Recipe for Love (6 page)

‘Good idea,’ said Muriel. ‘Pop the toaster on, Alan.’

‘Just who is in charge here?’ roared Dwaine. ‘Toasted sandwiches are not on the bloody menu!’

‘What’s the quickest thing then?’ asked Cher impatiently.

‘I don’t know but I don’t serve bloody sandwiches!’ sulked Dwaine.

‘They don’t take long, and in the real world, if they go away happy they’re more likely to come back,’ Muriel was standing firm.

‘But sandwiches are not on the menu!’ repeated Dwaine. ‘They can’t have something that’s not on the menu just because it’s quick!’

‘But how long does it take to make a sandwich?’ said Zoe, who felt they could have had them melting away in the toaster by now.

‘About ten seconds if people don’t waste time arguing about it,’ said Muriel.

‘I’m with Dwaine,’ said Cher. ‘I don’t think they should be allowed to go off piste like this. How long does it take to make risotto?’

Zoe exchanged glances with Muriel. ‘I’ll go and ask what they’d like,’ said Zoe. ‘Risotto takes ages.’

Muriel nodded. ‘And don’t forget, you two, this is a competition. And the customer is always right. What will the judges think if we let customers go away without being served? It’s up to us to give them what they need.’

‘I’m not here to making fucking sandwiches!’ Sensing
Cher’s
back-up, Dwaine took the brakes off his language as the sound boom swung round.

‘We’ll do it then,’ said Zoe. ‘Muriel’s right. People come here for a hot snack, we have a kitchen, we’ll give them one! Go out there and tell them, please Cher!’

Cher folded her arms and shook her golden head.

Things were getting out of hand. This was their first task and already they were at each other’s throats. So much for teamwork. Zoe sighed, pulled off her chef’s hat, which she’d been dying to get rid of, and went into the restaurant.

The family – parents and two young teenagers – stood there, looking bleak. She smiled broadly at them.

‘Hello! So sorry you’ve been kept waiting. We could do you toasted sandwiches quite quickly. Why don’t you sit down. Can I get you drinks? Coffee? Tea, hot chocolate?’

The family relaxed and made themselves comfortable at a table. Zoe went behind the bar to suss out the coffee machine and was relieved to find all she needed. Rashly, she opened a couple of packets of crisps, tipped them into a bowl and put them on the table. Then she went back into the kitchen.

‘OK, people. Let’s get to work!’

IT WAS NINE
o’clock, and the contestants were huddled together in one of the barns at Somerby, shell shocked and drinking wine. A makeshift bar had been set up for them, almost as if the powers that be sensed they would need it after the gruelling day they’d had. There were six of them: the other three remaining contestants, who were staying in the village, had already gone back home to bed.

Of course everyone knew someone would be eliminated. It was a competition; one person would be leaving after each task. But because both groups had found the task so hard, they had somehow forgotten this aspect. And Dwaine had gone, just like that.

Zoe thought her group had been a disaster. She and Muriel had ended up doing most of the work. Dwaine had spent far too long building towers of food, hunched over plates, placing little bits of God-knew-what on top of worrying brown smears until the whole lot was stone cold and was then sent back.

And his food didn’t taste of much either. It turned out that he had learnt all his cooking from television programmes but didn’t ever taste anything. According to him, if it looked right it was right and that was his undoing. He refused to compromise. And despite everything he had remained confident to the end.

Anna Fortune had come in halfway through service. She had observed the kitchen, which Muriel and Zoe had
turned
into a factory for omelette (served with chips and salad), and gone out again with an audible sniff.

After a couple of seconds exchanging horrified glances, Zoe and Muriel carried on with their plan. Alan had made salads, Muriel the omelettes and Zoe had been the gofer, running between the kitchen and the restaurant making sure everyone was happy. Cher had polished glasses and served wine. Dwaine had sulked.

Just at the end of service, Zoe observed a dark figure slink out, like a wolf. It was Gideon. It was odd, they decided as they gave the kitchen a final wipe down, that after the initial nervousness, having the camera crew observing their every move hadn’t felt as if they were being watched. But a judge was like a presence from on high, taking note of every move.

‘Poor Dwaine, he was totally out of his depth,’ said Zoe, now passing the bottle of wine to Alan on her left.

‘He wasn’t a team player, though, was he?’ said Alan.

‘No,’ agreed Muriel vehemently.

‘He was the weakest link, he had to go,’ said Cher.

Muriel and Zoe exchanged glances. Cher had been a fairly weak link herself and yet she was still here. Zoe wondered if Muriel was also wondering if it was Cher’s good looks that saved her this time, and if they always would.

‘Any clue what the next challenge will be?’ asked Bill, an ex-builder in his sixties, who’d been on the other team.

‘I hope it’s something individual,’ said Becca, the one who Zoe had immediately identified as major competition, although she didn’t say much. ‘I’m better on my own.’

‘I reckon you did really well today,’ said Bill. ‘Cooked up a storm, she did.’

‘Will we always be in the same teams, do you think?’ asked Zoe, thinking she’d swap kindly Bill for Cher any day of the week.

Cher was great at looking as if she was doing something if the camera was on her or if there was a judge present, but she didn’t do much in between.

‘Oh, I think they’ll mix us up for team challenges,’ said Muriel. She yawned. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I don’t have the stamina I once had.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Bill. ‘I’ll walk you back. You’re in one of the stables, aren’t you? Me, I’m in the pigsty.’

