Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Twenty-Seven





‘OK, MUM, YOU won’t forward any letters from Gideon?’

‘No, darling.’

‘Or pass on my mobile number if he rings the house?’

‘No.’

‘Or tell him where I am?’

Zoe’s mother took her daughter into her arms. ‘Of course not! I know how hard this is for you. I’m not going to do anything to make it harder!’

Satisfied at last, Zoe got into her car. She’d forced the same promises out of Fenella and all at Somerby. Fenella had taken a bit longer to persuade, but it was harder for her, she’d met Gideon. She knew exactly how charming he could be. ‘I won’t get over him if I keep hoping for a letter or an email,’ Zoe insisted. ‘I must go completely cold turkey.’ And for all she knew Gideon might not want to get in contact with her anyway. He was probably well and truly back in the arms of his wife and shuddering at his narrow escape.

These promises in place, just in case, two weeks after the competition Zoe drove into the little town of Fearnley. She’d been sad to leave Somerby and little Glory behind. She’d grown so fond of the whole family but she couldn’t stay there. She could be found too easily and there were too many painful memories. A few days at home with her family, with Jenny on hand, had helped revive her spirits a little and now she felt a renewed sense of purpose. She might die an heartbroken old maid but she would have her own deli one day and helping Sarah’s friend was a good start. She felt like two people: one carrying on as normal, a fully functioning adult, the other nursing a broken heart and wondering if she’d ever get over it.

As she looked for the shop she saw Fearnley was indeed the perfect town for a specialist food shop. A range of antique and gift shops punctuated the hotels and tea rooms and shops selling china, frocks and homewares. The town had been a tourist honey pot for hundreds of years; it was probably time it had something to cater for the second-home owners and the more enlightened retired army officers. She thought about Rupert’s parents and wondered if they would buy loose tea, Bath Oliver biscuits and Gentleman’s Relish if somewhere local provided it.

She spotted the shop, its windows whited out, and next to it, a little lane that led to the back of the shop and a parking space for Zoe. She parked next to a battered Transit van and got out, inspecting the back of the shop, feeling a little shy but also excited about this new phase in her life.

Astrid, her new boss, greeted her with a paintbrush in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She was wearing a boiler suit and a faint spattering of white emulsion.

‘Hi! You’re Zoe? Great! Grab a cup of coffee and then we can get started. Do you mind a bit of painting and decorating? We can talk and work.’

‘I don’t mind what I do, but I only do basic painting, no fancy bits.’

‘Hooray! Sarah said you’d be happy to muck in and we don’t want fancy bits. I just want everything fresh and white, before the chippies arrive to put up the shelving. I’ve got this mad idea that I want a huge long shelf right across the shop that I could put plates and decorative tins on – like you’d have in a kitchen.’

‘It sounds great. I love that idea!’

Zoe wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as she sounded, not because she didn’t like the idea of a big display shelf running right across the shop, but because her heart ached. Just now, any enthusiasm had to be faked. But here she would be occupied morning till night. Maybe if she went to bed every night exhausted from physical activity she would sleep and not be forced to watch memories of Gideon go round in her mind on a loop.

Astrid, who knew how to delegate, soon found Zoe a boiler suit to match her own and found some pumping music on the radio. She gave Zoe the roller. ‘There, do you worst with that big boy!’

Zoe smiled. She liked Astrid. Working with her would be fun.

When Astrid declared if she didn’t eat something she’d drop dead from hunger, Zoe went out for sandwiches. She bought them from a small supermarket and they didn’t look inspiring. A freshly made sandwich was something a good deli could provide; she decided to suggest it to Astrid if she didn’t already have it as part of her plan.

‘Oh God yes!’ said Astrid, when Zoe put forward her idea. ‘I have thought of sangers – as my grandfather used to call them – but any other ideas, however far out from left field they seem, I want to hear them.’

‘Recipe cards? I could help you with them.’

‘Great idea! We could gather together the ingredients and put them with a recipe. Real cooking but made easy for people! I’m so glad Sarah suggested you. You’re perfect.’

‘I don’t know about that …’

‘Hey, come and see what I did while you were out.’ Zoe followed Astrid up the stairs. ‘I made a start on the flat upstairs. It’s where you’ll be staying. I’ve just used it as an office up to now, but it has got furniture.’

While Zoe wandered round, Astrid searched a fridge downstairs for a couple of lagers to go with the picnic. It had huge potential and was actually quite big. There were two bedrooms, one mostly full of a double bed and another, mostly full of a desk and a lot of papers. Apart from that there was a largish room overlooking the street that had a sofa and an armchair in it and a tiny kitchen and bathroom.

‘Do you need me to clear my stuff out of the second bedroom?’ Astrid asked, handing Zoe an open bottle of Beck’s.

Zoe could take a hint. ‘Of course not. One bedroom is perfect.’

‘And I know there isn’t much in the way of home comforts but I’ve got a telly at my house I’ll bring over and the bed and duvet etc. are new. Anything else you’d like?’

Zoe looked around. ‘I just need a table for my laptop.’

‘The kitchen is pretty damn bijou, ditto the bathroom, and they’re both cold as charity, but we’ll get it sorted before the winter,’ Astrid went on.

The thought of winter made Zoe shiver, not just because of the potential cold but because she couldn’t imagine how life would be in winter or if she’d still be here. And would she be over Gideon by then? Or would he still haunt her thoughts? Still, she’d spent quite a long part of the morning – ten minutes at least – without thinking about him at all. That was progress!



The days passed quickly although the hours were long. Zoe found herself doing anything from decorating to checking deliveries (trying not to wonder if the olive oil had come courtesy of Gideon’s company) to helping Astrid with her press release.

‘They always have a big new opening party in those television programmes,’ Astrid announced.

‘I know. My mother is addicted to those “rescuing a scuzzie hotel from being closed down by the health authorities” programmes,’ said Zoe, dunking a ginger-nut in her tea. They were having a break from shelf-filling, perched on paint-splattered chairs, using an upturned box as a table.

‘I’m addicted to them too! All those sort of makeover things – I love the one when Ruth Watson is really rude to all those aristos and they come round to her way of thinking like lambs. Mostly.’ Astrid paused. ