The Sweetness of Liberty James (2 page)

In her moment of unconsciousness, Liberty had grown up somewhat. ‘No, I don't think it will be fun, but it will be OK. Especially if you stop burning things. Can I have my supper now? I am really hungry.'

Deirdre looked quizzically at her daughter, hurt at being shrugged away, worried that her daughter seemed to be on autopilot. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘maybe we could have an apple tart as a treat. I think we need one.'
And
, she thought to herself,
a bloody great stiff drink once Liberty is in bed
.

The horrid smell of burning had diminished from the kitchen. As they walked slowly back inside Liberty said, ‘But where has the smell gone?'

‘Well, the windows and doors have been open and the breeze blew it away,' explained her mother. ‘That's good, isn't it?'

Her daughter was concentrating, looking round the room with her brow furrowed. ‘No, I mean I can't smell anything at all.'

‘Try this.' Deirdre pushed across the now cold mug of chocolate, infused with cinnamon and vanilla. ‘This should still
smell lovely, especially if you stir it around a bit.' She took a teaspoon from the cutlery drawer and placed it beside the mug.

‘No, I can't smell anything at all.'

Deirdre was now slightly more concerned; she crushed a clove of garlic and held it under Liberty's nose. Her daughter sniffed it, then bit into it.

‘I can't smell anything, and I can't taste anything either.'

Deirdre, Alain and subsequently doctors diagnosed a reaction to the shock and said no doubt it would wear off. However, as the weeks and months and eventually years went by, Liberty's sense of smell – and therefore taste – refused to come back.

Liberty's parents did not have much contact during their divorce or afterwards. Deirdre continued living at The Nuttery together with her daughter. She gave up her baking business, allowing it to wind down by refusing new orders, instead building up a well-received cookery school which kept her busy while Liberty was away at boarding school, and she could choose not to take classes personally during the school holidays. It also gave the village of Littlehurst new life.

Meanwhile, Alain became renowned as something of a Lothario. This proved to be very good for business; the out-of-town lunch market had always been difficult to fill. No such problem existed now. Tables were booked by a stream of elegant ladies who lunched, waiting in line to take the post of the next Mrs James. Many of these had an opportunity to become familiar with his more primitive side, but none got further than a few months of his attention before his kitchen and cooking lured him back into focusing on food.

2

Liberty blossomed into an elegant, tall, green-eyed beauty. She had a symmetrical strong nose and cheek bones and a jaw worthy of Audrey Hepburn. She was one of those girls who even other girls couldn't stop looking at, just for pleasure. Everything simply seemed to be in the right place. Taken on their own you might have thought her nose too large, her mouth too pouty and her eyebrows too strong, but put together she somehow looked wonderful. It was as though God the designer had downed His tools and claimed this face as His best creation that couldn't be improved, putting Him out of work.

Her long legs were usually encased in a skirt as beastly trousers were mostly too short. Being too tall and too slim was not something she felt able to complain about, given that some of her friends struggled to find anything large enough to fit them. Her elegant figure was maintained through a lack of interest in eating or drinking wine for enjoyment. Some of Deirdre's friends were sure Liberty was destined for the catwalk, but her intelligent and slightly aloof nature kept her studying, and she emerged from school with great exam results, heaps of friends and a wonderfully strong relationship with both her parents. Sadly, there was no hope of a friendship with her stepsister, a spoilt child who had moved to the United States with her mother one year after she was born, when the relationship between Genevieve and Alain fell apart.

Amazingly, Liberty had not a stick of arrogance about her. Neither of her parents had allowed her to rest on her natural assets, and insisted and instilled in her that unless she used
her brain, her looks would fade and she would become ugly, as no beauty is complete without knowledge. Experiencing a divorce when you are a young child is pretty grounding, too, so Liberty had never taken adoration for granted. It also made her vulnerable to anyone who showed her affection.

Despite losing her sense of taste and smell at such a young age, Liberty was fascinated by her parents' work. In her school holidays she earned pocket money by washing dishes or waitressing. Alain knew he was extremely lucky to have kept a good relationship with his daughter. He put that down to her ability to love and to forgive unconditionally, something that terrified him when she started having boyfriends.

