Sweet Seduction

by Jennifer St George

  Some contestants stood back confidently, their dishes beautifully presented, while others had failed to finish. Tears streamed down one young woman’s face.

  The judges, Gabe and other production staff visited the stations. When Gabe passed her station, he slid a finger through the edge of the sauce.

  ‘Can’t touch me now,’ he said, pointing to a tea towel lying on the bench.

  Charlie giggled.

  He licked the sauce from his finger and moved to the next station.

  The judges conferred for a few minutes and handed a piece of paper to Abigail. The contestants stood in edgy silence. Abigail took up her mike.

  ‘The winners of this round are Mike Fisher and Charlie Brown.’

  Charlie’s insides twisted with excitement. She barely heard the muted applause. She shook hands numbly with a couple of other contestants.

  ‘Congratulations, Mike and Charlie,’ Abigail continued. ‘Thank you everyone and don’t forget to check the highlights package tonight to see if you feature.’

  Those who had failed the round collected their belongings and left.

  ‘Mike and Charlie, could you please see our director, Gabe Grenville?’ Abigail concluded, pointing in Gabe’s direction.

  Gabe waved them over.

  ‘Congratulations.’ Gabe shook Charlie’s hand as briefly as he did Mike’s. He handed each of them instructions for the regional final that would be held in two weeks’ time on the actual set. ‘You’ll find everything you need to know on there.’

  Charlie scanned the page and baulked.

  ‘Um . . . it says here we need a Facebook page and Twitter account.’

  Being Charlie Brown within the confines of this exhibition hall was one thing. Broadcasting to the world via the world’s biggest social networking sites took things to a whole new level.

  ‘Is that a problem?’ Gabe asked. ‘All our pre-publicity is online and we need to create a buzz before the show airs.’

  ‘I don’t have a Facebook page.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Gabe said dismissively. ‘Just create one this afternoon and ensure you load a picture. Then just email the link as directed.’

  ‘Gabe.’ Abigail waved to him as the next lot of contestants took to the cooking stations.

  ‘Got to go,’ he said and strode away.

  Charlie walked slowly towards the exit. Now she’d had a taste of achievement she wanted more. But things were getting out of hand. Originally, Charlie Brown should only have existed for a couple of days. Now she’d taken on a life of her own.

  Charlie walked from the exhibition building into a beautiful sunny September day.

  But she liked Charlie Brown better than Charlotte Wentworth. Charlie Brown achieved things. Charlie Brown cooked amazing meals. Charlie Brown knew a great guy who was interested in her opinions. Charlie Brown didn’t have parents to dictate her every move, and most importantly, she didn’t have a cheating fiancé.

  No-one cared what Charlie Brown wore or drove or where she ate her lunch. She had anonymity for the first time in her life and she loved it.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter – she wouldn’t make the finals. Then she’d find the right moment and confess to Gabe who she really was. He would understand, wouldn’t he?

  She ambled to the tube station, peering into shop windows. A hair salon caught her attention. She stood watching as a middle-aged client had colour pasted onto her grey roots. A young woman was having her hair straightened.

  A small sign in the window caught her attention. Hairdresser in training, cheap cut and colour. Charlie pulled a long strand of her hair in front of her eyes and stared at it, then pulled open the salon door.

  That evening, Charlie typed the Facebook URL into the web browser of Gabe’s computer.

  Facebook helps you connect and share with the people in your life.

  The polar opposite of what she wanted, but she had to do it. She drew in a deep breath and expelled it slowly. And people did this all the time. Everyone embellished the truth. Told white lies. Emphasised their strong points. People who used dating sites lied about all sorts of things: their age; their net worth; their marital status.

  She typed her name into the sign-up form. After entering the necessary information, she attached Gabe’s camera to the computer. The new shots she’d just staged in the living room popped up on the screen one by one. She selected the one of her cupping her chin in her hands. Her fingers obscured almost half her face and her sunglasses masked her eyes. Perfect.

  She loaded it.