Everyone agreed they were tired and the party broke up. Cher and Zoe walked back towards their converted cowshed. ‘If we’re put into pairs I want to be with you,’ said Cher briskly. Had she been more friendly, Zoe might have been flattered, but she suspected an ulterior motive. Her instincts weren’t wrong. ‘I feel we look good together. You set me off nicely, being short and dark.’

‘So you think you look better – taller and blonder – if you’re next to me?’ Zoe wanted confirmation her suspicions were right.

‘Yup. Don’t be offended. You’re not bad looking, but you’re just not …’ She paused. ‘You’re just not as good looking as I am.’

‘Right,’ said Zoe, feeling suddenly that the less they had to do with each other, the better. ‘I think I’ll go up to the house to get some milk for tea in the morning. We seem to have run out.’

‘Oh good. See you later.’

‘And do try to be out of the bathroom by the time I get back.’

The Somerby kitchen was empty and in a state. The remains of a large dinner party was on the table and every working surface had saucepans, greasy roasting tins and dirty glasses on it. The sink was full of more pans, soaking. Zoe, who thought her legs wouldn’t function very much longer, went to the fridge, trying to ignore the mess. And
then
she thought of Fenella, heavily pregnant, who had probably gone to bed without tidying up for very good reasons. She wouldn’t want to see all this in the morning.

‘I must give up being so bloody helpful!’ she said aloud as she started clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. ‘I should just get the milk and go back to my bed, and get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s challenge.’

But she didn’t listen. She seemed to be on autopilot; having spent all day clearing up, she couldn’t stop now.

She was putting the last things in, cramming the dishwasher as full as she could, when she heard a voice behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’

She turned, hoping it was Rupert but knowing perfectly well it wasn’t.

‘I could ask you the same question!’ she said, remembering too late she should try and stay on his good side.

‘I left my notes here and I need them for tomorrow. We’re still upstairs discussing things.’ Gideon gestured towards a briefcase on a chair. ‘You?’

‘I was getting milk for tea tomorrow morning. Fen said we should do that.’

‘And Fen keeps milk in the dishwasher, does she?’

Probably because she was tired, Zoe found herself smiling. ‘Of course, doesn’t everyone?’

Gideon, who, now she looked at him properly, seemed tired too – the whole day had been fraught and even though the judges had had an easier time of it they obviously took their roles seriously – allowed his mouth to quirk a little in return. ‘I was here when Fen went to bed. You’ve tidied up this lot, haven’t you?’

Zoe couldn’t think if she was allowed to help Fenella or not. ‘I might have …’

Gideon nodded. ‘You’ve been brainwashed during the day. You can’t see washing-up without having to do it.’

Her forehead wrinkled a little. ‘I think maybe that’s right.’ She looked under the sink and found some tablets and put the dishwasher on. ‘OK, milk.’

‘It might seem a mad idea but I suggest you look in the fridge.’

Zoe ignored this, but as she turned back to the room, a plastic bottle in her hand, she saw Gideon yawning. He stretched out his arms to their full extent and groaned. It made Zoe think of a bear – albeit a very sexy one. He smiled sleepily. ‘You know, I have a sudden desire for hot chocolate. How much milk is there in the fridge?’

Zoe looked back into it. ‘Masses.’ Then she heard herself say, ‘Shall I make you some?’ She really shouldn’t keep offering to do things for people all the time. He’d probably think she was trying to suck up to him, which would never do.

He saved her from herself. He shook his head. ‘You sit down. I’m an expert.’

‘At hot chocolate? But you’re a food critic and entrepreneur!’ He’d never manage without real chocolate from Mexico and possibly cream.

‘That doesn’t mean I can’t make fabulous cocoa, does it? Sit!’

Zoe pulled out a chair and sat, telling herself he wasn’t talking to her as if she was a dog but just insisting she took the weight off her feet, which she did need to do. And if he could make cocoa, then good for him.

The cocoa did take a bit more in the way of creaming, whisking and reheating than Zoe would have thought necessary but when he put a steaming, foaming mug in front of her the aroma was heavenly.

‘Biscuits,’ he said firmly.

‘In that box,’ Zoe said, pointing. ‘Fen said they are for clients’ use only. That’s me, if not you.’

Gideon rummaged in the box and brought a packet of digestives back with him. ‘There are others if you’d rather but I think these are best with hot chocolate.’

Zoe giggled.

‘What’s funny?’ he demanded.

His outrage made her laugh even more. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just so … I don’t know, cheffy of you – although I know you’re not a chef – to have a special biscuit to go with hot chocolate.’

He gave her a look which could have been a warning. ‘I think, given that you’ve entered a cookery competition, you should take it all a bit more seriously.’

But Zoe was past being warned. ‘I may have entered a cookery competition but that doesn’t mean I have to be a pretentious prat!’ She paused. ‘Does it?’

‘Taking your art seriously doesn’t mean you’re pretentious.’ He pulled out another chair and sat down, cupping his hands around his own mug of cocoa.

‘Except in your case!’ She sent him a glance, challenging him.

‘Don’t flash your eyes at me. I’m the expert here! You’re the lowly contestant.’

Zoe took a sip of the hot chocolate and sighed. ‘I must admit, you may have made a great deal of fuss and even more mess, but this is heavenly.’

‘I’m flattered.’

‘Oh don’t be. My opinion counts for nothing. I am only a “lowly contestant”, after all.’

He laughed properly now. ‘Not one that seems intent on charming the judges, that’s for sure. The girl who did your front of house in the challenge today certainly knew which side her bread was buttered.’