Savannah, Liberty's friend, came from Denhelm Park, the estate which encompassed the land around The Nuttery and a good deal more. She was blonde, petite and pretty. Her father was Jonathan de Weatherby, and he owned the estate, most of the village of Littlehurst itself and a great deal of other property in the county. They were sent to different schools, but they always stayed in touch, and during the holidays it became a tradition to race each other on horseback from the capacious stables at the park to visit their secret friends the gypsies who lived in the forest. There they would pretend to fall off their ponies, and run shrieking into each other's arms, each speaking over the other so fast it was like watching two squirrels arguing over whose nut was whose, and just as noisy.

Liberty went on to university, after excelling in music, art and sport at school, as well as being head girl. However, she had gained her lowest mark in home economics, much to the amusement of her parents, who knew she could make a pistachio soufflé with hazelnut chocolate sauce by the time she was thirteen – in fact, a better one than her father – despite not being able to taste or smell, just from instinct.

‘It bugs me,' she explained. ‘They make rock cakes, for heaven's sake. Who eats rock cakes? And the teacher sticks her
false teeth into the sugar and the cocoa jar before putting them back in and sucking!'

‘Yuck,' said her mother. ‘But you must try, in all your subjects.' And she turned away, so as not to show she was smiling.

Liberty decided not to take a year out before university, as many of her school friends did, as she couldn't see the point of that. She didn't particularly enjoy studying, but wanted to get out in the world and start living, and she thought it best to get on with it.

She went to Trinity College, Cambridge, simply because they accepted her. Having celebrities as parents had caused a few problems over the years. Sometimes, friends persuaded Liberty to ask her father to secure a table in his restaurant for their parents' birthday parties. But Alain stuck to the ‘first come, first served' basis, which kept the rich and famous clamouring and gave the general public an equal chance. It also made Friday and Saturday nights near impossible prospects. Liberty would say she would try, but her father bent the rules for nobody, not even for her, and she felt such guilt at causing disappointment. If the supposed friend was told by her parents to drop Liberty – silly, stuck-up family, who do they think they are, just a bunch of bloody cooks – Liberty, with her soft heart and willing nature, took it very hard and believed she had hurt people's feelings and cried down the phone to her parents. It took a lot to persuade her that people who only want to be your friend to gain something are unworthy of your friendship.

Liberty had always wondered if any friendship was based on equality, but kept her opinion to herself. Everyone else, not after a freebie, liked her and wanted to be her friend, but because she was self-conscious and uncertain as to who was a true friend, she gave the impression of being rather cold and distant. Because they recognised this, her parents advised her to apply for universities that took students from all walks of life.

An argument that had been a thread throughout her childhood was Deirdre saying she should have been sent to a bigger school
further away, one that took girls from similar backgrounds to their own, whilst Alain remained adamant that his little girl was going to school within easy driving distance of home and his restaurant. He couldn't bear the idea of boarding school and, having a French mother, had practically been home-schooled until he was ten, and then had gone to a local lycée. The dispute was only solved when they discovered a nearby boarding school that would give Liberty the freedom from her parents and ability to grow in herself that Deirdre wished for, but was also an easy enough drive from home to satisfy Alain.

Liberty studied history of art and English literature. She justified this by saying it would give her a broad spectrum to choose her career from. University was a series of parties and social events, as any good first degree course should be. She had two major assets: good looks and the ability to whip together a feast for sixty from what appeared to be a few tins of beans, some good sausages and a ‘few pinches'. (Her mother had sent her off with an unusual emergency pack. Most mothers would have given first-aid kits, condoms or advice on hangovers, but Deirdre, desperate for her daughter to regain her lost senses, and mindful that in a different environment this may actually happen, made up her special spice mix, saying every six weeks she would refresh it. ‘Just add a pinch to any dish you cook, or add a sprinkle to some unappetising meal you have from the canteen–' her mouth contorted as she was forced to use the word ‘–and it will magically transform it into something delicious.')