  Anyway, who would really care if she told a few lies? Her parents were already furious with her. She didn’t care what her bastard fiancé thought. And Gabe, well . . . she’d deal with that when the time was right.

  She focused on setting up her profile. She’d once heard the expression ‘if you’re not on Facebook you don’t exist.’

  She hit the submit key – Charlie Brown sprang into existence in cyberspace.

  The spicy aroma attracted Gabe the moment he walked through his front door. Charlie must have stayed after using his computer. He smiled as he walked down the hall. He enjoyed having someone in the house when he came home. Well, perhaps he enjoyed having Charlie in the house when he arrived home.

  In the kitchen, a dark-haired stranger stood stirring a pot.

  ‘Hey. Who—’

  The woman turned.

  He stared for a moment. ‘Charlie?’

  She bit her lip and stifled a grin. ‘Do you like it?’

  He stepped into the room. ‘What the hell happened?’

  The long blonde hair was all gone, replaced with a cropped style – black and shiny. The new look emphasised her mocha-coloured eyes – mascara and kohl enhancing their brilliance.

  ‘Well?’ she said, giving a twirl to show the full effect.

  The clothes were different too. Black skinny jeans revealed every luscious curve of her hips and bottom and hugged her long legs. A short black T-shirt revealed a tantalising ribbon of her flat, tanned stomach. She was hardly recognisable and even more damned gorgeous than before.

  ‘Are you channelling Mad Max?’

  Hurt crept into her eyes. ‘You don’t like it?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ He recovered quickly. ‘It’s brilliant. It’s just very different. This morning you were a beach babe and this afternoon you’re all . . . urban chic.’

  ‘I was a bit over the beach look.

  His mind strayed back to a bikini-clad Charlie during their days on Nervi beach. He’d certainly never get over it.

  I picked these up at a charity shop,’ she said, pulling at her new trousers. ‘Two pounds. Cool huh?’

  He knew he was staring, but it was difficult to take his eyes from Charlie’s face. Without all that distracting hair, her eyes were mesmerising. But a certain part of his body started making its presence felt. He broke eye contact, thought of the queen and sang the national anthem in his head.

  ‘Ah, what are you making?’ he managed to ask.

  ‘I’m practising a new dish for the finals. Line-caught wild Queensland barramundi topped with spicy Australian prawns on a bed of fragrant rice with an avocado and Bowen mango salsa.’

  ‘Wow.’

  As she wiped a strand of hair from her face with the back of her hand, avocado smeared across her cheek.

  He laughed.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re tinged green.’

  She looked at her hand. ‘Oh.’

  She reached for a paper towel and wiped her face, missing a chunk near her eye.

  ‘Here, let me.’ He took the towel and gently wiped the goo from her cheek. She smelled of sweet mango. Her nearness ignited all his senses.

  ‘Wait. I haven’t got it all.’

  He curled his hand around the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her hip caressed his thigh as he wiped her cheek clean. His body began to ignore rational thought. He stood so close he could smell the citrus shampoo in her ha
ir.

  Never mix business and pleasure. Business. Business. Business!

  His hand dropped and he took a step towards the stove.

  ‘This looks amazing,’ he said, trying to put his errant thoughts from his mind.

  Never mix business with pleasure.

  But with every passing hour it was proving more difficult.

  Charlie knocked at Emma’s back door. She’d settled into Emma’s garden cottage a few weeks ago, but still couldn’t bring herself to walk into the house without announcing her arrival.

  ‘Come in Charlie,’ Emma called. She and Emma had become great friends, and of course she loved seeing Amelia and Rupert every day. She spent hours in the park with them each afternoon.

  Charlie stepped into Emma’s cosy kitchen. Emma stood at the sink peeling potatoes. Amelia and Rupert sat at the table drinking milk and munching on cookies. They both grinned when she walked in.

  ‘Let me do that,’ Charlie said taking the vegetable from Emma’s small hands.

