Doubting Abbey

by Tonge, Samantha

  The Earl put down his napkin and stood up. He shook Dennis’s hand.

  ‘It takes a big man to apologise so wholeheartedly—especially on camera. God knows, we all did stupid things as children.’ The Earl’s eyes crinkled. ‘This reunion wouldn’t be the same without you rolling up a piece of paper and secretly smoking it in the forest.’

  Everyone laughed and spoons dipped into soup once more.

  ‘So what line of business did you eventually go into, Dennis?’ Gerry asked as the unexpected guest and Norman sat down. Edward pulled over an extra chair, to squeeze the arsonist onto the corner of the table. ‘Flogging fireplaces?’

  Dennis grinned. ‘No, I own two restaurants—one in London, another in the South of France which has gained two Michelin stars.’

  ‘That’s quite some achievement,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said without looking at me and sipped a glass of wine Nick had just poured. ‘Of course, my son keeps an eye on them both now.’ He grinned at the Earl. ‘I just test out the menu.’

  ‘Perhaps you could assess our new kitchens,’ said Edward. ‘If we win…any advice on how best to spend the money regarding the Food Academy would be most welcome.’

  Dennis beamed. ‘My pleasure. The least I can do. In fact…’ now he eyed me ‘…I’ve watched young Miss Croxley with huge interest.’

  Under the table, Lady C patted my hand. Please, no awkward questions about how I marinate meat or make a tomato sauce.

  ‘I’m fascinated, Miss Croxley, by the way you presented those pheasant breasts,’ he said. ‘Dished up whole like that – not sliced so that the customer can see the mouthwatering inside. And the Cranachan – you served it in what looked like a soup bowl. I would have stacked it into a glass on a stalk, to really show off the contrasting colours of raspberries and oats.’

  ‘I, um, followed Kathleen’s advice – she’s our Scottish cook,’ I said and cleared my throat. ‘I aimed to make everything as authentic as possible.’

  ‘And where was it you studied catering?’ he said. ‘Your chopping and slicing techniques again are… out of the ordinary.’

  Bloomin’ slow, he really meant.

  ‘My niece attended an extremely well-established college in Surrey after finishing school,’ said Lady C sharply.

  I glanced around the room, glad that most other people were busily catching up, even though Dennis was talking loudly. Nick stood with the carafe of wine and winked at me.

  ‘It sounds as if you doubt Abbey’s credentials,’ said Edward and gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘You’ve heard of her father, the Honourable Richard Croxley? He of Croxley Catering?’

  I shot Edward a grateful glance.

  Dennis nodded. ‘A damn fine organisation. And don’t get me wrong, I thought Miss Croxley’s Scottish session was cracking.’

  Kathleen came in and nodded at Nick. He put the wine down on a side-table and the two of them cleared the soup dishes.

  ‘Just ignore Dennis, dear,’ Linda said, eyes twinkling. ‘It seems like he hasn’t changed much, with regard to his manners. Always used to interrupt and be the centre of attention; liked to see intrigue where there wasn’t any – didn’t you, Dennis?’

  Mrs Raynor opposite nodded. ‘Accused me of being a spy once, the little scamp did,’ she said, ‘just because I had a working knowledge of German. He trailed me for a whole day. I cottoned on pretty quick, so took a long detour on the way home that night. He was exhausted by the time I hauled him back to Matron.’

  Everyone laughed, including Dennis. Even Edward’s mouth twitched. Although he hardly spoke during the Woolton Pie (surprisingly yum) and eggless sponge (as heavy as stale bread). As we sat drinking coffee, I leant back in my chair and gazed around the table. There’d been laughter. A few tears. One friendly argument (Gerry and Jonny both denied stealing some of the wooden zoo animals to take home after the war, despite the Earl’s accusations). After another glass or two of wine each, everyone seemed to forget the cameras – cue a few juicy revelations.

