Recipe for Love (3 page)

Fenella sighed. ‘Oh, nothing much at all. Put some spuds into the Aga for supper. You’re all going to the pub to eat and the judges and telly people are eating here. Then there’s the official meeting afterwards? Or before.’ She frowned. ‘Honestly, the production company is dreadfully bossy. I gave them some names of lovely local taxi drivers but no, they had to get people down from London to do it. Mad!’

She pushed a lock of hair back from her forehead, making Zoe long to lend her a hair slide. ‘Anyway, I’m now cooking for the scary judges and the local pub, who is quite used to doing this, is cooking for you lot.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s Rupert’s fault. He told the TV people it’s easier to cook for six than twelve, but it’s become more than six with all the producers and things.’ She paused. ‘And he should be back to help with it. The stew’s done already. I just have to do the veg really.’ She leant against the kitchen table. ‘You can imagine how nerve-racking it is, cooking for famous chefs and a food critic.’

‘I can imagine it only too well, considering that’s what this competition is all about.’ Zoe thought Fenella looked really tired and, seeing her put her hand on her stomach,
wondered
if she was all right. ‘Supposing Rupert isn’t back in time?’

‘I’m sure he will be.’ She didn’t sound very sure.

Zoe made a decision. Fenella – whom she’d liked from the start – needed her. ‘I’ll prep the potatoes for you. What veg are you having?’

‘Things out of the garden: baby broad beans, some cabbage – and some asparagus from down the road. It’s all local stuff.’

‘Are you doing a starter?’

‘Soup. Rupert has made it all as easy as possible.’

‘So, do you want me to help?’

Fen chewed her lip and sighed. She fiddled with a pen out of a pot on the kitchen table. Indecision was written all over her. ‘Only if Rupert doesn’t turn up. You do have to be at your dinner. I’ve seen your schedule. It’s for briefing, getting to know each other, vital stuff.’ She paused. ‘But if Rupert isn’t here it would be wonderful if you could just help in the beginning.’ Fenella smiled. ‘The minibus isn’t collecting you until eight. My dinner is at seven thirty.’

‘So in theory I could get the stuff upstairs for you and then dash down in time to get on the bus.’

Fenella nodded. ‘When we’ve got the dining room restored we’ll have a dumb waiter for me to put things on but as it’s not such a nice room we haven’t done it yet.’

‘Well, I don’t mind being the dumb waiter.’

Fenella gave a half-smile and lowered herself into a chair. ‘I know I shouldn’t say yes,’ she said, ‘but I can’t seem to help myself.’ She put on a fierce expression. ‘And I know perfectly well you’re putting off thinking about the competition by rushing round being helpful.’

Zoe sat down next to her. ‘I know.’

‘I wouldn’t normally beat myself up about accepting help but if you’re breaking some rule or other you could ruin your chances of winning it. You might even be thrown out before you start!’

‘But we don’t know it’s against any rule, and no one will notice, I’m sure. I got away with it at the tea, didn’t I?’ She giggled. ‘I could wear an apron and a little mob cap, as disguise.’

‘Don’t joke about it!’ said Fenella. ‘I happen to have those very items! We did an Edwardian Tea last year and we all dressed up as maids.’

Zoe laughed. ‘I’ll do the spuds now and clean the other veg and then I suppose I’d better settle in over the road.’

‘Your room-mate is there. She came while you were upstairs.’

‘Oh, what’s she like?’

‘Very glam. I hope you put your bag on the double bed!’

WHEN ZOE GOT
back to the cowshed she found it occupied by a very lovely blonde woman of about her own age who looked more like a model than a cook. Apart from the age, Zoe couldn’t discern any other similarities between them. The other girl was tall, with long straight subtly highlighted hair, a lot of make-up including false eyelashes, a tiny skirt and a strappy top, although it wasn’t all that warm. Her shoes, kicked off now because she was lying on the double bed, were high strappy sandals.

Zoe smiled, determined that the superficial differences between the two of them shouldn’t mean that they couldn’t co-habit happily.

‘Hi! I’m Zoe,’ she said.

‘Cher,’ said the model-alike. ‘I hope you don’t mind me having the double bed. I can’t sleep in single beds.’

‘Oh? But you’re so thin, it can’t be that they’re not big enough.’

Cher had a silver laugh, a little too high-pitched for Zoe’s taste. ‘No! Not that, but I need to spread out. It’s having such long legs.’

‘You’re not expecting me to be sorry for you because you’ve got long legs, surely?’

‘No,’ said Cher sharply, ‘but I do expect you to let me have the double bed.’

Zoe blinked at Cher’s sudden change of tone but decided against having an argument along the lines of ‘I
was
here first’ as they weren’t schoolgirls and if they had to share it would be better if they at least got on superficially. She could see she’d have to pick her battles with Cher and this was one she didn’t feel was worth a fight.

‘OK.’ She went to her rucksack, dumped unceremoniously on the single bed. She opened it and began taking out her things. There wasn’t very much and she didn’t usually bother to unpack, but some deeply hidden territorial instinct made her want to spread her spoor.

The wardrobe was full of Cher’s clothes. Tiny skirts, a couple of pairs of shorts (in case of a heat wave, obviously) and some skinny jeans. Many pairs of strappy sandals and handbags littered the floor of the cupboard.

Zoe hung up her one dress, a couple of pairs of jeans and some shirts and tops, then she took out her wash bag. ‘I must have a shower and wash my hair.’ She went into the bathroom, hoping her room-mate hadn’t used all the towels.

She was just drying her hair with her fingers, her normal method, when Cher, who was lying on the bed watching, said, ‘I’ve got a hair dryer if you want to borrow it.’

