Turning Up the Heat

by Ashley Lister

  ‘Have you ever heard of Master Baker?’

  She sighed. Was Harvey phoning up to discuss cookery shows with her? Why on earth did she need to be sitting down for this?

  ‘I watch Master Baker all the time,’ she told him. She tried hard to sound enthusiastic but she could tell that she sounded flat and false. ‘It’s one of my favourite shows. I thought I mentioned this the other week at Bill’s photo shoot?’

  ‘Have you heard that Kelly White has been pulled from the judging panel?’

  Despite herself, Trudy was intrigued. She liked Kelly White. The woman was acerbic and mean to contestants in a way that was somewhere between witty and cruel. ‘Kelly’s been pulled from the show? Why? What’s happened to her?’

  ‘Drugs, I think,’ Harvey confided. ‘She got caught flying into the country with a kilo of white powder stuffed in her vanity case.’ He paused and added, ‘That’s not a euphemism. I genuinely mean her vanity case.’

  ‘Wow!’ Trudy murmured.

  ‘This means that Master Baker are looking for a replacement judge.’

  He let the words hang between them.

  Trudy waited, in case he had anything else to say about Kelly White. She supposed it wasn’t difficult to imagine her taking drugs. Kelly’s onscreen persona could be manic and frantic sometimes, as though she’d just been fuelled by something chemical and potent. Her eyes often had that glazed look that Trudy associated with substance abuse and there had been times when her comments simply seemed unrelated to anything that had been said.

  And none of Kelly White’s problems seemed in the least bit important compared to the fact that Bill had bought her flowers and said, ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘A replacement judge on Master Baker?’ she echoed hollowly. ‘That sounds cool. Who are they thinking of having?’

  ‘They want you.’

  She paused and waited for the punchline. Or an explanation. Or some other response that would allow her to make sense of his words. There was only silence from Harvey’s end of the phone.

  ‘Did you hear what I said, Trudy? Master Baker want you as their new judge.’

  ‘Master Baker want me as a judge?’

  From the corner of her eye she saw Bill turn to glance at her. He had an arched eyebrow and was clearly curious to know what was going on. She ignored him.

  Harvey was speaking quickly and barking a babble of information at her.

  ‘I’ll be honest, Trudy. I offered them Bill first. I thought he’d be ideal for the role. He’s mature and experienced and he has that bullying thing going on. But the producers said they wanted a female chef. The other two judges are male and, because they have a lot of female contestants, they didn’t want the show to look like it was sexist or male-dominated.’

  Trudy mumbled agreement. She wondered if she was caught in some surreal nightmare. Bill needed to talk with her. There was clearly a fault in their relationship so severe that it merited a bouquet of roses. Now Harvey was trying to tell her that she was being asked to be a judge on Master Baker to replace the legendary Kelly White and he was spouting some gibberish about the programme being perceived as sexist.

  ‘One of the show’s producers heard you on the radio the other day,’ Harvey explained. ‘When you were promoting healthy student eating. The producer said she’d passed on your advice to her student son. She seemed to think you were spitting out pearls of wisdom and –’

  ‘You want me to be a judge on Master Baker?’

  Bill raised both eyebrows. He had looked solemn and defeated before. Now his smile blossomed as though he was personally being offered the position. Trudy thought sadly that it was nice that he could be happy for her.

  ‘He’s happy for me.’ It sounded like the sort of sentiment someone expressed when they were breaking up. The lump caught in her throat again. She choked back the threat of tears. ‘This is very unexpected,’ she told Harvey. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Say yes.’

  ‘OK. Yes.’

  ‘I figured you’d be up for it,’ Harvey admitted. ‘But there’s one small problem.’

  She waited in silence for him to continue.

  It seemed like there were a lot of small problems in the world today. She wondered if this was another of those problems that could only be resolved with a bouquet of flowers and a ‘We need to talk’ discussion after work.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

  ‘Filming is tonight.’

