo dolls.
After a quick search I soon found a fan page for Million Dollar Mansion. Uh oh – my heart raced. Here came one of my adrenaline rushes, cue doing something impulsive. On automatic, I joined the group, deciding that the public needed help in spotting the signs of the aristocrat and gardener’s mega unsuitable romance. The rumour-mill needed a shove into motion, regardless of what Edward or the Earl might say. I took a deep breath and typed:
Hello all – amazin’ final, isn’t it? Has anyone noticed the sizzling chemistry between gardener Nick and Abbey, the Earl’s la-di-da niece? I could have sworn they were in the background of that shot in the kitchen tonight. Talk about getting close! When they first met, she reminded him of their time together in the flower beds… Naughty, naughty! Wonder what that was all about? Perhaps we should rename Miss Croxley, Lady Chatterley. Open your eyes, guys. It’s obvious. We’re in for a scandalous Show-mance!
LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY
Sunday 2nd September
‘Comments’
11.45p.m. It’s taken me the best of half an hour to read all your comments regarding tonight’s show. Thank you for the feedback, even the, um, many comments about Marwick Castle. BustyfanDownton, I’m glad you and Lovehotnoble have settled your differences, since you’ve now decided to root for the other side – or the, erm, ‘bloomin’ buff’ Baron’s son as you describe him, aka Harry Gainsworth. Just a word to the wise, Marwick Castle may appear colourful and exotic but, as with people, first impressions don’t hold for ever.
Cupcakesrock, sorry to disappoint that we aren’t, in fact, opening a coffee shop. But, yes, I’ll certainly suggest to my cousin that she themes one lesson around how to cook biscuits, brownies and banana bars.
Drunkwriter, thank you for penning another poem, this time with only a single swear word. It’s, um, encouraging to know you’re a fan of Applebridge Hall, despite not believing that we’ll win the show. In fact, I deemed one verse particularly crude and you accuse me of deleting it for its favourable Marwick Castle slant.
What tosh! I fear nothing from our hedonistic opponents and as proof shall post your words, with asterisks suitably inserted. Apologies to all those who may be offended and, out of respect for my cousin Abigail, first thing tomorrow it shall be removed.
A noble female fainting in the orchard
Won’t compare with debauched hen nights,
Flying onions ain’t much better,
Whereas lobbed medieval spears win the fight.
Watching your Ps and Qs
Frankly does in my head,
To win or not to win? If that’s the question,
You’re well and truly f**cked, Ted.
Quickly moving on, you have now all heard the news of Applebridge Food Academy. Tomorrow my cousin shall hold her first lesson. Tonight she and I played Scrabble. It was…nice, relaxing, a distraction from the difficulties of the day. I…I wish she could visit Applebridge more often.
Abigail may not have been wearing Playboy ears and I certainly didn’t get drunk and dance with a stuffed grizzly bear. But we talked and got reacquainted because, everything else aside, family is what matters. And, as this programme progresses, I hope you’ll all see past the surface and eventually feel a modicum of the…the fondness I have for Applebridge Hall—a wonderful home and historical site.
Goodnight, all.
Chapter 9
Miss Abigail Croxley was murdered in the kitchen with the corkscrew by one of three suspects - Reverend White, Professor Parker or Miss Diamond.
Well, honestly – is it just me, or didn’t my first three students sound exactly like Cluedo characters? Plus they stood a mega good chance of killing my – or at least Abbey’s – reputation, if this first cookery lesson was no good and their dishes turned out rubbish. I stared around the whitewashed room. At this moment, fending off some assassin seemed preferable to cooking in front of the nation.
‘Is that the last of the ingredients, Miss?’ said Kathleen as she entered the room from her back kitchen. She carried a box of apples, still covered with dew. ‘I sent Nick out early to the orchards.’
I nodded, breathing in the smell of bleach as, despite Kathleen’s protests that she could do it, I’d given the work stations a quick clean. I’d also double-checked the items the three students would need.
Despite protesting that I was after the natural look, at that moment Roxy darted forward and brushed on a last bit of rouge. Apparently I looked ‘peaky’. To be honest, dog-rough would have been a more accurate description – the price for staying up until four in the morning. After Facebook, I logged onto YouTube and must have watched Delia break eggs, fry meat and chop vegetables a billion times.
After giving my arm an encouraging pat, Roxy left the room, muttering something about going to collect Charlie Chingo and the students.
‘So, um, which is your preferred way of making a salad dressing, Kathleen?’ I asked innocently, picking her brains at the very last minute. ‘Lemon juice, sugar, oil, mustard… Do you shake, whisk or stir before tossing?’
