Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Twelve





THE NEXT DAY had been a day of rest. Zoe had chatted to the others for a while and then found a quiet spot in the garden and tried to distract herself with the novel she’d bought with her. She hadn’t had time to read even a page since the competition had begun. She had half hoped she’d be able to spend some time with Gideon but he’d gone off with the other judges to look over the footage taken so far with the producers. And anyway Cher had been keeping her beady eye on her, hanging on to her arm as if she actually liked her. Eventually Zoe had had to say she needed some time alone. Cher had ended up sunbathing in a deckchair on the other side of the garden, still within sight.

They were now on their way to London for the fine-dining challenge.

‘I’m going up to the quiet carriage,’ said Zoe at the station while they waited for the train. ‘I want to read.’

What she actually wanted was space for thought and to flick through some diagrams of knife skills; this session in a professional London kitchen was going to test her to the limit. She knew if she sat in the same carriage as the others she would be talked at.

As she gazed at the passing scenery, thinking how pretty it was, she realised that the twinge of conscience she had felt yesterday was intensifying, clouding the bubble of happiness which had been lurking under her apron almost from the start of the competition. It didn’t make her feelings for Gideon any less intense – in fact it might have increased them – but she had to examine her actions and see if guilt was justified.

She opened her folder with the diagrams in and noted the ‘claw’ position for holding narrow things, like shallots, so they could be chopped with the sharpest knife without the fingers being threatened. Although her eyes and a small part of her brain was on the picture, most of her was asking herself just how wrong it was to be sleeping with one of the judges during a competition.

She thought about the big ones – The X Factor, Strictly Come Dancing, Britain’s Got Talent – and pictured one of the lovely young things sleeping with one of their judges. If she heard about that she’d be appalled. And would John Torode sleep with a Masterchef hopeful? No, of course he wouldn’t, even if he wasn’t a happily married man. It was wrong. Whichever way you cut it (her eye was caught by a dangerous-looking practice in which you drew the knife towards the fingers holding an onion – one slip and you’d be wearing blue plasters for days) what she and Gideon were doing was wrong. She should give him up, simple as that. She should just go to him and say, ‘It has to stop!’

But did it have to stop? Had he used his influence and charm to keep her in the competition? Her mind went back over the various rounds until it came to the canapés. Her canapés, although generally declared delicious, certainly lacked finesse. Anna Fortune would have had her out.

Yet it wasn’t Gideon who’d saved her, although he had probably added a few words of encouragement, it was Sarah. Sarah would have protected her against any judge because Zoe had saved her wedding. And quite right too! Zoe thought defiantly. Without a cake the wedding would have been a disaster. As it had turned out it was almost the star of the show! Sarah had told her later that she’d been emailing pictures of it to her friend who made cakes so she could offer it to future brides. Zoe smiled as she remembered the conversation. Sarah had tentatively asked her if she planned to make wedding cakes like that again herself; Zoe had replied that if she never saw another cupcake it would be too soon. It wasn’t quite true but she certainly didn’t fancy making them to earn her living.

Round and round went her brain, dipping out occasionally to check her folder. Gideon was such good company. He made her laugh, he laughed at her jokes in return and she felt they would have got on even if they hadn’t shared such powerful sexual chemistry. But although she really, really liked Gideon – more than liked – she still wasn’t completely sure about him. And was it worth risking her chances if he was only going to say ‘thank you and goodbye’ at the end of it and she was left loveless and sent off in shame? She tried concentrating on the booklet again.

She opened the section on fish, which was where her skills and lack of experience would really let her down. The diagram showing how you turned a squid inside out and back again – several times – in order to make it edible made her eyes swim and her brain ache. She hoped fervently that it would be easier to understand if she actually had a squid in front of her. Filleting a flat fish didn’t look easy either. She could imagine the shouting that would go on if she wasted half of an expensive Dover sole.

But this was just a distraction, she knew. What she really should be doing was thinking how to tell Gideon that they had to stop the lovely, flirtatious and delightful thing they’d both enjoyed so much. She could no longer steal moments alone with him and she certainly wouldn’t sleep with him – not until she was out of the competition, at least. A shuddering sigh went through her as the pain of her decision hit her brain. Would she – could she – be strong enough to carry through this resolve? If she told them not to, would her knees not go weak when she saw him and her body start to respond to him even while they were several feet apart? She doubted it. She had no faith in her body where Gideon was concerned.

And maybe the decision was out of her hands. This service at a top-flight, ‘fine-dining’ restaurant could be beyond her.

But when she thought back over the days and considered what she had achieved she realised she’d learnt a lot and developed in confidence. She wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. She found she did mind the thought of not winning. Or at least of not making it through to the final. And she felt an ache at the thought of never seeing Gideon again. Why was life so complicated? Couldn’t she have her cake and eat it? Plenty of people did. But in such cases things usually turned out badly in the end. There really was no doubt about it. She must finish it.



Cher, Muriel, Becca and Zoe got into a taxi, only Cher worrying about the cameras filming her short skirt. Muriel and Zoe were wearing jeans. The men had chivalrously let them take the first taxi and were now climbing into the one that arrived shortly behind. Their overnight bags had been taken separately to their hotel. ‘So it’s to Pierre Beauvère we go!’ said Muriel, trying not to sound nervous.

‘At least we have this afternoon to learn the ropes before we have to cook for actual people,’ said Zoe. ‘I must admit I’m terrified. It’s like being asked to sing at Covent Garden if you’ve only ever been in the school choir.’

‘Not quite as bad as that, surely?’ said Becca nervously.

Zoe shrugged. ‘Almost.’ Although, she realised, the slight sickness she felt might be partly due to her decision about Gideon. ‘I’m far happier cooking in a field.’