  Emma didn’t protest and sunk into a chair at the kitchen table. ‘Thanks.’ She still looked pale and weak even though her chemo had finished months ago.

  ‘I wonder when I’ll get my energy back,’ she said.

  ‘Give it time,’ Charlie said. ‘Remember, it’s not just the chemo, you run around after these two little rascals too.’ She ruffled Rupert’s hair. He giggled. ‘Why don’t you two run out into the garden and play until dinner?’

  The kids took their cookies and disappeared into the afternoon light.

  ‘Before I had kids, I never considered how much hard work they’d be, or that I’d be doing it alone,’ Emma said. Emma’s husband had upped and left a few years back.

  ‘It’s tough being a single parent.’ Charlie said picking up another potato.

  ‘Sure, but we get by,’ Emma said, resting her feet up on a chair. ‘I reckon all kids really need is lots of love and encouragement.’

  ‘You should give my parents some lessons.’ Then Charlie kicked herself for bringing her life in Australia into the conversation.

  ‘Your parents aren’t . . .’

  ‘No, they’re fine really.’ Charlie said quickly. ‘Yours?’

  Emma’s eyebrows pulled together in a troubled expression. ‘Gabe hasn’t mentioned our parents?’

  Charlie dropped the potato into the sink and turned her full attention on Emma. ‘No.’

  Emma stood, walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. ‘Both our parents come from a long line of professionals. In our family, the only career options are doctor, lawyer or politician.’

  ‘Sounds broadminded,’ Charlie sarcastically.

  ‘Hmm,’ Emma said pouring them both a glass. ‘When Gabe announced he wanted to go to film school, all hell broke lose. Father wouldn’t hear of it. He forced Gabe into law school. He didn’t last a term.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Anyway, when Gabe’s first show, Celebrity Shipwreck, was broadcast, Dad went ballistic. He screamed for hours about how Gabe had demeaned the family with gutter muck and other choice expressions.’

  Charlie winced. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Gabe walked out and they haven’t spoken since. That was six years ago. Mum begs them to reconcile. Gabe wants Dad to respect his career and Dad can’t, or won’t, do that. Damn childish and stubborn if you ask me’

  Emma sipped her wine.

  ‘I think that’s why Gabe drives himself so hard. He’s always said he doesn’t give a damn about what his father thinks, but deep down, I know he’s hurt beyond belief. Gabe idolised Dad as a kid.’

  Charlie sipped her wine. Maybe that’s why she and Gabe had connected. They’d both been a huge disappointment to their fathers.

  ‘So,’ Emma said, obviously wanting to change the subject. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

  Apprehension crawled through Charlie’s belly. She ran her hand through her cropped hair. ‘Yup. I’ve got a two in ten chance of ending up on national television.’

  ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  Chapter Seven

  Gabe scanned the set one more time. It looked fresh and functional, an amalgamation of the top London restaurants and the type of kitchen you’d find in a luxury home, but with ten moveable workstations. The benches were a brilliant fusion of oiled natural timber and stainless steel, complete with sinks, cook tops, ovens and every kitchen utensil that could ever be required. A few weeks ago, he’d never heard of a mortar and pestle. Now every second contestant seemed to be using them to grind an assortment of pastes and marinades.

  Only one more regional final to go and he’d have the final twelve. Today was Charlie’s shot at a spot.

  He stepped back and admired the brilliant blue and gold First-Class Chef logo hanging like a badge of honour over the set. A bold statement but also warm and inviting. Soon, he hoped, it would be one of the most recognisable brands in Britain, if not the world.

  But he was getting ahead of himself. It was still early days. Today they would present the last two specially designed aprons to be worn by the last regional finalists.

  He checked his watch again. Time to start the contestant briefing. He scanned the room again.

  No Charlie.

  He spoke into his head mike. ‘Has Charlie Brown arrived yet?’

  ‘No, still no sign of her,’ Abigail informed him. ‘But we should probably get going.’

  ‘Sure.’ Suddenly he couldn’t focus on work. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  He walked to a quiet corner and dialled Charlie’s mobile. Straight to message bank. He left another message.

