The Sweetness of Liberty James

by Janey Lewis

  THE SWEETNESS OF LIBERTY JAMES

  THE SWEETNESS OF

  LIBERTY JAMES

  Janey Lewis

  Book Guild Publishing

  Sussex, England

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  The Book Guild Ltd

  The Werks

  45 Church Road

  Hove, BN3 2BE

  Copyright © Janey Lewis 2014

  The right of Janey Lewis to be identified as the author of

  this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to

  real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Typesetting in Sabon by

  Ellipsis Digital Ltd, Glasgow

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  A catalogue record for this book is available from

  The British Library.

  ISBN 978 1 84624 991 4

  ePub ISBN 978 1 91029 807 7

  Mobi ISBN 978 1 91029 808 4

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  1

  ‘Bundt tins? Where the hell are my Bundt tins?’

  Deirdre James was flinging open cupboards and scanning shelves, flinging vast numbers of cake tins all over the kitchen floor, making a complete mess.

  Liberty looked up from her hot chocolate with as bemused an expression as a six-year-old girl can muster. Her normally serene mother was covered in flour, with chocolate from the recently grated Valrhona chocolate for Liberty’s drink spread down her apron, while her hair, most unusually for such a well-coiffed lady, stood on end, again with a light dusting of flour. Her almond-shaped grey eyes flashed with emotion and her mouth quivered.

  For any other mother who had been baking twenty Genoese sponges for a large wedding the following day, and getting her daughter a snack after school, this may have been normal, but Deirdre James was a baker extraordinaire. She had a great number of satisfied clients who lauded her cakes to everyone they knew; she and Delia Smith had both appeared on television screens around the same time. Deirdre had taken the mystery out of baking for many housewives striving to be perfect mothers, wives and career women, and her calm elegance, more usually associated with stars like Catherine Deneuve, appealed to the husbands who watched avidly alongside.

  Liberty loved coming home from school to be greeted by heavenly scents created by her mother in the beautiful yet supremely practical kitchen that took up a good portion of the ground floor of their stunning double-fronted village house in East Sussex called The Nuttery. The magic smell of baking goods drifting from the house kept the villagers continuously hungry, as walking into a supermarket towards the freshly baked bread counter might do. Deirdre had added cinnamon, vanilla and cardamom to her sponges, and the perfume of the spices was wafting out of the kitchen window at that very moment, to mingle happily with the honeysuckle and wisteria that covered the front of the house.

  ‘What on earth is the matter, Mummy?’ asked Liberty. ‘You know your Bundt tins are kept in the chest below the window.’

  Liberty was already an excellent helper in the kitchen. Both her parents had encouraged her, and with Deirdre as her mother, and her father being Alain James, triple Michelin star holder and chef patron of The Dark Horse, a restaurant with rooms outside Tunbridge Wells, she had fabulous experience of all types of food, and was very interested in learning how to cook. She hopped off her chair, one of a dozen mismatched wooden ones scattered round the huge scrubbed kitchen table, which had been fashioned from a great slice of oak. Gnarled and cracked along the edges, the table had been Alain’s wedding present to Deirdre twenty years ago when they moved into the house, and it was decided that Deirdre would work from home and Alain would open a restaurant. He would be home only on Mondays and Tuesdays, better able to do the hours demanded of a top chef by living on site. They thought their stressful lifestyles had prevented them from having children – that, and barely seeing each other while Alain worked every moment God sent. In those days, they were not aware that it is common for male chefs to have infertility problems, owing to their nether regions spending so much time very close to hot ovens.

  But six years ago Liberty’s birth coincided with Alain’s award of a third Michelin star. He called her his lucky star, and she was named Liberty, because at the time Alain thought that freedom from pressure came with the award and time would be spent with his beautiful newborn child. Sure enough, he doted on Liberty, as any father would on such an angelic baby. But to keep his three stars he had to work as hard as ever, if not harder. Pride was at stake; handsome, swarthy and half-French, Alain James had a lot of pride. He also had the arrogance of any successful artist.

  When Liberty was born, Deirdre gave up her television work and concentrated on her baking and private catering, selling to upmarket delicatessens and department stores all over the county, who were aware that with her name attached they could sell any and all of the patisserie and cakes she could provide.

