Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Twenty-One





‘ARE YOU SURE you have to go?’ Fenella had Glory clutched to her chest, standing on the steps of Somerby, while Rupert loaded Zoe’s bags into her car.

‘Yes! My family thinks I’ve emigrated and, anyway, you don’t need me any more.’ Zoe did have mixed feelings about leaving Somerby and Fenella and Rupert but now all the extra family had gone, there was no excuse for her to stay. And as Gideon hadn’t called anyway – maybe he didn’t have the Somerby number either? – there was no particular point.

‘Well, I’ll say it again, if ever you want a job – as almost anything – there’s sure to be one here,’ said Fenella. ‘We’ll need a catering manager or something quite soon.’

‘I’m really grateful—’

‘But, of course, when you win the competition you’ll open your deli, so you won’t need a job,’ Fenella went on. ‘If ever you need a reference …’

‘I might not win! In fact I probably won’t and I might be very grateful for a job.’

Rupert strode over to Zoe and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I expect you want to leave now. Fen would keep you here for ever if she could.’

‘I’m glad you liked me staying so much. I’m very grateful too. I’ve had a brilliant time and I now have all sorts of useful experience. But I’m going now, or I won’t be home in time for lunch, and my parents are expecting me.’

It was a wrench leaving Somerby. It was so tied up in her mind with Gideon. They had met there – or nearby – she had fallen in love and they had got to know each other there.

She refused to get neurotic about the fact he hadn’t been in touch. There’d be some perfectly reasonable reason why he hadn’t.

In spite of this sensible attitude, the worm of doubt continued to crawl about in her brain from time to time. Was she just the girl who was handy and quite amusing? Were her feelings not reciprocated? Was it all on her side? She thought back to some of their shared moments: playing butler and cook to Rupert’s parents, the stolen moment in the woods, their last, passionate kiss. No, she couldn’t have read the signs so wrong. It must be all right.

So, as she drove along the high-hedged lanes she tried to feel happy about it. It had been a joyous affair, full of fun and kindness and one glorious night of mind-blowing sex. She mustn’t worry that it had ended. It hadn’t. It was just taking a break!

As she got nearer home, she found herself dithering about what, if anything, to tell her mother. Her mother might well ask. And while she was happy to talk about Gideon all day and half the night, her mother would worry about the fact he was a judge. Zoe was worried too. But she probably wouldn’t get away with not saying anything. It was the way of mothers that they could recognise if their daughters had undergone some sort of change.

Both parents were on the doorstep when she drove in. She was surprised to see her father.

‘Not working, Dad?’ she said as she hugged him.

‘No, I wangled the afternoon off.’

‘It’s lovely to see you, darling,’ said her mother, hugging just as hard.

‘Hey, you two! I haven’t been away that long!’

‘I know, but you’ve been through a lot,’ said her mother, ushering her into the house. ‘I thought we’d just have a snack in the garden for lunch, as it’s so sunny.’

Over the wine and the salad Zoe kept her parents entertained with tales of Somerby, Rupert’s parents, the croquembouche and, in an expurgated version, Gideon. When her father went off to his study to catch up on a bit of work her mother made tea and set the mug firmly in front of her daughter; she wanted details.

She listened in silence while Zoe went through the description of how they’d met and how outrageously and utterly gorgeous and stunningly sexy he was. She went on to say how different from other people he was and how his hopes and ambitions coincided with hers, to a certain extent.

Her mother left a long, tactful silence before saying, ‘So, doesn’t the fact that he’s a judge make him completely off limits?’

Zoe sighed and nodded. ‘But you can’t always choose who you – fancy.’ She stopped but she knew her mother wasn’t fooled. She sensed it had gone further than just fancying.

‘I’ll put the kettle on again,’ her mother said.

After her mother had come through with the refilled mugs of tea and had produced a packet of chocolate digestives, she went on: ‘Couldn’t you put it all on hold until after the competition?’

‘That’s what we are doing, more or less. We haven’t actually discussed it yet. I haven’t heard from him since he went away anyway. I’m fine about it’ – she smiled to hide her fib – ‘and maybe he was thinking the same thing, maybe that’s why he hasn’t tried to get in touch. Maybe he thinks it’s better if we don’t see each other until it’s all over.’

‘It does seem a shame to risk—’

‘I know, Mum! You don’t need to remind me. I’m determined not to risk my chances in the competition.’

Zoe’s mother seemed a bit sceptical but only said, ‘Oh! How could I have forgotten! There was a something in the post for you a couple of days ago. It might have information about your final challenge.’

Glad that her mother was distracted from Gideon, Zoe followed her mother into the house. ‘How exciting! We know it’s fine dining but not all the details.’

