The Way to a Woman's Heart Page 10

  George, kneeling on a chair beside her, stopped chattering about the earlier delights of Fiddlesticks, drew in a huge breath, and pointed excitedly at the heap of shiny, acid-green apples.

  ‘No, not yet,’ Ella laughed. ‘And don’t try eating them, sweetheart, they’re very sour – they’ll make your eyes water and your mouth go all screwy up – like this.’ She pursed her lips exaggeratedly and crossed her eyes, making George scream with laughter.

  ‘You OK?’ Ash, dressed in his chef’s whites, appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘What?’ Ella quickly unpursed and uncrossed and felt very hot and excruciatingly juvenile. ‘Yes, yes, we’re fine, thanks. Oh, you look the business. Are you going to start on your soup? Do you need some space?’

  ‘Please. Just enough room for a bit of chopping and mixing. So, what do you need next?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh, right – yes…’ Ella moved her paraphernalia to one end of the table and nodded at George. ‘We need the stale bread next, don’t we? The loaf that Mummy says is as hard as nails. So if you could get that for me, sweetheart – lovely, thanks, and you mix the spices and sugar in this little bowl while I grate it – no, I’ll do it. The grater eats little boys. And we don’t want this pudding to have bits of George-finger in it, do we?’

  George waggled his fingers and chuckled again.

  Ash paused in assembling his ingredients and grinned along the table. ‘What’s it going to be, then? You’ve been secretive about it all day. Let me guess… Lovely smells. Apples and cinnamon? So… apple pie?’

  Ella swiftly grated the stale loaf into a pile of breadcrumbs, watching carefully from the corner of one eye as George laboriously mixed ginger and cinnamon with a generous measure of demerara sugar. ‘No, nothing so ordinary. It’s a Brown Betty.’

  Ella turned to look at Ash with what she hoped was a suitably superior expression. It was difficult. He looked extremely sexy. He’d looked extremely sexy earlier too, when he’d rolled up his jeans and, clearly blissfully happy, had waded through the stream at Fiddlesticks with George, catching minnows and sticklebacks, then released them, glinting like quicksilver rainbows as they darted away. Her heart, as then, was doing silly little bumpetty-bumps under her ribs.

  But only because, she reminded herself firmly, he’s here and Mark isn’t and you’re missing him. It has nothing – absolutely nothing – to do with the fact that Ash is gorgeous and lovely and friendly and funny and clearly adores kids. Nothing at all…

  ‘Ah, right.’ Ash nodded. ‘Brown Betty. Lovely. A proper retro pudding.’

  Ella quickly reached for the apple corer and briskly set to work peeling and removing the innards of the pile of Bramleys with possibly a touch too much unnecessary concentration. ‘Well, let’s just hope it works. Poll wants this first family meal to be a success. Assuming Trixie ever gets here, of course.’

  Ash grinned as he started on the first butternut squash. ‘After all our expectations, as long as she arrives in a cloud of sparkly dust with her wand on fire I’ll be more than happy. Mind you, I reckon we’ve got it wrong, and we’ll be disappointed. Billy hasn’t lived up to his kleptomaniac press, the little bit I’ve seen of him. He seems like a really nice bloke.’

  ‘For a wife-murdering kleptomaniac?’

  ‘Well, yes, naturally.’

  They smiled at one another.

  ‘And,’ Ash said as he started to chop garlic and onions, followed by bunches of coriander and dill, at the speed of light, ‘Poll says he’s going to start all sorts of renovations and DIY on the tumbledown barns and generally make himself indispensable about the place.’ He measured red lentils into the old-fashioned weighing scales. ‘Makes me feel guilty – he’s in his fifties and I’m only a youngster in comparison – I should be doing that sort of thing for Poll.’

  Ella cored another apple, keeping an eye on George’s spice-mixing at the same time. ‘But you can’t be here all day – you have to be out job-hunting and eventually working – Billy doesn’t. He’s got his private pension to live on. He told me. Mind you, he managed to find time to knock up some herby rolls for tonight’s dinner even though it’s supposed to be in his honour.’

  ‘Impressive.’ Ash reached for the pepper grinder. ‘I’m already feeling inadequate. Out of work and generally pretty useless.’