Deirdre dreamed of the day Liberty would phone and tell her she had regained her sense of smell, no matter if it was because she had fallen in dog poo or sustained a bang on her head. Deirdre just couldn't imagine life without the smell of cooking. She had written her first cookery book while travelling through Italy on her gap year. She had never admitted that all she did was write notes on what she ate, something to take home with her as a sort of food diary. On one of her last days she was enjoying the sights and smells of Palermo, supping a chicken broth flavoured
delicately with herbs and lemon and given substance with tiny fluffy tortellini. She scribbled in her notebook ‘must grow herbs and improve British weather, everything tastes ten times better when eaten al fresco'. A man at the next table, who had become very aware of her silver eyes and bewitching expression, asked her, by way of introduction, what she was writing.

Vaguely recognising a voice of authority and a very smart suit, Deirdre tried to impress by saying, ‘A cookery book to educate my friends,' at which point the man's eyes lit up and he introduced himself as William Pointon-Chase, partner at P-Chase and Bloom Publishing.

‘Oh!' Deirdre had the grace to blush, but he ordered a bottle of Prosecco, having first invited himself to join her at her table. He claimed it must have been fate for them to meet like this. She wondered if his dining companion, who was now paying their bill and walking slowly out of the restaurant, occasionally throwing poisonous looks in his direction, thought the same.

‘Oh, don't worry about Chris, he works for me and hates the fact that I'm ancient, married and still get the girls!' As he said this, he guffawed. Unable to tell if he was serious or not, Deirdre took no offence, and she spent a thoroughly enjoyable, if a little surprising, afternoon in his rented villa.

Coming downstairs, now aware that what actually went on in the bedroom was very different to the romantic novels she devoured, and thank goodness for that, she was horrified to find him sitting sipping whisky and reading the scribblings and sketches in her notebook.

‘Oh no! I may have embellished somewhat on the quality of my writing.' She blushed, and tried to draw his attention away from the notebook by sitting on his knee.

‘My dear!' he exclaimed. ‘As beautiful and sexy as you are, and though my heart may have fallen at one glimpse for your sparkling eyes and long legs, my head is entirely that of a businessman, and I would like to offer you an advance for this book. Sketches have to be included. Your words and pictures
bring the food of Italy alive. I feel I could sample the dishes if I licked the page!'

Deirdre had underestimated her scribblings, as she had called them. An avid diary writer from a young age, she had put her life down in words and pictures. When she arrived in Italy it made sense to write about the food, as that was what the people seemed to spend most of their time talking about, shopping for or devouring. Coffee, wine, olive oil, which bread to choose, and how much. I mean, where else can you go to a bakery and they cut you a wedge, as an entire loaf would be a waste for one person? A few touches to polish the writing by a newly assigned editor, and Deirdre's life as a cookery writer began.

William Pointon-Chase returned to London, to his wife and his job, where once again they were amazed at his skill in picking new talent. Deirdre went on to become one of their biggest money-spinners over the coming years. And most importantly, William Pointon-Chase paid his assistant a large enough salary for him to be discreet about how the new cookery author, and many before her, had been found.

It was during her first semester that Liberty attended a party given by an art dealer. Her new great friend J-T, which stood for Julian and some unmentionable middle name, had told her about it. He was tall, immaculately groomed, blond, giggly by nature, but with an excellent eye for beautiful things. Her other friend, Bob, was also there. Olive-skinned, dark-haired and beady-eyed, he was short and stocky but very beguiling, and seemed to say little but always commanded the room when he decided to talk. Already displaying considerable knowledge of the art world, Bob kept buttering up gallery owners in and around Cambridge to invite him to previews in the hope that he could establish relationships with artists and their agents alike, as he was trying to wriggle into the tangled and competitive life of an art dealer. The friends he invariably invited along would consume vast amounts of the free booze on offer. At one of these
events Liberty was standing drinking Evian water, looking up at an enormous canvas of a fat pink pig surrounded by little stick men. The title of the picture was
Pigs' Reverence
, but it gave her no greater insight into the meaning of the piece, so she started to wonder if people were given free drinks at these jollies to make the art look better. She happened to relay her thoughts out loud to no one in particular, but a tall, well-built, smartly dressed man responded.