Zoe turned round. ‘Thanks, but I never bother to dry it. It doesn’t take long if I just scrunch it.’

Cher got up. ‘You’d look much better if you blow-dried it. Quite different. I’ll do it for you if you like.’

‘It’s OK, thanks. I decided years ago not to have a style that depended on electrical appliances, in case I don’t have access to them.’

Cher shrugged as if Zoe were mad. ‘I did hairdressing for a bit,’ she said.

Zoe tried to decide if she liked her or not. She seemed like a WAG, only interested in her looks and people thinking she was pretty. But the offer to help with her hair had been kind. Maybe she just couldn’t bear to see
Zoe’s
hair all tousled and unkempt, which might mean she was a control freak.

‘So what made you enter the competition?’ asked Zoe, deciding it was time to find out something about her room-mate.

‘Oh, I want to be on television. I really want to be famous and I think if I can get seen, I’ll get other offers.’

Zoe looked at her in surprise. ‘Don’t you like cooking?’

Cher shrugged. ‘Not much.’

‘But you passed the audition?’

‘Oh yes. I’m good, I just don’t enjoy it that much. I don’t like getting my fingers mucky.’ She paused and looked at Zoe as if somehow connecting her with the word mucky. ‘At least put on a bit of make-up and a dress. I don’t want to be associated with a munter.’

Zoe could hardly believe her ears, and had to bite back a retort, remembering her resolve to try and get on with Cher. She pulled on her dress, grudgingly admitting to herself that Cher, although unbelievably rude, could be right: it might be a good idea for first impressions. She looked at her watch. It was now nearly seven o’clock and she wanted an excuse to leave so she could help Fenella. She might have started being helpful to work off her nerves but now she was enjoying feeling part of it. ‘I might go for a wander. It’s very pretty round here.’

As Zoe had predicted, Cher didn’t suggest coming with her. ‘I don’t do walking. Wrong sort of shoes.’

Zoe glanced at Cher’s feet. ‘I’m surprised you can cook in those. How do you cope with all the standing?’ She couldn’t quite imagine Cher in the sort of clogs a lot of cooks wore; her own pair were in her rucksack. She hadn’t noticed any in the wardrobe amongst all the heels. Nor could she imagine Cher in check trousers. But then again Zoe didn’t wear those either.

‘I wear trainers to cook in. Not that I do a lot of it.’

That made Zoe even more curious. ‘But how did you get into a cookery competition if you don’t do much cooking?’

Cher got up from the bed and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. ‘I just make sure that what I do do is very good.’ She gave Zoe a smile. ‘I intend to win, you know.’ She went to the mirror and inspected herself closely. ‘I always achieve what I set out to do – get a job, get a man, whatever. This time I’m going to be famous, which means I
have
to win the competition.’

Cher’s dedication was scary. ‘So why a cookery competition if you don’t like it? Why not – I don’t know –
The X Factor
, or
Britain’s Next Top Model?
’

‘I thought of them, of course, but there’ll be far less competition if I do cookery.’

‘What on earth makes you think that? There could be some really great cooks in this! Me for a start!’

‘It’s not all about the cooking. I’ve seen how contestants flirt with the judges.’ She regarded Zoe with something resembling pity. ‘I told you, I can cook well if I put my mind to it. I might not be the best cook here, but I will be the prettiest, the sexiest, so I’ll win. Although you look loads better now than you did before, don’t think you’re in with a chance.’

Zoe regarded her. After what Cher had said before, her bluntness was no longer a surprise. ‘That’s me told!’ she said with forced cheerfulness.

‘So why did you enter?’ Cher asked, turning away from the mirror, having obviously decided you couldn’t perfect perfection.

‘Oh, I want to win too. I want the money to set up a little deli or bistro or something where I can cook the food I love. What do you want to do with the money?’

‘The money’s not remotely important. My father’s really rich. I just want the fame and the opportunities that’ll bring me.’

‘Well, may the best cook win,’ said Zoe, her flippant manner disguising her ever-increasing determination to beat this woman at the competition even if it killed her. And not just because she wanted the double bed.

‘So did you give up a good job and a lovely boyfriend to come on this?’ asked Cher. ‘I do a bit of events management, by the way, although Daddy gives me an allowance I can just about live off.’

‘I had an OK job in an estate agent’s, but someone was promoted over me even though I’d been there for ages so I didn’t mind giving it up.’ She was still slightly sore about the whole episode but she wasn’t one for regrets and anyway, she really did want to run her own business.

‘And the boyfriend? I can see you going out with the same boy from school before settling down and having kids.’ She yawned. ‘So not for me!’

‘Not me either,’ said Zoe, infuriated by this assumption although still determined not to show it. ‘I decided a while ago not to pin my chance of happiness on a man. If someone wonderful comes along and sweeps me off my feet, I guess I’d go along with it, but they’d have to be really special.’

Zoe thought back to her rather uneventful relationship history: a short list of very nice, decent young men. She’d been fond of them all but there hadn’t been one she had felt she really couldn’t live without. A picture of Gideon all mud-splattered and sweaty sprang into her mind at this point but she dismissed it as quickly as it had appeared.

Cher was nodding. ‘Respec’, sista! I feel that way myself. No point in signing one’s life away for someone who
turns
out to be a no-hoper.’ She walked over to the little fridge. ‘I’ve got a bottle of wine. Fancy a glass?’

‘No thanks. I’ll keep my head clear for tomorrow. I’ll have that walk now.’ Zoe suddenly felt she needed some air. She also wanted to check on Fenella.

As she walked over to the house she chuckled to herself. Cher was extraordinary but there was no point in being indignant at her wild pronouncements and steely determination to win. She and Cher had to share a room together, which would be impossible if she got upset and made trouble.