  ‘Tonight? But I thought Master Baker went out on a weekend?’

  ‘The show’s prerecorded. I have a car heading down to Boui-Boui to collect you now. It should be outside your door in five minutes. Everyone is expecting you in the studio. Hair, make-up and wardrobe will be on you as soon as you land. The producers will be talking to you on your drive down to the studio. All that we need is for you to say you can do it.’

  ‘Tonight,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not sure I can make myself available tonight …’

  Bill placed his hand on her arm. His expression, so familiar and so much associated with all that she had come to love, was careworn with concern.

  ‘Ms McLaughlin,’ he whispered. ‘Whatever it is Harvey wants from you, tell him you’ll do it.’

  It was only because Bill had called her Ms McLaughlin that Trudy agreed.

  Chapter 23

  Trudy staggered out of the studio. She felt drained and bone-weary. The muscles in her mouth and eyes ached from the constant smiling. She could feel a large headache looming at the base of her skull but she still thought it had been a wonderful night. Apart from those she had spent with Bill, she couldn’t recall a better night ever. After the brightness of the studio the world looked darker than she had expected. It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the change in light. According to her watch it was nearly midnight. Harvey had said there would be a car waiting to take her home but the identity of the driver shocked her.

  A shiny Audi sat waiting for her. It was parked beneath a streetlight, gleaming in glossy black and shiny chrome. The passenger window was open and the driver waved excitedly for Trudy’s attention.

  ‘Hi, hon.’

  ‘Charlotte?’

  It made no sense that Charlotte was behind the wheel of the car. The driver who collected her from Boui-Boui and took her to the city had been a stranger – a chauffeur who worked for the agency that provided the limo he was driving. Affable, mature and extremely capable, he had maintained a light banter on the way to the studio that helped keep Trudy’s nervousness at bay. She had hoped it would be the same man on the return journey because he had seemed curious about what she was doing at Master Baker and she wanted to tell him all about the experience of working on the TV show.

  But this wasn’t the same driver. Or even the same car. It was Charlotte in her Audi.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Trudy asked.

  Charlotte waved the question aside. ‘I heard you might need a lift. How did it go?’

  Trudy climbed into the passenger seat. Before she said a word, she slipped off the heels she’d been wearing for the night. She pushed herself back into the comfort of the car seat and rested her bare feet on the dashboard. She could feel waves of exhausted relief slipping over her and wondered if it would be possible to simply sleep in the passenger seat while Charlotte drove her home.

  ‘Well?’ Charlotte insisted. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘How did it go?’ Trudy repeated. ‘I’m a judge on Master Baker. How do you think it went?’

  ‘It sounds like a dream come true to me,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘That’s why I have to know every detail.’

  Trudy laughed. With Charlotte behind the wheel she knew the chances of sleeping through the journey home were slim. She rubbed some of the tension from her shoulders and began to talk. It was a two-hour journey back to Bill’s cottage and she spent the first hour and a half babbling about everything that had happened.

  Her hair and makeup had been done by a team of pro
fessionals. The stylist had softened the blunt edges of her bob and added subtle pale highlights. It was a look that Trudy adored.

  Charlotte kept glancing over and grinning at her hair. If she hadn’t been driving, she would have been touching the softened edges of the bob and marvelling at the results.

  Trudy explained that she’d been dressed by a team from wardrobe who put her in whites and silvers to match the newly applied highlights in her hair. She had been so pleased with the results that she had taken photos on her phone. If Charlotte had not been driving Trudy would have shown her the one of her on the Master Baker podium being hugged between Carlos Fielding and Tom Yates.

  The other two judges were far more pleasant in person than they appeared on TV. Carlos was witty and charming. Tom genuinely seemed to care about the feelings of the contestants. Neither of them said much about Kelly White but Trudy got the distinct impression that they weren’t too pleased to hear she was embroiled in a drugs scandal.