‘Here you go!’ She handed Zoe a couple of envelopes, with the one she considered important on the top.

As Zoe took the envelopes and the letter opener her mother passed she noticed the second envelope was handwritten. She didn’t recognise the writing but she knew instantly who it was from. Her heart sang and she gave an ecstatic little sigh, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice.

‘Actually, Mum? Would you like another cup of tea? I’ll make it.’ She was awash herself but her mother had no limits to her capacity.

When she came back she was fully in charge of her feelings and focused on the competition.

The official envelope was large and full of bits of paper. The first thing Zoe picked up was a printed invitation. ‘Wow!’ she said, passing it to her mother.

‘An after-show party! How nice! Do you think it’ll be full of celebs?’

‘Maybe,’ said Zoe, examining it. ‘But I’m not asking Jamie Oliver for his autograph, even if you beg me.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said her mother. ‘Alan Titchmarsh?’

‘It’s a cooking thing. He does gardens.’

Her mother sighed in resignation. ‘All right, so what are you going to wear?’

‘Mum! What I wear isn’t important! It’s how I cook! Look!’ She pulled out a sheet of paper on which was written the next challenge and handed it to her mother. Really she was longing to get to what she was sure was Gideon’s letter but she felt she must give her professional life precedence.

‘“A celebration meal for six: two chefs, two critics, a food-loving celebrity and one of the original judges”,’ her mother read aloud.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Zoe, reading over her mother’s shoulder. Seeing it all in print made it scarily real. ‘Four courses and top, fine-dining food.’ She had a moment of panic. She’d lost valuable practise time at Somerby, even if it had been in a good cause. She had a lot to catch up on!

‘But you can order what ingredients you like. They do say good food starts in the shop,’ said her mother, reading.

‘Or with the producer,’ said Zoe. ‘There are some great ones near Somerby.’

‘But still, I hate to say this, but I’m so glad it’s you and not me!’

Zoe pulled out a chair and sat at the garden table. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got this far, I can do it. And I already know what I’ll make for pudding – a croquembouche.’

‘Oh? Like you did for the christening. Good idea!’

Zoe’s enthusiasm grew. ‘I’d quite like to put gold leaf on some physalis fruit – you know, cape gooseberries – or something, so I can put little gold balls in between the profiteroles.’

‘Will you have time? It sounds awfully fiddly. And would gold leaf stick? You know how the toffee always falls off the toffee apples unless you’re really careful. And what would you do as a starter?’

Zoe gathered the papers together, including the handwritten envelope. ‘Actually, Mum, I need to have a bit of a think. I’ll take this lot upstairs and reread everything and then we’ll hit the cookery books.’

Clutching the papers to her she ran up to her bedroom, dumped everything on the side table but took the envelope and sat on her bed.

She could open Gideon’s letter at last. She was tempted to scrabble it open with her fingers, but as she’d picked up the letter opener with the papers she slit it open. She might want to keep the envelope intact.



Dear Zoe,

I am so sorry not to have been in touch. Still kicking myself for not exchanging numbers. I didn’t even have the number at Somerby with me. I managed to get your home address by devious means!

I have a lot to tell you. Life has got even more hectic than usual. But we’ll be together very soon and I can explain then.

I’m about to be whisked away to a meeting.

Yours, Gideon



As a love letter, it wasn’t entirely satisfactory, but it was so much better than nothing. And it was really nice to see his handwriting. It was good writing and he had obviously used a fountain pen. Most people texted or emailed these days; it was very special to have something tangible she could keep for ever. It was just like Gideon to have written to her. There was no tender sign-off though. How long does it take to write ‘lots of love’? Hardly any time at all. But was ‘yours’ better? Maybe it meant more than just ‘lots of love’. Zoe hardly ever wrote an email that she didn’t put ‘lots of love’ at the end of.

She examined the paper again. It was from a hotel. Gideon hadn’t given her his email address, his mobile number or anything. Perhaps he didn’t want her to get in touch? Perhaps this was a ‘keep at arms’ length’ letter?

She descended into gloom for a few moments and then reread the letter once more for luck. He’d gone to some trouble to find out her address. He didn’t need to write at all. No, she decided to be happy. Being happy or unhappy was quite often just a decision, she realised, glad that she’d made it.

She got up and went downstairs. It was time to scour the culinary world for recipes.



Planning the menu was fun. Zoe’s mother had a lot of cookery books, Zoe had even more, and then there was the internet. Her mother threw herself into the whole thing with enthusiasm and her father obligingly ate samples as they appeared.

‘You’re not a bad cook, Zoe,’ he said, snarfing up a tiny tart full of finely chopped mushrooms and topped with a poached quail’s egg.

Zoe was frowning. ‘Thank you. We liked that too but I’m not sure. It’s too small for a starter really.’