‘Och, I don’t bother with that Continental nonsense,’ she said. ‘Oily lettuce? Nae, you can’t beat a solid mayonnaise. If it’s good enough for the Queen Mother… At Applebridge Hall we still like a good old-fashioned salad cream.’ She stared at me. ‘Are you suffering a wee bit from nerves? How about a dram of something strong before the cameras roll?’
Tempting as that was… ‘No, Kathleen. I’m fine. Th
ank you for being so terribly supportive. I just hope I don’t drop my knife or cut my finger when I’m chopping the blue cheese or peeling those apples for baking.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me, Miss, but, as I’m sure you know, the Blue Cheese is to be crumbled and apples are baked in their skins.’
‘Of course. I was just speaking generally. Everyone knows that. Baked apples without their skins… Ha, ha, ha,’ I said in a bright voice, cheeks hot as she stared.
Kathleen smoothed down her floral apron. ‘I still remember the last time you visited, all those years ago when you were nine.’ She stepped forward and peered into my face. ‘The prettiest pine specks you had in those blue eyes.’
Now she mentioned it, Abbey’s eyes did have a greenish tint, just like Edward’s – it must be a Croxley thing.
‘You seem to have outgrown them.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Remember how your mother let you make cakes with me in the kitchen, whilst “the grown-ups” discussed business in the Parlour?’
‘Um, how could I forget?’ I thought back to the clips I’d seen of Delia baking. ‘Breaking the eggs and folding in flour, what fun fairy cakes are,’ I said with a grin.
Kathleen’s brow furrowed. ‘Nae, Miss—we made Scottish oatcakes, which don’t contain egg… Och, it was a long time ago.’ She stared again for a moment. ‘Will you be needing anything else?’
‘No. Thank you.’ Eek, please go away before I make any other mistakes.
Gaynor swanned in and skirted the room, black bob swinging side to side, the smell of fags clinging to her like a bezzie mate.
‘You won’t have a personal mic, Miss Croxley,’ she said. ‘The sound man will follow you around with a boom – that equipment is better for picking up cooking noises. Frying, sizzling… It all adds to the atmosphere of the show, darling.’
I glanced at my watch. Half past eight. Apparently Gaynor had just briefed the Reverend, professor and accountant, who were still having their make-up done in one of the guest bedrooms. Good. Time to read through the recipes once more, which I’d typed up, decorated with an apple motif and printed out.
Right. Brave face. Nigella and Delia hadn’t spent years training in professional kitchens before they found success. How difficult could it be? I’d always wanted to learn more about cooking and here I was – except, talk about being thrown in at the deep end, I was doing it first by actually teaching!
A hand touched my arm. Hmm, that expensive cologne—Nick must have crept in from behind. Roxy hissed something to the cameraman and I felt sure she muttered the word ‘Facebook’ – the online rumour-mill had clearly sprung to life. Without having to look, I knew the camera was now panned on me and Nick and a sound guy hovered nearby.
‘Just wanted to wish you luck,’ he said and squeezed my hand.
Aw, he was really getting into our role-play.
‘How thoughtful.’ I shook my hair back and licked my lips in what I hoped was a seductive move. Nick wore a polo shirt, open at the neck, and he gave a lopsided grin. I could see the attraction of staff to uptight nobility—especially unshaven, slightly reckless ones who smirked at authority. Let’s face it, Nick was a risk-taker who could lose his job over our pretend romance, yet still he agreed to play along. Me likey!
‘It’s kind of you to come, Nick,’ I said in a loud voice. ‘I, um, asked Kathleen to send you in so that I could thank you for picking such delicious apples. I’m sure they will contribute to the success of this morning’s session.’
‘Nothing but the best for you, Miss,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘I’m good at plucking anything that’s firm, round, fragrant…’
Nick winked and sauntered out of the room. Okay, so I cringed a little, but we hadn’t got time to be subtle.
Right, enough acting up for the camera – must focus now on the job ahead. The pork stew took one hour to bake, so would be prepared first…
Chatter interrupted my thoughts. I looked up as Roxy came into the kitchens, followed by Charlie Chingo and the three Cluedo suspects…students, I mean: a man in a black cassock with a warm smile, a smart woman in high shoes and emo guy – the professor—in dark trousers, a loose shirt and glasses hanging around his pale neck.
The students and I did what Lady C would call ‘exchanging pleasantries’, which I was getting good at now – particularly concerning the weather. While today was sunny, the air was fresher, so not too hot for baking, we all agreed. Boring, I know – but a great topic if the only thing you had in common with people was that you breathed and pee’d.
Then I quizzed them about their cooking experience…
‘Isn’t puff pastry a challenge?’ said the Reverend. ‘I finally gave it a go last week.’
‘How do you stop your soufflés sinking?’ asked Miss Diamond.
‘It took me years to master hollandaise sauce,’ muttered the professor.