  This happy if unconventional arrangement had worked for the past six years. Occasionally, Alain was content and willing for Liberty to be in his restaurant kitchen, crawling between the sous-chefs’ feet. Sometimes Deirdre and Liberty would stay in Alain’s apartment above the restaurant during the weekend, but most of the time Liberty was the only child to be excited about Mondays, knowing that when she got home from school Daddy would be there for two blissful, spoilt nights. Despite his arrogance and complete dedication to his work, Alain was incredibly loyal and a wonderful father. He insisted on quiet and calm in his kitchen, and at home, too, and he and Deirdre had a good partnership and were very popular. Their dedication and love, combined with a healthy sense of humour, helped them get through some tough times. The recognition that ca
me from their success attracted the fabulous and the famous, many of whom became their friends in the 1970s, when it grew more acceptable for social classes to mix. Invitations to glamorous parties plopped through their letter boxes every day, though they were usually not honoured, as either work or Liberty kept them at home. When they did venture out, the paparazzi – a small version of the clamour of today – loved them; their beauty and happiness shone through and sold countless magazines. They were celebrities, albeit discreet ones.

  As Liberty hopped off her chair and approached her mother, she said, ‘Shall I get the cakes out?’ She looked at the Aga, in front of which lay three cats, two pugs and an ancient Labrador, who raised his head, hopeful of a treat. ‘I think I can smell burning,’ she said. This was quite unusual at The Nuttery, and things must be extremely bad if burning could be smelled through a heavy Aga door.

  She gazed at her normally calm mother and was astonished to see tears plopping down her beautiful face. ‘Mummy, what is it? Can I make you a hot chocolate?’ This was, she knew, the only thing that could possibly help in such a situation.

  ‘My darling girl, I think we had better go outside. I do believe we need some air,’ said Deirdre, as she retrieved the burning remnants of what should have been Liberty’s rabbit casserole from the Aga. Thankfully, the cakes had been prepared and cooked earlier. She propped open the windows and called to the animals to escape through the French doors into the walled kitchen garden, planted with espaliered fruit trees, herbs and vegetables. An ancient walnut tree stood at one corner. This was used by Liberty to clamber over and escape to meet her friend Savannah, whose garden, or rather park, abutted their property.

  Together Deirdre and Liberty sat down on an old swing bench that hung below the veranda at the back of the house. Laburnum tickled their hair as the fronds wafted in the breeze, and apple blossom sent its fragrance to calm the situation. Late flowering narcissi and pheasant’s eyes were still winking over the scene. Deirdre had collected herself slightly. She opened her mouth to talk and then stopped. She licked her lips and tried to begin again. Then Liberty wriggled off the seat and shouted, ‘Mummy, I want to play with Savannah, her daddy has a new foal by one of his horses and she said I could go and take a look.’

  ‘Darling, I need to tell you some news, so please sit down again, and try to be brave for me.’

  Liberty gazed up at her mother, green eyes glistening, at last understanding that this was something important.

  ‘Daddy will not be coming home this evening.’ There was silence. Oh well, thought Liberty, that’s not so bad.

  ‘More inspections?’ she asked.

  ‘No, my dear, Daddy has decided he wants to live at The Dark Horse, with . . .’ At this point Deirdre started to cry again. ‘ . . . with a new lady.’

  ‘What do you mean, with a new lady? What’s wrong with us ladies?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing at all, my darling girl, but sometimes things change, and Daddy is going to have a new family, so . . . so . . . well, you will have someone to play with.’

  Deirdre was doing her best to be brave and positive. Having only been told the news by Alain in person that morning, she was still trying to digest it herself, but she knew it was important not to criticise him to Liberty, as he was, after all, still her father.

  The news that Alain was about to have a baby with Genevieve a Bois, a recently retired ballerina, and by all tabloid reports a huge diva, had come as a bolt from the blue. She had already thought there could have been an affair. But making a home with the woman? Now Genevieve (surely not her real name, didn’t she come from Surrey?) was expecting a baby and Alain said it was certainly his. He told her he had decided to do the right thing and create a home with Genevieve. As Alain spoke, Deirdre had for the first time in twenty years of unflinching support lost her temper and started flinging crockery, chairs and anything else she could reach. Dogs ran in all directions as she screamed ‘How can that be the right thing? Be like any other unfaithful bastard, pay for her upkeep, buy her a bloody house, give her maintenance, but the RIGHT THING would surely be to stay here, at home with your family, your wife, your daughter! How can you do this to Liberty?’ At this point Alain burst into tears, but he simply shrugged, said, ‘What can I do?’ and drove off.

  Liberty was by this time not sure herself whether to cry, comfort her mother, or ask one of the numerous questions going round her head.

  ‘Did I do something? Was it because I wasn’t here last Monday when he came home? When I was riding with Savvy?’

  ‘No, no, my angel,’ Deirdre said as she hugged her daughter close. ‘No, sometimes we oldies just need to do something different, which is surprising for the rest of us.’