  ‘You’ll find a job soon,’ Ella said quickly, before she could say anything too embarrassing about Ash being the least inadequate man she’d ever met. ‘How’s it looking on the job front, anyway?’

  ‘Well, let’s say I’m not expecting a call from Gordon or Jamie anytime soon,’ Ash sighed, easing past her to measure water into a massive saucepan, sprinkling in seasoning, and setting it on the hob. ‘My last boss is unlikely to come up with a reference, and there are lots of out-of-work chefs at the moment. Hopefully today’s interview might be just what I’m looking for.’

  ‘An interview? Today?’ Ella blinked. ‘You didn’t say anything about that when we were in Fiddlesticks.’

  Ash shook his head, peering into the saucepan, clearly willing it to boil. ‘I didn’t know then. I only got the phone call about an hour ago. I’d left a message with them on the off-chance, and they want to see me at five. Anyway, we spent all our time in Fiddlesticks discussing Dewberrys’ Dinners and catching fishes, didn’t we?’

  They had – and it had been lovely.

  ‘Congratulations. Is it local?’ Ella started to grate the apples. ‘A restaurant in one of the villages?’

  ‘I exhausted all those weeks ago. No, this one’s called Maxi’s and it’s recently opened in the middle of Winterbrook. Not sure what it entails, but I’ll take anything – I’m long past being picky. And at least this time I have an address, which might just help. It’s been impossible to try to get a job while having no current references and being of no fixed abode. And shouldn’t you be chopping the apples?’

  ‘I prefer to grate. It’s quicker and they cook better.’

  There was no way on earth she was going to admit that yes, of course she usually fine-chopped the apples for Brown Betty, but didn’t want him watching with his professional eye and then laughing if they skittered all over the table or she sliced her fingers and cried.

  ‘And why all the old-fashioned equipment? You could do it much quicker using a food processor.’

  ‘I know –’ she looked loftily at him ‘– but have you actually seen a food processor or anything dated after nineteen fifty-five in this kitchen?’

  ‘Come to mention it, no.’ Ash looked around the huge array of ancient cooking equipment. ‘Which means I’ll have to sieve my soup, not blend it. I haven’t done that for years.’

  She watched him as he moved from the table to the cooker and back again with professional ease. He’d measured nothing but the lentils, adding a pinch of something here and a dash of something there and tasting it all the time without even seeming to concentrate.

  It was extremely impressive.

  And pretty damn sexy, she thought, growing hot despite the fan, watching as his long fingers worked their magic on herbs and spices.

  Oh, he was good…

  Ash looked across at her. ‘You’re really very clever at this old-fashioned sweet stuff. If I ever manage to get my own restaurant I’d give you a job in my kitchen any time.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Why did she feel so ridiculously delighted? It was just a throwaway remark. And anyway, there was Mark… and Onyx. Way too many complications.

  ‘Um… right… now, let’s see how you’re doing.’ Ella leaned towards George who was still stirring the spices and sugar, his tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth. The mixture had taken on a rather unpleasant consistency. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. Yes, it is a pretty colour. Yes, just like dog poo.’

  Ash chuckled then looked at his watch. ‘Damn. I’ll have to dash – can’t be late, and parking in Winterbrook is a nightmare.’

  ‘Is it?’ Ella reached for the buttered pie dish.

  ‘Ch
ronic. It’s a nice place, though. Good nightlife and plenty of shops – but crap parking. At this time of the afternoon I’ll probably have to park at Onyx’s place and walk.’

  So, Ella thought irritably, as she wrested the sugar-and-spice mixture away from George, Onyx lived in Winterbrook, did she? And Winterbrook was relatively close, wasn’t it? And Ash, if he got this job in Maxi’s, was going to work there, wasn’t he? Huh! He’d probably never come home to Hideaway Farm again.

  The combination of facts depressed her more than she wanted to admit, so she compensated by beaming far too broadly at George. George recoiled, looking slightly scared. She stopped beaming.

  ‘Right, sweetheart – now we start the really nice bit. I’ll put in a layer of apples, then you dollop some of your sugar and spice in on top and we’ll spread it out, then we’ll add some of the breadcrumbs, then we do it over and over again until there’s nothing left.’