Yikes! It became clear that they saw the Academy as a place they could perfect their already pretty good know-how. If Applebridge Hall won the show, the Croxleys would need to hire a proper chef. Mind you, if today was a success and a pizza waitress could blag her way through the job, maybe not.
The clock hands turned to nine and I stood to attention behind my work-station. Like a soldier from the trenches, I faced the enemy head-on. Okay, so it was a bit insulting to compare my situation to a battlefield, but here I was, amongst people whose language and culture was as alien to me as that of the Zulus or Spartans.
My stomach twisted. Gaynor said there would be no stopping and starting; she reckoned viewers wanted to see things as they really were, not lots of takes edited together to look immaculate.
‘Three, two, one, let’s roll,’ said Gaynor and nodded at Charlie, who’d been standing next to me, practising his intro.
‘Hello there, folks!’ he said and gave the camera a cheesy grin ‘Thanks for joining us on Million Dollar Mansion: the Final. Today’s the big day – the opening of Applebridge Food Academy. Watch Miss Croxley attempt to whisk, beat and knead her way to the prize money.’ He smiled at me. ‘Chat with the Chingo, Abbey! How are you feeling?’
‘Um, awfully excited,’ I said. ‘This is a day I shall never forget. It makes me incredibly proud to be heading up the business that might save my family’s estate.’
‘I believe there is an apple theme to today’s show? That rocks! How spot on, to use homegrown produce, what with the recession.’
‘Precisely. Plus, the, um. Croxleys’ apples are some of the tastiest in England. I’m confident they will make every one of today’s dishes a winner.’
Each student waited by their work-station wearing a white apron with an apple motif in the top right corner. Hands perspiring, I discreetly wiped them on the back of my linen trousers. Edward slipped into the room from the back kitchen. Gaynor smiled at him and put a finger to her lips. He folded his arms – no thumbs-up for me, no mouthing ‘Best of British’. I was on my own. Oh God— pass the smelling salts!
Charlie beamed. ‘I hereby declare the Applebridge Food Academy officially open.’ He patted me on the back. ‘Spatulas at the ready!’
‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ I stuttered. ‘Reverend White, Miss Diamond, Professor Parker, it is my great pleasure to welcome you here as my first students.’ I picked up a glass of water and sipped. What if I accidentally swore or insulted a student and, under pressure, came over all Gordon Ramsay? Please, God, don’t let me inadvertently call them Reverend Willy, Professor Piss and Miss Dickhead.
‘As you’ve heard, students, Applebridge Hall’s orchards produce splendid fruit,’ I instead said. ‘For our starter, we shall prepare Apple and English Blue Cheese Salad, with Pork and Apple Stew to follow. Mouthwatering Baked Apples with Ginger and Honey complete our menu. Please study the handouts in front of you.’
Air in…air out…in…out… Croxley women… Strong… Glass half-full… Stiff upper lip.
‘We shall start the stew first, as it takes the longest to bake,’ I said in strangulated
tones.
The students crowded around my work-station as I arranged my ingredients. Roxy caught my eye and swished her finger side to side across her face in the shape of a semi-circle. She had a point. I probably looked mega terrified—must smile.
‘First of all,’ I said, battling the waver in my voice, ‘chop up the onion, press the garlic, cube the meat and fry that in the flour.’ Hands trembling, I measured out the herbs and poured out the red wine, thinking perhaps Kathleen was right about taking a wee dram. However, every few seconds I glanced at my recipe to check the procedures—so far, so good. My stomach relaxed a little as I finally sent the students back to their places and then paraded around the room, hands clasped behind my back, Prince Charles style.
‘Jolly good.’ I smiled at Miss Dick – Miss Diamond, as she pressed her garlic.
‘Brown that pork a tad more,’ I said to Reverend White.
‘Excellent chopping skills.’ Encouragingly, I nodded at emo-guy.
‘And into the oven for one hour,’ I eventually announced to them all.
This was all too easy – maybe I could become a great chef like Abbey, after all!
‘Shouldn’t you have added the apple?’ asked Miss Diamond.
Urgh – I’d spoken too soon. My cheeks flamed. ‘Um, of course – but Applebridge’s variety is not the hardest and we don’t want them to lose their texture by being over-cooked. Add them halfway through.’ Wow – quick thinking or what!
Next, I showed them the salad, which was easy-peasy, apart from the dressing, which I’d leave until the last minute – mainly because I still hadn’t decided whether to shake, whisk or stir.
‘Finally, the baked apples – with ginger and honey, an old family favourite.’ I glanced up. Edward had gone. Hopefully, that meant I was doing a good job.
‘I’ve been making baked apples since I was a child,’ muttered Miss Diamond and shook her head.
‘That may well be but, in my opinion, this is an underrated dish,’ I said. ‘It takes great skill to cook it just so, um, the flesh melts in the mouth. In fact it was once served to me as a dessert when I visited the German royals.’
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