  ‘What do you mean? Someone to play with?’ The penny had just dropped. ‘Daddy is going to have a baby with this lady. So he won’t want me any more.’ Her lip quivered and she fainted dead away.

  Half a minute later she came to; her mother was leaning over her anxiously, shaking her shoulders rather hard out of fear.

  ‘Oh, there you are my darling. Golly, you gave me a fright. Come on, let’s be brave together. He still loves you just as much as ever, and you will still see him just as much as ever. You can go and stay with him – it will be fun!’ She enveloped her daughter in a hug, but Liberty shook her off.

  In her moment of unconsciousness, Liberty had grown up somewhat. ‘No, I don’t think it will be fun, but it will be OK. Especially if you stop burning things. Can I have my supper now? I am really hungry.’

  Deirdre looked quizzically at her daughter, hurt at being shrugged away, worried that her daughter seemed to be on autopilot. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘maybe we could have an apple tart as a treat. I think we need one.’ And, she thought to herself, a bloody great stiff drink once Liberty is in bed.

  The horrid smell of burning had diminished from the kitchen. As they walked slowly back inside Liberty said, ‘But where has the smell gone?’

  ‘Well, the windows and doors have been open and the breeze blew it away,’ explained her mother. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  Her daughter was concentrating, looking round the room with her brow furrowed. ‘No, I mean I can’t smell anything at all.’

  ‘Try this.’ Deirdre pushed across the now cold mug of chocolate, infused with cinnamon and vanilla. ‘This should still smell lovely, especially if you stir it around a bit.’ She took a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer and placed it beside the mug.

  ‘No, I can’t smell anything at all.’

  Deirdre was now slightly more concerned; she crushed a clove of garlic and held it under Liberty’s nose. Her daughter sniffed it, then bit into it.

  ‘I can’t smell anything, and I can’t taste anything either.’

  Deirdre, Alain and subsequently doctors diagnosed a reaction to the shock and said no doubt it would wear off. However, as the weeks and months and eventually years went by, Liberty’s sense of smell – and therefore taste – refused to come back.

  Liberty’s parents did not have much contact during their divorce or afterwards. Deirdre continued living at The Nuttery together with her daughter. She gave up her baking business, allowing it to wind down by refusing new orders, instead building up a well-received cookery school which kept her busy while Liberty was away at boarding school, and she could choose not to take classes personally during the school holidays. It also gave the village of Littlehurst new life.

  Meanwhile, Alain became renowned as something of a Lothario. This proved to be very good for business; the out-of-town lunch market had always been difficult to fill. No such problem existed now. Tables were booked by a stream of elegant ladies who lunched, waiting in line to take the post of the next Mrs James. Many of these had an opportunity to become familiar with his more primitive side, but none got further than a few months of his attention before his kitchen and cooking lured him back into focusing on food.

  2

  Liberty blossomed into an elegant, tall, green-eyed beauty. She ha
d a symmetrical strong nose and cheek bones and a jaw worthy of Audrey Hepburn. She was one of those girls who even other girls couldn’t stop looking at, just for pleasure. Everything simply seemed to be in the right place. Taken on their own you might have thought her nose too large, her mouth too pouty and her eyebrows too strong, but put together she somehow looked wonderful. It was as though God the designer had downed His tools and claimed this face as His best creation that couldn’t be improved, putting Him out of work.

  Her long legs were usually encased in a skirt as beastly trousers were mostly too short. Being too tall and too slim was not something she felt able to complain about, given that some of her friends struggled to find anything large enough to fit them. Her elegant figure was maintained through a lack of interest in eating or drinking wine for enjoyment. Some of Deirdre’s friends were sure Liberty was destined for the catwalk, but her intelligent and slightly aloof nature kept her studying, and she emerged from school with great exam results, heaps of friends and a wonderfully strong relationship with both her parents. Sadly, there was no hope of a friendship with her stepsister, a spoilt child who had moved to the United States with her mother one year after she was born, when the relationship between Genevieve and Alain fell apart.

  Amazingly, Liberty had not a stick of arrogance about her. Neither of her parents had allowed her to rest on her natural assets, and insisted and instilled in her that unless she used her brain, her looks would fade and she would become ugly, as no beauty is complete without knowledge. Experiencing a divorce when you are a young child is pretty grounding, too, so Liberty had never taken adoration for granted. It also made her vulnerable to anyone who showed her affection.

  Despite losing her sense of taste and smell at such a young age, Liberty was fascinated by her parents’ work. In her school holidays she earned pocket money by washing dishes or waitressing. Alain knew he was extremely lucky to have kept a good relationship with his daughter. He put that down to her ability to love and to forgive unconditionally, something that terrified him when she started having boyfriends.