  Excitedly, George leaned further across the table and together they started layering breadcrumbs, spices and apples into the dish, scattering a final layer of crumbs and a dusting of demerara over the top.

  ‘Superb.’ Ash applauded. George joined in.

  Ella straightened up. ‘There, that’s that done. We’ll make some real custard later. Thanks George, you’re the best sous chef in the world.’

  George grinned proudly and immediately started spooning the leftover mixture into his mouth.

  Ash and Ella laughed together.

  ‘I always did that at my gran’s,’ Ella said. ‘I couldn’t wait to lick the bowls and the spoons.’

  ‘The best bit,’ Ash agreed, unbuttoning his chef’s jacket to reveal a pale-grey shirt over darker grey trousers. Ella thought he looked sensational and that anyone who didn’t give him a job had to be completely insane, references or no references. ‘Although frowned on in the top restaurants. Sadly. And now I really will have to run. I’ll finish the soup off later when I’m back. It’ll only need sieving and warming through.’

  ‘It smells fabulous.’

  ‘Let’s hope it tastes the same. Can you keep an eye on it – give it a stir, and let it simmer for another half an hour then just turn the heat off?’

  ‘Sure – and good luck.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And don’t be late for this dinner – Poll will have your guts for garters, as my gran always said.’

  ‘Mine too.’ He grinned, hurling his chef’s whites over a chair. ‘OK, I’m off. See you later.’

  Despite the gloriously hot golden afternoon, the kitchen seemed grey and cold once he’d gone.

  Stupid, Ella told herself, too, too stupid.

  She was loading the dishwasher and George was driving his plastic lorry convoy through the Brown Betty residue on the table when Poll drifted into the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, it smells absolutely gorgeous in here – is the pud all done?’

  ‘Yep.’ Ella straightened up. ‘In the fridge ready to cook later. And Ash’s soup is on the hob. He’ll heat it through when he gets back. Did you know he’d got an interview?’

  ‘He mentioned it just now. I gave him a kiss for luck.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Ella said shortly. ‘Anyway, we should blow Trixie’s socks off with this meal.’

  ‘Possibly not the best phrase to use given Trixie’s unfortunate circumstances,’ Poll chuckled. ‘But I get the drift. Actually, I wanted to ask you if this was important before I threw it away. I found it on the stairs. It must have fallen out of your pocket.’

  ‘Really?’ Ella squinted at the screwed-up piece of paper. ‘What is it? Oh, yes! I’d forgotten all about it. I wrote it all down when we were in Patsy’s Pantry, but what with going to Fiddlesticks and then getting back here and meeting Billy and starting cooking, it went right out of my mind. Here… take a look.’

  Poll frowned at the paper. ‘A London phone number and a website address… that’s no use to me, I haven’t got a computer. Sorry, is this supposed to mean something to me? Ah… the website… yes… oh – really? Dewberrys’ Dinners? Here? Really?’

  ‘Apparently so.’ Ella nodded. ‘They’re looking for local volunteers for their next show. There’s only a couple of weeks left to apply now I think. Not that I took the details for that reason, of course.’

  ‘I should hope not.’

  ‘But I thought, well, it might be funny to find out who they’d chosen and if it’s very local, we could go along and star spot or something.’

  Poll grinned delightedly. ‘Oh, yes! I’d love to see Gabby and Tom in the flesh. I wonder who’s put themselves up for it?’

  ‘Oh, loads of people according the Pantry’s regulars. They must be mad.’

  ‘Totally,’ Poll agreed. ‘Who’d be daft enough to want a whole film crew in your kitchen, not to mention Tom and Gabby criticising you and each other, and the whole country watching while you cooked a three course meal live?’

  ‘Hell on wheels.’ Ella grabbed a handful of wet wipes and removed most of the stickiness from George’s chin and fingers. ‘Although of course, if you get through to the final and win the public vote, Tom and Gabby help you to set up your own restaurant and –’

  ‘But we don’t want our own restaurant.’ Poll shook her head. ‘Do we?’

  No, they didn’t, but Ash did… Quickly, Ella shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘And it would never be worth all that hassle and embarrassment and public humiliation… would it?’

  ‘No way.’

  They stood in silence for a moment, watching as George slid from his chair and disappeared outside with his lorries and the dogs.