  Something might have happened to her. A cold knot gathered in his stomach He paced back and forth. A range of scenarios rushed through his brain. None of them good.

  He shook his head. Charlie had probably just had difficulty getting a cab from the station. He’d occasionally had the same trouble himself.

  He looked at the time again. They were really late now. He could see Abigail watching him from the front of the set. She tapped her watch when he caught her eye.

  He couldn’t stall any longer. He knew he shouldn’t have such a vested interest in Charlie’s success in the show, but if he were honest, he wouldn’t mind her being on set all day especially as she wasn’t living with him anymore.

  He walked over to Abigail.

  ‘Okay, call out the contestants. Let’s get this show on the road.’

  He glanced at the studio door.

  Come on, Charlie. Where are you?

  Charlie emerged from the tube station at Uxbridge.

  She was so late! She’d searched three different stores to find raw macadamia nuts. In Australia they were sold everywhere – raw, salted, honey-roasted, chocolate coated . . . Obviously in England the nut was a delicacy and finding raw macadamias had been virtually impossible – and that Bowen mango! But they were essential to the success of her next effort. Each contestant was allowed to bring two special ingredients – mango and macadamias were hers.

  Then the tube had been delayed between stations by a bomb scare further down the line. The minutes had ticked past with astonishing speed.

  Now she had only five minutes to reach the studio and she knew the taxi ride took at least ten. She ran to the rank. Empty. She appealed to the heavens.

  Heaven took its time, but finally a cab appeared around the corner. She leaped into the vehicle and asked for Pinewoods Studios. Clipping on her seatbelt, she hugged her shopping bag to her chest.

  Pinewood.

  She couldn’t believe she’d be cooking in a studio that had been involved in the production of film franchises such as James Bond and Harry Potter. The cab pulled to a sudden halt. Charlie peered out the windscreen. Traffic jam.

  She sat forward in her seat. ‘Is there a different way?’

  ‘Sorry, love. This is the short cut.’ He pointed down the road. ‘But I have to get to the next roundabout before we can cut through.’

  The next fi
fteen minutes seemed the longest of her life, but at last the taxi pulled up in front of the studio. She quickly paid the driver and rushed through the doors to the reception desk.

  ‘Hi, I’m Charlie Brown for First-Class Chefs.’

  The receptionist seemed to take an age scanning her visitors list.

  ‘Yes, here you are. Studio two,’ the receptionist said, providing her with a security tag and directions. She pointed to a clock on the wall. ‘You’d better run, you’re late.’

  Charlie raced through the maze of corridors and pulled open the heavy studio door. She gasped. A whole new world appeared before her. Lit by a battery of lights, the massive set featured a series of magnificent cooking stations. Everything looked shiny, fresh and new.

  A contestant was working at each station. The three judges she’d met the day before wandered around the set. The cameras captured all the action. And there, directing in the middle, stood Gabe. He sported a head mike and a clipboard and managed the sea of people with efficiency and authority.

  Her stomach lurched and she slumped against the wall. She was too late. She blinked hard as her eyes burned with tears of disappointment.

  The biggest opportunity of her life and she’d blown it.

  Gabe noticed her for the first time. She turned quickly away, unable to face him.

  What must he think of her? Not even able to arrive on time for something so important. He’d put his faith in her and she’d tossed it back in his face.

  He strode over. ‘Charlie.’

  She took a deep breath and nervously clutched her bag of food to her chest. ‘Gabe—’

  Before she could speak again, Gabe’s arm reached around her waist, drawing her towards the action. ‘Thank goodness you’re okay. I was worried.’

  ‘I’m so sorry—’

  ‘Look, there’s no time to talk. We’re already fifteen minutes in, do you think you can still make your dish in time?’

  ‘Can I still compete?’

  ‘You bet. Just get out there and work that pretty little arse off.’

  She’d never heard him speak like this. His words acted like a swig of relaxing tonic.