‘Give them two, then!’ Her father seemed to think this was the blindingly obvious solution.

Zoe shook her head. ‘Two would look wrong, and three would be too much. I’ll have to think of something else.’

‘Oh, shame,’ said her father.

‘Don’t worry, there’s mixture over. We’re having it for supper.’

Thinking up the different courses with someone who really wanted you to win was so much more fun than doing everything on your own. Her mother was a very good cook herself although she didn’t fully understand about cooking in a competition.

‘I know there is nothing more delicious than a perfect little cup of soup but it won’t be enough at this stage of the competition,’ Zoe explained.

Her mother sighed. ‘I suppose I’m just thinking of lovely food that isn’t too stressful to serve.’

Zoe thought back to some of the best restaurants she’d eaten at. They sometimes served a tiny portion of soup which was almost the best part of the meal. ‘I suppose out of four courses I could have one simple thing.’

‘As long as it was perfect?’

‘And presented beautifully.’

‘You can have my wedding coffee cups if you like. I haven’t used them for years,’ said her mother.

Zoe didn’t speak for a few seconds. Her mother’s coffee cups were antique, Spode, decorated with pea pods and tendrils in the palest green with gold edges. Zoe had always loved them. ‘But Mum!’ She had to clear her throat, she was so touched by the offer. ‘Supposing they got broken!’

‘I don’t expect they will. And at least they’d go in a good cause. I never use them, after all.’

‘But they’re so special!’

‘I know. So it’s right that you have them for this special occasion.’

Zoe could picture a pea soup, exactly the same colour as the cups, and how wonderful it would look. She hugged her mother. ‘If you’re really sure …’

‘Of course! Now what are you going to do next? A starter? Or fish?’

‘Fish, I think. They’re looking for technique. They want fiddly and time-consuming. Anything remotely easy and I could get marked down. That said, I do think I’ll risk it and do a simple fish – perhaps a John Dory, which would be two simple courses.’

‘Well, you’ve got the choux pastry for the buns, that’s quite technical.’

‘Yes, and I’ve practised it loads.’

‘I know!’ said her mother. ‘My book club adored those éclairs.’

‘But I should maybe have another go at the caramel and spun sugar.’

Her mother chuckled. ‘What other skills do you have to show off? Juggling?’

Zoe giggled. ‘Boning, stuffing, something or other “three ways” – possibly something you wouldn’t normally eat.’

‘Like dormouse for instance?’

‘That’s it, only probably something that’s not endangered. Rabbit, perhaps?’

‘Do you like rabbit?’ Zoe’s mother seemed all set to enthuse about Miffy as food if she had to.

‘Not really. I could do some sort of fowl – or game.’ Zoe ran through every creature she could think of in her head but didn’t come up with anything that inspired her.

‘Or steak.’

Zoe regarded her mother as if she were mad for a few seconds and then her expression changed. ‘Three ways with steak would be fairly unusual. I could do a miniature beef Wellington, a perfect pan-fried steak with Jenga chips – you know, when you stack them in a little tower like the game? – and may be steak tartare?’

Her mother nodded. ‘But what about cold food on a hot plate?’

Zoe considered. Her mother had a thing about hot plates that no one else in the family understood at all. But she might have a point. ‘Or a tiny, perfect burger? Deep fried crispy onions? Some perfect relish? I could probably make that beforehand. They say we can have six ingredients we haven’t made ourselves, or made earlier.’

Planning the perfect menu took several days, sheets of paper, the internet, trips to the library and agonies of indecision. But it was fun, and when she wasn’t thinking and wondering about Gideon, it occupied Zoe’s mind completely.

At last she was happy with her menu and threw herself into developing the perfect relish and the best and lightest sauce for the fish. She spent quite a lot of money on edible gold leaf and physalises too.

When they weren’t thinking about food, Zoe and her mother thought about what Zoe should wear for the party and the photo shoot. Zoe’s mother didn’t think she was paying the matter enough attention.

‘But it’s a food comp, Mum! Not Britain’s Next Top Model!’

‘Trust me, darling, if you don’t make an effort you’ll regret it for ever. And I bet that Cher will be going to town.’

Jenny, who had come over for lunch, mostly to weigh in on Zoe’s mother’s side, nodded. ‘You need to look shit hot.’

Zoe’s mother raised her eyebrows but nodded. ‘What about that boy you’re keen on? Isn’t he going to be there?’

Zoe laughed at the thought of Gideon being described as a boy. ‘I just thought I’d look more earnest and committed if I didn’t try to compete with Cher for looks.’

Zoe’s mother and Jenny exchanged despairing looks.

‘OK! I want to look gorgeous. As far as I can, seeing as I’m quite short.’

