The Way to a Woman's Heart

by Christina Jones

  ‘Nah? Ah, well, we can’t all be the same, can we? This cooking on the telly is definitely your thing, and I’d run a million miles from that. Can’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘It’s the main topic of conversation here, too – or at least, it has been.’ Ella stopped. Funny, tonight, Poll hadn’t mentioned one word about Dewberrys’ Dinners. Even Billy’s attempts to discuss the fairy magic had failed to raise any response.

  ‘Blimey, if I hear much more about the precise chopping, cooking, dishing up times of your menu, with or without the addition of fairies and always qualified with the “if we’re chosen, of course”, I think I’ll scream.’ Onyx laughed. ‘And I still can’t get over how we all applied. I do hope you hear something soon. Anyway –’ she slid from the table ‘– I think I’ll go upstairs and give Roy a little cuddle while I’m waiting for Ash. Oh, and if you change your mind about coming along to this charity do just give me a shout, OK?’

  Ella watched Onyx undulate out of the kitchen. Yeah, right! Liberated and fair-minded she’d always been, and if that was what Onyx wanted to do and it didn’t make her feel exploited, then OK, but there were limits. If Onyx was happy baring all to strangers that was fine, but her? Never in a million years! And as for going to watch… blimey, that was just plain weird.

  ‘Hi.’ Ash appeared in the doorway. ‘Where’s everyone disappeared to?’

  Ella’s heart gave a little leap of pleasure, then she thought about Mark and quickly concentrated on the washing basket. ‘Poll’s putting George to bed, Billy’s having a fag in the garden and Trixie’s watching soaps or reading or communing with the fairies or something.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Ash laughed. ‘And Onyx? Her car’s outside.’

  ‘She’s gone up to see Roy,’ Ella continued folding the laundry. ‘Do you want supper? We just had salad.’

  ‘Sensible in this heat.’ Ash tugged off the silly hat and undid the ice-cream vendor’s jacket to display a pale-blue T-shirt, then collapsed on to one of the kitchen chairs and poured himself a glass of water from the jug. ‘And no thanks. I ate at Maxi’s after work. One of the perks. Er, so I’m assuming that as there were no frantic phone calls we still haven’t heard anything?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘No. Poll must have got the post this morning, so my guess is that we haven’t been chosen or the whole country would know by now.’

  ‘Mmm, I reckon so too – which is a shame.’

  He looked so bereft that Ella longed to comfort him. Concentrating fiercely on one of George’s beloved Thomas the Tank Engine tops, she managed to fight the urge.

  Ash sighed. ‘Still, it was only a one in a million chance anyway, wasn’t it? I suppose my restaurant will have to rely on a lottery win now.’

  ‘But you won’t give up? At least looking for a decent chef’s post to start with, will you?’

  ‘No, I’m still looking. But without references it’s practically impossible, and with Roy it has to be reasonably local so that I can carry on living here. And at the moment it seems like looking for the holy grail.’ Ash shrugged. ‘You know, I’d really hoped they might choose us.’

  Ella nodded. ‘Me too. It’s really disappointing. Still, don’t give up hope yet. No news is good news, as my gran always says.’

  ‘Maybe, but I honestly think if it was good news then we would have heard by now. Ella, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Yep – well, unless it’s about fairies – we’ve done that one to death. Or geography. That was my worst subject at school. Although I do remember everything about oxbow lakes.’

  Ash laughed. ‘So do I. And no, it wasn’t about geography. I was wondering if you’d like to come out for a drink sometime.’

  Ella’s heart did the treacherous climbing under her ribs thing again. She stared at him. ‘Why?’

  Ash poured another glass of water. ‘Because I’d like you to. Sorry – if you don’t want to that’s fine. I just thought…’

  Ella tried not to beam and turn cartwheels.

  She arranged her face into what hopefully passed for a casually interested expression and tried not to think of Onyx or Mark. ‘No, no – I’d love to. Thanks.’

  ‘Great. I’d like to show you the hot spots of Winterbrook. You haven’t lived until you’ve been to a karaoke night in the Masonic Hall or bingo in the Bricklayers Arms.’

  Possibly not the venues he shared with Onyx, then.

  ‘You certainly know how to make a girl an offer she can’t refuse.’