  Take Gerry, who was three times divorced, and Linda Sloggit – bless, she’d never had a boyfriend! (or, in her words, ‘suitor’). Bertie Williams once went bankrupt and Norman had spent time in jail for dangerous driving. In the background, I spotted Gaynor rubbing her hands together, clearly pleased with these confessions. As people dispersed, to flick through the ration books or go upstairs to inspect their old bedroom, Edward headed out of the patio doors. Dennis Smith made a beeline for him. Perhaps he was going to badmouth me. Shame, cos I could have done with some time alone with Edward myself, to try and apologise for giving ‘Gemma’ the wrong impression about him and Henrietta.

  I left the table and followed them outside. They disappeared around the left hand corner of the building. Fanning my face as if I needed fresh air, I hovered by the kitchen’s back door. The two men’s voices wafted around from the side. It seemed like Dennis had managed to catch up with him.

  ‘Apologies, Lord Edward,’ I heard Dennis say. ‘I hope you didn’t think I was being disrespectful to your cousin earlier. It’s just…’

  ‘What?’ said Edward’s voice.

  I leant back against the stone wall and something—a spray of ivy—tickled my ear.

  ‘How well do you really know her?’

  My stomach twisted. Here went the roller coaster again.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Edward in stilted tones.

  ‘Forgive me if I am speaking out of line, old chap, but I’ve watched every cookery lesson on the show so far. As someone who cares about what happens to this place, I have to speak my mind. If the future of Applebridge Hall lies on that young woman’s shoulders then there is no hope. As an award-winning professional chef, as someone who’s taught the art of food preparation and cooking, I can categorically tell you that she has hardly ever set foot in a kitchen.’

  LORD EDWARD’S E-DIARY

  Saturday 8th September

  ‘Comments’

  11.50p.m. Blog-readers, you are in for a treat when watching footage of our reunion lunch. I shan’t spoil it too much for you, only to say that our guests were real characters. They talked openly about the ups and downs of their past – which is odd, considering they were brought up to keep schtum, due to the mantra ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’. In fact, Father has only just retired for the evening, having talked non-stop about how today has made an important part of Applebridge’s history come alive.

  Other than that, the Second World War food was more than passable. Plus a controversial uninvited guest turned up. Controversial due to the past and, it would seem, his, erm, thoughts on the present. Hmm…

  Now, I bid you all a jolly goodnight. Thank you once again for the support. Whatever happens from here on, I promise to continue with this blog, right until the end – one week from today.

  Oh, and Knityourownmansion, I’m pleased you’re excited at the idea of setting up your own business. Of course I’ll write a review about the mohair pipe if you create a website.

  Chapter 24

  Monday mornings truly were the crappiest time of the week—especially when I had to give a cookery lesson, on camera, in front of Edward’s suspicious eyes. Thanks to Dennis Smith, he probably doubted I could even boil an egg. Before trying to get to sleep I’d visited his blog, which hadn’t given much away.

  I straightened my black skirt and smoothed down my crisp white blouse. It was the waitress look – smart and efficient, to give the impression that I was a professional caterer. I yawned, fuelled mostly by my increasing desire to win this show for the Croxleys and… My heart beat out a sexier rhythm as I thought about Edward.

  I shook myself and focused, for a moment, on Charlie Chingo, who stood like an obedient child while Roxy, as usual, powdered his nose. Gaynor chatted to Edward, who just gave her cursory grunts and nods. My cookery students, young mums from the village, explored their work-stations and examined today’s ingredients.

  Grateful for a moment to myself, I took a deep breath.
The theme for today was Traditional British Fare. I’d shared Dennis Smith’s overheard thoughts with Lady C and Kathleen, so yesterday they’d spent hours coaching me while I prepared steak and kidney pie and sherry trifle – again and again and again. The shortcrust pastry wasn’t as difficult as I’d imagined, and the pies were teeny-tiny, like the fancy grub served up on Masterchef. Handling raw kidneys was the biggest challenge – ick – and made me realize I’d be totally useless if there ever was a zombie apocalypse.

  At least the trifle was fun and I eventually mastered getting sponges to rise – sort of—and custard to thicken without lumps. I’d never realized how rewarding it was to put a completed dish that tasted good on the table.

  Seeing as today’s pupils were all women, and alcohol had gone down very well at the last class, first off was girlie cocktail-making so that we could drink our way through the session. The booze of choice? The English Rose, a classic mixed drink (apparently), using apricot brandy, vermouth and grenadine. This ladylike tipple was topped with a shoe-shiny maraschino cherry.