‘Well, I’ve worked in a fine-dining restaurant before,’ said Cher, exuding confidence and checking her make-up in her compact mirror. ‘I’m just hoping I don’t have to wear one of those chef’s caps. They look cute at the time but your hair looks awful afterwards.’

Muriel took a deep breath. ‘Cher, I can’t believe you’re worrying about what you might look like after service when you have to cook for a Michelin-starred chef who is not the pleasantest, by all accounts!’

‘Television! Duh! I care about my appearance.’

‘And we don’t?’ said Zoe.

‘I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of you in a dress.’

Zoe subsided into the seat. ‘I have worn a dress,’ she said after a moment’s thought.

‘Obviously not a memorable one,’ said Cher.

Zoe sighed but inside she was smiling. Cher might spend all her waking moments thinking about how she looked but she, scruffy old Zoe, was the one who had caught the attention of Gideon. She tried not to feel smug at the thought of how wasted Cher’s efforts had been on that score. Then she reminded herself that she had to stop thinking about him.

As they were filmed, several times, getting out of the taxi and going up the steps to the restaurant, Zoe tried to focus on the task ahead of her. But she was extremely nervous.

She’d heard what horrible things they did to people in professional kitchens. She gave herself a talking to: just because you’re a girl, and are going to be filmed, and are likely to get all sorts of extra help, it doesn’t mean they’re going to put your head in a bin full of fish guts.

Unconvinced, she smiled weakly at the others as she pushed open the door – for real this time – and entered the place of torture that was masquerading as a shrine to good food and perfect service.



Since the start of the competition the film crew had always been there but somehow were always forgotten about. Now, away from the familiar surroundings of Somerby and its environs, they felt like friends. When they left Zoe felt she was being abandoned at school by fond parents. The boys had now arrived and all seven contestants were huddled by the door, waiting for instructions.

They were greeted by seven people, six men and a woman. Zoe was pleased to get the woman: she looked the friendliest.

Although they had arrived after lunchtime service and the kitchen was relatively quiet, there were still things going on: people in chef’s whites prepping piles of parsley or chopping onions. A couple had their elbows on the benches, peering at things. Another was scraping the seeds from a vanilla pod.

If she hadn’t been there to work, Zoe would have loved it, but for the first time in the competition she felt genuinely daunted. She knew her skills weren’t as a chef in a professional kitchen and just at this moment she couldn’t think what she was good at. Being handy with half a ton of butter cream and a piping bag wouldn’t count for much here.

‘Hello.’ A man, tall, hostile, with a foreign accent came up to her. ‘You’re the girl for the TV?’ He grunted in response to her nod. ‘Sylvie will look after you.’

Sylvie nodded. ‘Yes, chef!’

‘Find her some whites. I can’t have her here in those clothes.’

Zoe saw him go to give the others the same warm welcome in turn and moved a little closer to Sylvie.

‘Follow me,’ said Sylvie. ‘Now what sort of shoes have you to work in?’

As the judges had checked everyone’s shoes before they left, Zoe swung down her rucksack and showed the clogs within.

‘Fine,’ said Sylvie. ‘Pierre will have your guts as a garnish for monkfish if you don’t have proper shoes.’

Zoe laughed, relaxing a little. ‘We had the shoe talk early on. Gideon was particularly fixated about it.’ Inwardly she cursed herself for mentioning his name. It was ‘mentionitis’ and she mustn’t let herself do it!

‘Gideon? Gideon Irving? The food critic?’

‘That’s him. Have you heard of him?’

‘God yes! He’s a fairly famous critic, you know. But I used to work with him years ago.’ Sylvie went a little dreamy. ‘Broke my heart, the bastard.’

As she said this without rancour Zoe felt obliged to press for more information. ‘Oh?’

‘Yes. He’s a handsome devil and we were working together.’ She sighed. ‘Not his fault really, I don’t think. Emotionally, he just wasn’t engaged. He hid it well, but I knew.’

‘That sounds very sad,’ said Zoe, thinking of herself.

‘Yes. There’d obviously been someone he’d never got over. I heard she went off to America to pursue a career in TV.’

‘And?’

She wanted Sylvie to say what a nice man Gideon was in spite of it all, but Sylvie misunderstood.

‘She made a go of it, I think. But my theory about him is – was – he never really got over her.’

‘Oh.’ Since she hadn’t got the reassurance she craved, Zoe tried to think of something to say before Sylvie realised that she had feelings for Gideon. ‘Were you …’ she paused. ‘Were you broken-hearted long?’

Sylvie shrugged and laughed. ‘Well, he is kind of hard to get out of your mind and your head once he’s in there, but he’s not the settling-down kind and I always knew that, in my heart.’

Zoe’s heart, which suspected that too, felt a little bruised. ‘Oh,’ she said for the third time. She couldn’t think of anything else to say and didn’t quite know what to think. Did he make a habit of wooing women he worked with and then leaving them? Was she just another notch on the chopping board for him? The thought made her feel sick. But Sylvie had said it was years ago so perhaps he’d changed. She clung on to the notion.

‘So just don’t you go falling in love with him!’ Sylvie chuckled. ‘Not that you would, him being a judge, but he is attractive and you’re young and lovely.’

Sylvie didn’t seem to suspect Zoe had feelings for Gideon. She was determined to keep the conversation light. She summoned her best Oscar performance and laughed.

‘He certainly is a judge!’ she said, as if the idea of even thinking about having any kind of relationship was completely beyond her. ‘And I may not be the youngest and I’m certainly not the loveliest.’

‘That’s OK then. Now let’s get you kitted up.’

Thankfully Sylvie was fooled and Zoe was relieved she’d soon be too busy to dwell on all the maelstrom of emotions Sylvie’s comments had thrown up.