  ‘Don’t get too hot, darling,’ Poll called. ‘And put your baseball cap on.’

  George grinned, nodded, and waved.

  Ella, waving back, said, ‘But the Dewberrys’ Dinners thing being filmed locally is still pretty great, isn’t it?’

  Poll nodded. ‘Yes, from a theoretical point of view. I’d never want to take part, of course… especially now that we have the house full with Ash and Billy and Trixie. It would be far too much to contemplate… wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Far too much.’

  Ella and Poll looked at one another then looked away. Poll smiled. ‘Still, Dewberrys’ Dinners… I agree it’s very exciting. Whoever they choose, it’ll certainly put this area on the map in a fifteen minutes of fame way, won’t it?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Ella, you don’t think… I mean, you don’t want to, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not! Why – do you?’

  ‘Absolutely not. No way. No, it’s the last very thing I’d want to do.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘Right,’ Poll said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it looks wonderful.’ Ella gazed at the kitchen table, set for six, with the old-fashioned mismatched china and cutlery gleaming in the last rays of the evening sun, and a pink jug filled with a rainbow mix of flowers as a centrepiece. ‘You’re great at this front-of-house stuff. I hope Trixie appreciates it.’

  ‘You don’t think we should have used the dining room?’

  ‘Nooo.’ Ella shook her head. ‘Far too formal. This is perfect, and everything smells fantastic. I wish Trixie would hurry up. I’m starving.’

  ‘Me too.’ Poll looked anxiously at the huge station clock on the kitchen wall. ‘I wonder where she’s got to?’

  ‘Is she driving? She might have got lost on the way here. I did, didn’t I? Loads of times.’

  ‘Trixie doesn’t drive apparently. I did offer to collect her but she says she’s getting a taxi direct from Reading station. It seemed easier than trying to change trains and find her way from one of the smaller stops, but even so, she’s very late.’

  Not as late as Ash, though, Ella thought.

  Ash still hadn’t returned from Winterbrook. Either the interview at Maxi’s had gone spectacularly well and he was celebrating, or spectacularly badly and he was drowning his sorrows, or – much, much worse – he’d got d
elayed by Onyx…

  No, Ella shook her head, she really mustn’t think about Ash and Onyx. Or maybe she should…

  ‘I do hope the others turn up soon.’ Poll looked distracted. ‘Otherwise it’ll just be you and me. Billy went upstairs once he’d made his rolls to get ready ages ago and has probably fallen asleep, there’s no sign of Ash, and George has already had to have a cheese sandwich and some ice cream to stop his tummy rumbling, and now he’s outside playing and will probably be too full up to eat or too tired to join us, and the dinner, if Trixie doesn’t arrive soon, will be totally ruined.’

  Ella stopped twiddling the napkins – real linen napkins, slightly discoloured and creased but real none the less in Billy and Trixie’s honour – and smiled, she hoped, cheerfully. ‘I’m sure it won’t. It’s all keepable, isn’t it? Ash’s lentil, squash and coriander soup will reheat nicely, and Billy’s herby rolls are in the warming oven, and my Brown Betty is on a low heat and I can put the custard back on later… That just leaves your main course. What did you decide on eventually?’

  Poll sighed. ‘A ready-five-minutes-ago steak and kidney pie.’

  ‘Really? Blimey – you’ve gone carnivorous in Billy and Trixie’s honour, have you?’

  ‘I have not,’ Poll said indignantly. ‘It’s steak and kidney pie without the steak or the kidney.’

  ‘Right.’ Ella grinned. ‘Two layers of pastry filled with veggie gravy then?’

  Poll looked suitably haughty. ‘Quorn instead of steak, and field mushrooms instead of kidney. Trixie – if she ever arrives – and Billy will never know the difference.’

  Ella secretly thought they might.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ Billy, his fair hair slicked down damply, beamed shyly from the kitchen doorway. ‘Will I do? It’s my Sunday best.’

  Poll and Ella nodded in approval at the outfit of badly ironed white shirt and slightly crumpled beige chinos.

  ‘You look lovely,’ Poll said softly. ‘Thanks so much for making the effort.’

  ‘Well, you two girls look just the ticket and even young George has been scrubbed up. Couldn’t let the side down, could I? Where’s everyone else got to?’