‘Petite, darling,’

‘And thanks to Jimmy Choo, Louboutin etc., you don’t have to be short any more,’ said Jenny.

‘For someone who mostly thinks about horses, you’re very into shoe designers,’ muttered Zoe.

‘I don’t live in a cave!’ said Jenny.

‘I rather like Emma Hope,’ said Zoe’s mother wistfully, possibly thinking of her youth.

‘Maybe I should do something about my hair?’ said Zoe, who was now quite keen on the idea of getting glammed up.

Jenny inspected Zoe’s mop, which was as usual a bit on the wild side. ‘I like it a bit longer but I do see you might want a good cut.’

Zoe took hold of a handful of curls. ‘I wonder what I’d look like with it straightened?’

‘Very high maintenance,’ said Jenny.

‘Why don’t you go along and see Debbie,’ her mother said. ‘She’s the best hairdresser in the county. All my friends go there.’

Zoe bit her lip, not sure the statement that ‘all my friends go there’ was quite the recommendation for her, seeing as she was a different generation.

‘Oh yes,’ said Jenny. ‘She’s really good. She did the hair for a friend’s wedding. She’ll sort you out.’ She looked longingly at the last cream puff. ‘Can I eat that? I know I’ve had two already but they are delish.’

Zoe pushed the plate towards her. ‘Please! No one in the house can face any more choux pastry at the moment. I’ve been making it blindfold.’

‘Really?’ Jenny almost seemed to believe this.

Zoe tutted. ‘No, not really! But I have made it a lot so it’s one less thing to worry about for the competition.’



Debbie was brilliant. For a start, she was only a bit older than Zoe so knew exactly what was on trend and what would suit Zoe best. She came home with her head a mass of curls that she could pin back, or wear with a hair band, or just have tousled.

She couldn’t help wondering how Gideon would react to it. He liked her unstructured look and he would probably like this. Or at least, she hoped so. She was so longing to see him again.

Her mother made and paid for an appointment to have her nails done. While she was there she had her eyebrows shaped. She briefly considered having her eyelashes extended but the girl said, ‘Honestly, you don’t need it. Your eyelashes are fine as they are.’

She shimmied home and twirled for her mother and later for her father who said, ‘I think you look the same as you did before you spent all that money, but what do I know?’

He was pushed affectionately and dispatched to the sitting room with the paper.

‘You look stunning, darling. You do look the same as you did this morning but sleeker, more groomed. Gamine, and sort of French. You’ll give that Cher a run for her money.’

‘Mum! It isn’t a competition for looks, you know!’

‘Oh yes it is,’ said her mother. ‘It always is.’



Two weeks later, with a case full of emergency changes of mind, esoteric ingredients that the TV company might not be able to source, and her mother’s antique coffee cups to bring her luck, Zoe took the train to London.

‘Just as well you don’t have to change at Swindon,’ said her father, as he helped her haul her luggage to the platform.

‘No, and I only have to climb into a taxi at Paddington.’

‘It’s like when you went to uni only almost worse!’ said her mother. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to take my Rescue Remedy? Just in case you get really nervous?’

‘I’ll be fine, Mum. Really. Or at least, as fine as I can be.’

‘You just do your best. Dad and I are so proud of you!’

‘Are you sure you and Dad can’t come to the final judging and the wrap party afterwards?’

‘Honey! In some ways I’d love to but your dad’s got to be away for work and I’d hate being there on my own, even if I didn’t have a whole lot of stuff it would be difficult to get out of.’

Zoe sighed. ‘You wouldn’t be on your own. I’d be there.’

‘You’ll be busy and I’d get terribly nervous for you. I’d just be miserable, and you’d worry about me.’

There was no denying the truth of this. Her mother was great with people she knew but she was shy deep down. She also suffered dreadfully with nerves on her daughter’s behalf. Zoe didn’t want to force her to come to something she wouldn’t enjoy. ‘OK, if you really don’t want to.’

‘Thank you, darling. It’s honestly better this way.’

Zoe hugged her parents, hoping that either the train would come or her mother would go before she started to cry. ‘If you want to do a bit of shopping you’d better not waste all your parking ticket on saying goodbye to me.’

‘OK, OK, I can take a hint.’ Her mother hugged her again hard. ‘Keep in touch!’

Just as she settled into her seat her phone beeped. It was a text from Jenny. ‘Good luck, can’t wait to see it when it airs’. Zoe hadn’t given much thought to the actual programme. Now she was forced to, she felt she might have to hide when that time came. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to watch it. Although perhaps if she was watching it snuggled up next to Gideon it would be bearable. Then, chiding herself for daydreaming, she opened her folder and forced herself to think about three ways with steak.