  Charlotte had been considerate enough to bring Trudy a thermos flask of sweetened Earl Grey tea. Trudy drank in greedy slurps as she started talking about the different contestants on that evening’s show. They had been a mismatched group with mixed abilities. Some of them were incredibly competent in the kitchen. A couple of them would have struggled to boil an egg. Laughing, she explained how one contestant had set fire to his oven mitts and then acted surprised when he didn’t make it through to the second round. With a satisfied smile in her voice she told Charlotte she’d made the deciding judgement that had sent two very worthy contestants to the finals.

  By the time she’d finished talking, her throat felt hoarse and she realised she’d drunk all the tea from Charlotte’s thermos. Her friend was grinning as though Trudy’s babble had given her a clear insight into all that had gone on. Trudy suspected that she had simply talked nonsense for ninety minutes.

  ‘This will be all over the media in the morning,’ Charlotte said.

  ‘It’s all over the media now,’ Trudy confided. ‘Carlos and Tom were tweeting throughout the show. They tell me I’ve been trending.’

  Charlotte laughed. ‘This is why I didn’t want to let Daryl leave Sweet Temptation. If you keep pulling publicity like this we need someone with her insight and acumen running our admin department. Also, if you do keep pulling in publicity like this we’re going to have to move premises before the end of the month.’

  Trudy nodded.

  Charlotte explained that she’d been looking into a couple of nearby properties for their potential expansion. At the moment she was most interested in the premises that Trudy had noticed during her recent town-centre excursion. That was a property that would give them extra baking capacity and a high-street outlet. It would mean taking on extra staff but that was a small consideration and Charlotte felt sure they could deal with that.

  Only half listening, Trudy gazed out of the car’s window at the midnight sky. It was a cloudless evening, oily black and decorated with a million or more pinprick stars. After the adrenalin thrill of being a part of the glamour and excitement of Master Baker, Trudy was surprised that something as simple as a starry night sky could fill her with the same sense of euphoria.

  She waited until Charlotte paused and then turned towards her. Placing a hand on her friend’s arm, Trudy asked, ‘Should I be stepping away from Sweet Temptation?’

  Charlotte frowned. ‘Stepping away? What the hell for?’

  ‘I work less than part time but I demand my full share of the profits. You and Daryl are doing all the work. I’m doing next to nothing.’

  Charlotte shook her head. She was accelerating through the night, edging the car a little above the speed limit, shifting direction occasionally when she was prompted by instructions from her satnav.

  ‘You’re giving us so much publicity at the moment,’ Charlotte reminded her. ‘This is why our sales are through the roof.’

  ‘I thought Donny’s campaign of abuse was currently responsible for our sales?’

  ‘Donny’s helping,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘But he’s not the only reason we’re doing well. You’ve written the successful recipes that we’re currently using. Those are the recipes that are getting discussed in the national newspapers.’

  Trudy stared at her in surprise. This was news that she hadn’t encountered. ‘Our recipes are being discussed in the newspapers?’

  ‘Didn’t Daryl tell you?’

  ‘No.’

  Charlotte chuckled. ‘There’s a broad range of opinion at the moment. The Guardian suggested our recipes show a return to the family values of organically produced flavours. There was quite a lengthy debate about it online. The Daily Mail say we’re advocates of childhood obesity and we’re responsible for increased cholesterol levels.’

  ‘I had no idea,’ Trudy marvelled. She wanted to ask who else knew about these stories and why she hadn’t been informed but Charlotte was speaking over her.

  ‘Sales are doing better than our most optimistic projections,’ Charlotte said. She kept her gaze fixed on the dark road ahead of them as she spoke. Her features were illuminated by the Audi’s blue and red dashboard lights. Her eyes, shining white, looked almost manic. ‘Sales are doing so well that, by the end of our first year of trading, I’ll be able to repay my parents for the start-up loan. I know you don’t know much about the financial side of the business,’ she added, ‘but I’m sure even you can appreciate that’s a phenomenal achievement.’

