Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Fourteen





AS ZOE POINTED her car into the drive behind her mother’s Golf she felt she’d aged ten years since she’d left home.

Her mother, hearing her car, came out of the house to greet her. ‘Darling! You look shattered.’

‘Thanks a lot, Mum!’ said Zoe, returning her mother’s hug with equal force. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home!’ She meant it. She felt as if she’d been living in a very intense bubble for the last week or so. It was good to break free for a few days.

Her mother took her bag and they went into the house. Zeb the dog had to be greeted and even the cat came up and rubbed itself round Zoe’s legs.

‘Jenny is very keen to meet up. She wants to hear everything.’

Zoe yawned. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’ll definitely want an early night tonight.’

‘Well, Dad’ll be back soon so we can eat early.’

‘What are we having?’ All the talk of home cooking the evening before had made her extra interested.

‘Shepherd’s pie, little peas, then apple pie,’ said her mother promptly.

Zoe gave her mother another hug. ‘You know me so well!’

‘So I should hope.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Dad won’t be home for a bit yet. Do you want a bath or anything?’

‘Well, given that before I went back to Somerby to pick up my car I was at a very swanky hotel I’m not actually dirty, but a bath—’

‘With bubbles?’

‘And a book, would be lovely.’

Zoe’s mother laughed. ‘It’s just like when you used to come home after uni.’



After a wonderfully cosy and restorative evening with her parents, Zoe felt up to meeting her best friend Jenny the next day. The trouble with Jenny was Zoe couldn’t hide anything from her and she would weasel all the details about Gideon and how she felt out of her before they were halfway down the first glass of wine. But Zoe didn’t mind. She wanted to talk about him. It was a symptom of being in love – or whatever she was: you wanted to talk about your love-object all the time. And while she was close to her mother, there was no obvious happy ending with Gideon and she didn’t want her to worry, or take on that concerned look that always made Zoe feel bad. And she’d always shared everything with Jenny – they’d known each other since primary school.

Jenny claimed there were no troubles that couldn’t be solved by being close to a horse, so when Zoe had called her the night before, she had suggested that Zoe go over to the livery yard where she kept hers; and Zoe had felt it was worth the early start. Jenny’s horse, Prince Albert – Bert for short – was tied up to a rail in the yard while she mucked out his stall. Zoe went straight over to him for an initial chat. There was something definitely comforting about his solid presence, and he’d known Zoe quite a long time so they were old friends.

‘Hey Zoe!’ called Jenny, wheeling a barrow to the muck heap. ‘How are you?’

‘Good thanks. You? And lovely Bert?’ She stroked the massive head which leaned into her shoulder and whispered into her ear with lips like velvet.

‘We’re fine, but we haven’t been in a cookery competition. I want to hear all about it.’

Zoe was aware of Jenny’s knowing eyes on her as she and Bert communicated with strokes and caresses, hot breaths, snorts and murmurings. Jenny had an uncanny ability to sense when Zoe had something to hide.

‘I do love Bert. He’s just there for you. He doesn’t ask questions,’ said Zoe.

‘I’m sure it’s mutual. I also love you. But I do ask questions. Get a broom and help me muck out.’

Zoe set to with enthusiasm. It was somehow easier to get her thoughts in order while she was being active. She had done nothing but think about Gideon on the way home but everything was a jumble in her head. Mucking out helped clear the fog.

‘So, what are the others like?’ Jenny asked, tossing a pile of muck into the barrow with one deft action.

‘Most of them are really nice. My favourite went out last time though. It’s a girl I don’t like who bothers me.’

‘But you always like everyone!’

‘I know, but not her. It’s probably because she doesn’t like me.’

‘So? Tell me about her.’

Zoe concentrated on getting her broom into an awkward corner. ‘She’s very pretty, very focused and has at least twice tried to sabotage my chances.’

‘Drama! Did you tell anyone? The judges?’

‘Er – no. I’m not in a good position to do that.’

‘Why not? Are they unapproachable? Swear a lot? Or what?’

Zoe bit her lip. ‘Or what.’

‘Which means?’ Jenny stopped work and looked at her friend intently.

‘One of them is rather gorg.’

‘Oh! You mean you fancy one of the judges? Bet you didn’t see that coming!’

‘And it’s gone a bit further than just fancying him.’

‘Ah.’ Jenny thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what, let’s tack up. You take Bert and I’ll borrow Buzz next door. Annabel won’t mind. I’ll just text her.’ Jenny pulled out her phone.

‘But I haven’t ridden for ages!’ Zoe protested, half excited and half nervous at the thought of being on a horse again.

‘There’s nothing to it!’ said Jenny, heading for the tack room. ‘It’s just like—’

‘No, it’s not like riding a bicycle!’ said Zoe. Didn’t they say that about sex too? God, her mind seemed to be on little else these days.

‘It is a bit,’ said Jenny, ‘and you’ll be fine. Bert will look after you. We’ll just go up in the woods where we can ride abreast and have a good old chat. I want all the gory details.’



They made their way through the woods to where they used to ride together when they were thirteen years old. Zoe found it was familiar being on Bert’s back.

‘I’d forgotten how lovely it is up here,’ she said to Jenny as they reached a clearing at the far end of the copse.

‘You should get up here more often. Annabel is always glad for Buzz to be ridden and you and Bert are a team.’

‘It’s the old enemy, time,’ said Zoe, her eyes raking the plants and bushes, remembering the happy times she and Jenny had spent. ‘Oh look, wild garlic,’ she said. ‘It’s late for that, isn’t it?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘I suppose it depends where it’s growing. I made some great pesto with it the other day.’

‘Oh? So you’re into cooking a bit more now?’

‘Only a bit. Now come up beside me and tell me what you’ve been up to. And don’t leave anything out!’



‘Well, I think it sounds lovely. Really romantic,’ said Jenny when Zoe had finished her story. It was a relief to talk about Gideon to someone, especially someone she trusted implicitly and knew her so well.

‘But it’s so wrong! He’s a judge! And he probably only wants me for a little fling because according to Sylvie he’s in love with some childhood sweetheart.’

‘He’ll be over that by now!’ Ever practical, Jenny was impatient with the thought of childhood sweethearts. ‘But he sounds nice. You know, not only after one thing.’

‘Does he? I’m glad you think so. When I’m with him I find it quite hard to work out if he is really nice or if I just fancy him so much I can’t think straight.’ She sighed. ‘But what I absolutely must not do is let him stop me focusing on the competition. I didn’t expect to last this long, Jenny, but now I have, I feel perhaps I can make it. There are some great cooks still in the competition. There’s a girl called Becca who’s brilliant, but sometimes her nerves let her down.’

‘But you manage to control yours?’

‘Mostly. It’s not always easy, but I can.’

‘Well, I’m impressed!’ She pulled Buzz round and said, ‘Fancy a gentle canter up this incline? I know Bert would love it.’

‘OK, but you heard the gentle part, didn’t you, Bertie, darling?’

‘He did. You’ll be fine!’



*

When Zoe finally got back to her parents’ house after her ride she felt much more at ease with herself and the situation. She’d known it would help talking to Jenny. Her friend hadn’t thought she’d done a terrible thing, just reassured her that you couldn’t help whom you fell in love with but that it was important to concentrate on the competition. Like Fenella she’d said that if Gideon really liked Zoe, he’d wait.

Zoe was now more determined than ever that she would focus on her cooking. She also resolved not to allow herself to have any private contact with Gideon until the competition was over – or at least over for her. She knew she could do it. She had strong will power when she wanted it. In fact, she told herself, she wouldn’t give him a moment’s further thought.

She went to sleep dreaming of him.