  ‘I’ve been told I do have my moments of old fashioned chivalry.’ Ash shrugged cheerfully. ‘Mainly by my great-aunts, it must be said. But, honestly, you’ve been here for a month and hardly been out at all. Certainly not in the evenings. You’ve got no social life and –’

  ‘No, well, not a social life like I knew it before, with lots of friends and regular clubs and bars and things, because there aren’t any on the doorstep like there were in London and I left my friends behind, but then this was supposed to be a complete change. And it is. And so far I honestly haven’t missed the nightlife because I’m so busy during the day, and so – well – relaxed in the evenings.’

  ‘And now you sound like you’re Poll’s age. Surely you miss the evenings out – your life must have been pretty hectic in London. You must miss London.’

  ‘Honestly? No, not really. And it’s a common misconception that London is one big whirl of fun. We’re not all A-listers posing at premieres and piling in and out of private members’ clubs at daybreak sozzled on the best champagne and being chased by the paparazzi.’

  ‘Now you’ve shattered my illusions. As a poor country boy I imagined the big city to be non-stop sin and debauchery.’

  ‘Sadly not. Living in London is much like living anywhere else. You go to work and you go home and you do housework stuff and watch the telly, and sometimes you meet up with your friends and go out to clubs and bars and stuff like that, because there are plenty of them to choose from and they’re all reasonably close, but…’

  ‘Yes, but it’s the going out with friends of your own age bit that you’re not doing at all now. And I’d like to change that.’

  Oooh!

  ‘As friends?’

  ‘Well, yes, as friends. No strings. I do know you’ve already got a boyfriend – and you must be missing him, too.’

  And you’ve got Onyx, she thought. Much as she would love to go out with Ash – just as friends – there was no way she was going to hurt Onyx. But maybe he and Onyx had had a row or something? Like Poll and Billy? Maybe that was why Onyx was here? To tell him it was all over?

  ‘Yes, I miss Mark, but I do still have my friends,’ Ella said, shoving the laundry basket into the utility room. ‘OK, they’re just not on the doorstep any more, but they’re still there. And Poll threatened me with an introduction or two to suitable girls of my own age when I first arrived. Fortunately, it hasn’t happened. Honestly, I keep in touch with my mates all the time, but because my life here is so, well, different, I really don’t miss them that much. Everyone here has become a friend. And, oddly enough, Onyx asked me out tonight as well.’

  There. She’d said it. The Onyx word. Without mentioning two-timing or cheating or anything like that at all. Now it was up to him to explain that he and Onyx were no longer an item and she’d have one less complication to worry about.

  Ash grinned. ‘Damn. She beat me to it. We’d been talking about you and we agreed that you needed to get out a bit because you were in danger of turning into Hideaway’s answer to Cinderella and –’

  Jesus! Ella blinked. Onyx knew about it! Did that mean they had one of those weird open relationships? They went out with other people and compared notes later?

  ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not into that sort of thing.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Sharing. Ménage à trois. Call it what you like – I’m not into it.’

  Ash laughed. ‘No, clearly not. Me neither. Strictly a one-woman man, that’s
me. And I think you’ve misunderstood. Onyx and I just thought you needed to get out a bit, which is why we both agreed to suggest –’

  Ella glared at him. ‘You and Onyx thought this up? This isn’t you asking me out then? This is you and Onyx treating me like some sad charity case? Thanks a bunch.’

  ‘No. No, it isn’t like that at all.’

  But it is, Ella thought sadly. Just for a moment she’d let her silly dreams whisk her off into a pink and fluffy romantic world where Onyx and Mark no longer figured and she and Ash would fall madly in love and live happily ever after – with Roy, of course – in some rustic idyll.

  ‘So –’ Ash stood up ‘– I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I?’

  ‘Yes, please. Oh, and you can tell Onyx that I’m not interested in watching her twirl her tassels and gyrate her thong or whatever it is she wanted me to do, either.’

  ‘Sorry, now I’m totally lost.’ Ash frowned. ‘But OK, whatever you say – it’s far too hot to argue – but if you change your mind…’

  ‘I won’t.’ Ella watched irritably as Ash slammed the door shut behind him. Men! Huh!

  The door flew open again.