  Trudy nodded. ‘We’ve done well,’ she admitted.

  ‘We’ve done brilliantly,’ Charlotte corrected. ‘And we wouldn’t have done half as well if you’d simply stayed at HQ and worked on new recipes and helped with packaging. We’ve done well because your success has made people show interest in who we are and what we’re doing.’ She looked set to lapse into silence but quickly added, ‘So, in answer to your stupid question: no, you can’t step away from Sweet Temptation. We need you to keep building our reputation.’

  Trudy smiled.

  She wondered if now would be the right time to ask the question that had been weighing on her since she climbed into the Audi. She didn’t want to spoil the good mood of being on TV, or the pleasure of hearing Charlotte confirm that their business was doing well, but she knew she would have to ask it at some point. Taking a deep breath, and staring uncomfortably through the windscreen at the night speeding towards them, she said, ‘May I ask something about your new boyfriend?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘It’s not Donny, is it?’

  Charlotte said nothing. Her lips narrowed to a small, pursed full stop.

  Trudy wanted to break the icy silence, not sure what she could say but knowing that something needed to be said. She couldn’t find the words. If Charlotte wasn’t able to deny that her boyfriend was Donny, did that mean she was seeing him again? Or was the question so outrageous and offensive that Charlotte didn’t feel it merited a response?

  ‘Charlotte,’ she began.

  Charlotte glared at the road ahead. Trudy struggled to find words that would bridge the divide that now stretched between them. ‘I wasn’t … I mean I didn’t … That is –’

  Her phone rang. She had never before felt such gratitude at having a conversation interrupted by her phone. Trying not to sigh with relief, she pulled the mobile from her pocket and said hello.

  ‘Trudy? It’s Kevin.’

  She recognised Kevin’s voice from the radio station. He apologised for calling at such a late hour. ‘You know I wouldn’t be phoning if it wasn’t important.’

  She could hear concern in his voice and steeled herself in readiness for another problem. As if there weren’t enough in her life already, what with the way she had just upset Charlotte, the way Donny continued trying to mess up her life, and the way Bill was buying her flowers and saying, ‘We need to talk.’ She closed her eyes and rubbed at the niggle of a headache at the base of her skull.

  ‘What’s wrong, Kevin?’

  He sighed
. ‘Someone’s released a picture of you sitting in a fast-food bar,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know if they’re trying to embarrass you or if this is some sort of blackmail exposure, or if it’s just someone being mean.’

  It’s all three of those, she thought tiredly. It’s Donny.

  This was why he had wanted to meet her at a fast-food diner. This was why he had chosen a window seat for their meeting. The picture would have been taken by Gemma Hadfield, she guessed. Donny clearly wanted to get a picture of her sitting in a burger bar so he could use the image against her.

  She supposed she should have realised that was his plan.

  She closed her eyes and savoured the idea of placing her hands around his throat and choking him. It was a satisfying image. She could picture his eyes bulging and his cries for help spluttering to a weak drawl.

  From far away she realised Kevin was still speaking.

  ‘I wanted to let you know about this before it goes public.’

  Her eyes were wide open. The image of Donny being throttled was suddenly pushed from her thoughts. Public?

  ‘You’re making the picture public?’

  ‘This isn’t something I’m doing personally,’ Kevin assured her. ‘This image was sent to all the major press agencies. You’re a columnist for a national broadsheet. You’re a radio-show authority on cookery. From what I’ve been reading on Twitter I hear you’re now a judge on Master Baker.’ His laughter was apologetic as he said, ‘This will be front-page material by tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that it was about to happen. I figured, since we share a studio, I could maybe give you a chance to personally respond.’

  She rubbed splayed fingers through her hair and tried to work out what she should say for the best. The truth was, she didn’t even know why the media would be interested in such a ridiculous story. She drew a deep breath and composed her thoughts.

  ‘Are you recording this conversation, Kevin?’

  ‘I can if you want.’