  Hopefully, I waved at Edward. Talking of zombies, expressionless, he stared back and my heart squeezed tight. In vain, I’d tried to apologise several times about the engagement misunderstanding, but each time he cut me off. He’d still been down in the dumps last night, when we’d all watched the Sunday episode of Million Dollar Mansion in the Parlour and cheered our success.

  The general opinion was that the Second World War reunion was much better than Marwick Castle’s celebrity orgy. Even cool young fans on Facebook got involved and posted war stories their grandparents had told them. They also loved the tribute to Ghost’s pottery wheel scene and without my help (or, that is, my Facebook persona Eleanor Goodwin) had set up another vote. Plus, luckily, the jury was still out as to whether it was really Miss Abigail Croxley taking part in these movie re-enactments. One of the ‘beastly tabloids’ —Lady C’s words, not mine; I loved the smaller papers cos you could just look at the pics —was running a poll and, at the latest count, thirty-nine per cent of viewers thought it really was Abbey cleaning the fountain with Nick.

  On the downside, their suggestions for the next one were…eek! Mega racy:

  The sexy food feeding scene by the fridge in Nine and a Half Weeks.

  The naughty interrogation scene from Basic Instinct where Sharon Stone uncrosses her knickerless legs.

  Numerous scenes from vampire movie series Twilight, like where Robert Pattinson breaks the bed or Taylor Lautner strips to the waist.

  If it was sexing-up Roxy wanted, that’s certainly what she was going to get.

  Still not waving back –in fact, arms folded—Edward leant back against the kitchen wall, unaware that the young mums were ogling him. Last night, he’d barely blinked while watching the footage of Nick and, ahem, another person stroking the fountain. Thankfully, Lady C missed that scene as she’d been talking animatedly to Kathleen and the Earl about the vulgarity of the Baron’s party. Even I had to agree (along with a surprisingly large number of people on Facebook and Twitter) that Dodgy Dirk the rock star wasn’t all that hot. More than once he’d thrown up down the well, peed against the Grizzly Bear and come out of the Baron’s bathroom with a mysterious white powder clinging to his moustache.

  Online, people were getting bored with the Castle’s flashes of boobs and bums. One Facebook comment got a lot of ‘likes’—it said stag and hen nights were ‘only fun to watch if you were also pissed’.

  ‘Ten minutes to go,’ said Roxy, who’d sidled up to me. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. She cleared her throat. ‘Abbey, can I just say something?’

  Perhaps Edward had mentioned his doubts.

  ‘I think you are fucking fantastic,’ she muttered in her usual quick voice.

  My eyes widened.

  ‘Excuse my language.’ She giggled. ‘I never thought Applebridge Hall stood a chance, but the evacuees’ reunion was a piece of genius and, as for you and Nick…’

  Aw, I loved Roxy, yet, despite feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, I managed to take on an innocent air. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Well, whatever…’ said Roxy. ‘All I wanted to say was: you Go, Girl. Miss Abigail Croxley rocks.’

  ‘Thank you…’ I said. ‘I just hope it all…that my presence here pays off.’

  She grinned. ‘Apparently, the Baron of Marwick was spitting last night after the show aired, and said something about taking his game ‘up to the next level’ to outdo Lieutenant Robert Mayhew’s engagement party on Wednesday night. He better come up with something good, because that’s basically his last chance. After Thursday night’s broadcast, when voting lines open, all that’s left is the live final on Saturday.’ Roxy stopped to breathe for a moment. ‘He won’t have much time to change people’s opinions by then. So, bravo! You’ve really managed to turn things around.’

  I fiddled with the waistband of my skirt. ‘The engagement party idea was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Yes, but, thanks to you, viewers have a vested interest now in watching the Applebridge Hall footage,’ she said at her usual top speed. ‘They care a lot more since your, um, high-jinks – intended or not. You’re more…human, rather than some old-fashioned figure who could have stepped out of a Jane Austen book. And, as for the moving stories about the Second World War and old Lord Croxley…’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve just seen him walking towards the pond with your aunt. Your uncle’s really come out of himself. For the first time, at that reunion, we saw some emotion from him. At last people can relate to him in some way.’