  Ash waved a pile of letters at her. ‘I thought you said Poll had checked the post?’

  ‘I just assumed she had. She usually does. I haven’t looked today. Why? Is there something for me?’

  Ash waved a chunky pale-green envelope. ‘Another letter from your gran.’

  Despite her earlier irritation, Ella smiled. She loved getting her gran’s letters. The rest of her family rang or texted, but her gran, who would never be a silver surfer, wrote weekly lovely long chatty letters on thick notepaper. And Ella dutifully wrote back. ‘Ah, great. And? Is there anything else?’

  ‘Only a great big Jiffy bag from Dewberrys’ Dinners.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Exactly. And it’s been signed for so Poll knows it’s here.

  What the hell is she playing at?’

  Ella’s hands were shaking. ‘God knows. Open it – go on…’

  ‘I can’t. It’s addressed to Poll.’

  Ella groaned. ‘Go and find her then!’

  ‘Go and find who?’ Poll, still looking woebegone, asked listlessly as she appeared in the doorway and looked over Ash’s shoulder. ‘Onyx is upstairs with Roy and Trixie is –’

  ‘You!’ Ella almost shouted, jabbing a finger at the Jiffy bag. ‘We want to know why you didn’t tell us about that, er, this!’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Poll stared at the package in Ash’s hand. ‘I was waiting for the right moment. When we were all together. So I could break the news to everyone at the same time. It’s a no, I’m afraid. Everyone got one today.’

  Ella felt suddenly sick. They hadn’t made it. It was like a punch in the stomach. She really hadn’t expected to feel like this.

  ‘But you haven’t even opened it,’ Ash said, frowning. ‘So, how do you know?’

  ‘The postman told me about all the others, they were all the same, so there was no point in opening it. I expect there’s a Gabby and Tom cook book in there.’ Poll swallowed. ‘It upset me a lot, and I didn’t want to cry in front of George, so I thought I’d leave it until he was in bed.’

  So that’s why Poll had been so miserable this evening, Ella thought. And with good reason. Damn…

  ‘Open it anyway.’ Ash pushed it towards Poll. ‘They might tell us who has been chosen.’

  Ella snorted. ‘How masochistic is that? I don’t want to know, and I certainly don’t want a stupid Gabby and Tom cook book.’

  Poll fumbled with the envelope, eventually giving up on the ‘tear along the dotted line’ instruction and ripping it open.

  A Gabby and Tom cook book tumbled to the floor.

  ‘Told you,’ Poll said miserably, staring down at it. ‘And loads of bumph, no doubt telling us how great the show is.’ She scanned the first of the many typewritten pages. ‘Yes… yes… as I thought – and a lot of stuff about congratulations and how they’ll be in touch next week, how we should be prepared for the twenty-fourth and…’

  Ella and Ash stared at one another, then back at Poll.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  Poll, who was now very pale, swallowed. Her voice shook. ‘Um, I think I might have got it wrong – again. Er, it isn’t a no…’ She let the pages flutter to the floor and burst into tears. ‘It isn’t a no…’

  Oh my God.

  Ash gave a huge whoop of joy and swept Ella off her feet and swung her round and round.

  Dizzily, she clung to him, laughing.

  ‘What the heck’s going on in here?’ Billy stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘Poll? Why are you crying, and what the heck are those two doing?’

  ‘Er…’ Poll sniffed. ‘I’m crying because I’m happy – and they –’ she looked at Ella and Ash, still clutched together and jigging up and down ‘– are, um, celebrating. And we –’ she beamed at Billy ‘– are all going to be on the telly!’

  Chapter Twenty-six

  As the June days grew ever hotter, life at Hideaway Farm became even more manic.

  Within hours of the Jiffy bag being opened, everyone in every village for miles around knew they’d been picked for Dewberrys’ Dinners. The phone never stopped ringing. Tarnia Snepps was apparently incandescent with rage and eye-bulging jealousy and demanding a recount.

  None of them could set foot in Hazy Hassocks or Fiddlesticks or Bagley-cum-Russet or Lovers Knot without being pounced on and warmly congratulated or deeply commiserated with, depending on the viewpoint.

  Patsy’s Pantry had become a temporary no-go area because, owing to the verbal ferocity of the rival factions, there was a real fear that the heightened emotions, coupled with the soaring temperatures, might lead to one or more of the elderly regulars having a seizure.

  And at home, the farmhouse kitchen was in constant use. Sweating, they rehearsed and rehearsed, and prepared over and over again, pared down timings, and planned where they would stand and work and move and still not get in each other’s way, with military precision.

  Tension was high, excitement was tangible, nerves were at breaking point. When they laughed it was verging on hysteria, and the frequent tears were blamed on the heatwave – never, never on Dewberrys’ Dinners.

  And there were umpteen calls, texts and emails from the programme makers. They could have recited the rules and regulations in their sleep. Poll’s solicitor had guided them through filling in the myriad forms covering risk assessment and public liability and health insurance and various other disclaimers. And somewhere in there, Ella had also quietly signed her long-overdue contract, making her an official member of staff at Hideaway.

  She and Poll had hugged each other and held a muted celebration – and promised themselves that when it was all over, they’d do it again, in style.

  The internet communications – insisted upon in the copious instructions from Dewberrys’ Dinners – had been a temporary stumbling block as Poll didn’t own a computer and Ella had left hers in London.

  ‘Use my laptop,’ Ash had said, grinning at Ella. ‘I’ll delete anything incriminating.’

  Poll, totally innocent of all things web-based, had been amazed that Ash’s computer would allow Ella to use her log-in and email address.

  ‘How clever!’ Poll had exclaimed when she’d read the first email message from Dewberrys’ Dinners. ‘How on earth does that work? Can one of you explain?’

  Ash and Ella had exchanged glances and neither had been brave enough to try.

  ‘It’s just like magic,’ Trixie had said. ‘Exactly like my fairy friends.’

  Everyone else had managed to say nothing at all, but Poll had enthusiastically – and rather worryingly – agreed.

  ‘I still can’t believe that Gabby and Tom haven’t been in touch, though,’ Poll said now, in a break from their afternoon’s rehearsals, when they were all sitting in the garden eating yet another version of their first planned menu. ‘And I’m getting heartily si
ck of this food.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ella agreed. ‘Although it does still all taste amazing. It improves each time we cook it. And my guess is that Gabby and Tom are way too important to do very much more than turn up on the day. That’s why they have minions.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Poll agreed. ‘But I would love to talk to Gabby before she gets here next Wednesday. Woman to woman.’

  Doubting that the imperious Gabby had ever talked, woman to woman or any other way, to any of her victims – er, contestants – Ella just smiled non-committally and tried to quell the mounting butterflies.

  Next Wednesday… Dear God… Today was Friday – only four more days to go…

  Was she the only one rapidly becoming paralysed with terror? She looked round the shimmering, baking garden. It seemed she was.

  Poll looked serene; George, slathered in suncream and practically invisible under a huge baseball cap, quarried happily beneath the table in the increasingly rock-hard ground with his convoy of lorries; Billy and Ash were in deep discussions about improving their joint starter; and Trixie, under the shade of the willow trees with several prone dogs and cats, studied another of her collection of books and scribbled never-ending notes.

  No one dared to ask her about them. Ella was pretty sure they involved fairy spells and witchcraft.

  Trixie, presumably because she knew she wouldn’t be on screen, had been the least frazzled of the Hideaway residents by the news. Ella secretly hoped it wasn’t because she was planning her very own contribution by asking the fairies to conjure up Midsummer spells.

  Onyx, wearing the smallest bikini Ella had ever seen, lay luxuriating in the full glare of the sun. ‘Don’t laugh.’ She raised her huge Ray-Bans. ‘I know you think I’m tanned enough already, but, believe me, I change colour in the sun like everyone else. Pass me the oil, Ella, there’s a love.’

  Life, previously odd at Hideaway, had turned upside down.

  And through it all, Ella remembered how it had felt to be held in Ash’s arms.

  Stupid, she told herself now as she pondered on whether adding additional spices to her Athole pudding would be a mistake. He asked you out and you said no. There won’t be a second offer. And he’s made it very clear how he feels about you. He and Onyx are one of those together-forever couples and you’ll never be more than a friend. A friend, more to the point, that he feels sorry for because you’re separated from your boyfriend and leading such a sad existence…