  I nodded. He had become a touch more laid-back.

  ‘Then there’s been numerous comments online,’ continued Roxy. ‘Even one of the broadsheets mentioned his little speech. How he made no bones about not really being into the show until this reunion. How he felt everyone who’d ever lived in the house deserved to have their tale heard. Your family may be uptight and stuffy and hopelessly straight, Abbey, but…’ she shrugged ‘…you’ve got principles. Whilst the Baron is open about his motives, there’s somehow something more honest about the Croxleys, and that counts for a lot as far as the British Public are concerned. It’s a certain sincerity – like the way family friends on the show are genuine. Most of the Baron’s famous guests have known him for a month or two at the most.’

  Honest? I almost laughed out loud. What if Roxy and the British Public found out the truth about me?

  ‘Positions, darlings,’ called Gaynor.

  Roxy grinned and slipped a stick of chewing gum into her mouth.

  Charlie Chingo came over to me, on the way winking at the three young mums. He spoke to me but I couldn’t remember, afterwards, what he said. Then, somehow, I demonstrated the cocktail. Somehow my pastry didn’t crumble and my trifle actually set. Afterwards, the cookery session seemed like nothing but a blur. Kneading, frying, whisking, beating… All I could think of, instead, was how increasingly important it was that my real identity stayed secret. Often, now, I’d find my stomach scrunched or hands sweaty… It reminded me of those tense weeks doing GCSEs.

  Edward stayed right until the end and then shot off before we could chat. I did my wrapping-up interview with Charlie. After congratulating the young mums, I charged out of the house, perspiration dripping from my forehead.

  I needed air, which could smell of the Earl’s roses or Jean’s fertilizer – who cared, as long as it filled my lungs and slowed my heart and took away the sense of panic I’d felt ever since Roxy spelt out how important I was to the Croxleys winning this show?

  I headed for the bench by the pond and sat down, gazing at a multi-coloured bird with a long black tail. Lady C would have known its name.

  ‘Cousin?’ Edward emerged from the other bank, behind the bulrushes. ‘Nick said you headed this way.’ He sat down next to me.

  ‘Did you, um, enjoy the show?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. It was… interesting.’

  Nausea rose up at the back of my throat and I held my head in
my hands. ‘Go on, admit it. After everything Dennis Smith said, you doubt me and my qualifications.’

  ‘Everything he said?’

  I looked up. ‘Um…I mean at the dining table… It was obvious he thought I’d never trained as a chef.’

  Edward snorted. ‘You should have heard what he said later on – he tried to convince me you were useless so that I would employ his granddaughter instead.’

  ‘Really?’ I hadn’t stayed to hear that bit.

  Edward rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Apparently, she has run his South of France restaurant for five years. She isn’t married, has no ties and wants a new challenge outside of the family enterprise. According to Dennis, she’d be perfect to mould the Applebridge Food Academy into a modern, thriving business.’ He shrugged. ‘I watched your capable performance this morning so that if he pesters me again I’ll be able to knock back any of his ridiculous criticisms.’

  ‘Oh… How very loyal. It’s appreciated.’

  He stood up. ‘That’s what family is for, Abbey. You’ve stood by us in these difficult times. It’s the least I can do. Oh, yes, Nick…’ His nose wrinkled. ‘Apparently, you asked to see him earlier, some query about the vegetable garden…’

  Did I?

  ‘He asked me to tell you he’s there at the moment if you’ve still got things to discuss.’

  ‘Oh…thanks.’ Ah, nice excuse, Nick. We did need to talk about our next strategy. ‘Are you returning to the house? Let me walk with you.’

  It was a quiet stroll back and I fought the urge to hold his hand. There was no point apologizing again about the engagement mix-up, but now I felt even worse, seeing as he’d stuck up for me. Edward had closed himself off again and had a detached look on his face. He merely grunted when I said goodbye and headed around the back. Jean was nowhere to be seen. Nick passed me a freshly picked strawberry.

  ‘We’d better get practising, Miss,’ he said and grinned. ‘Guess which scene our Facebook fans have voted for.’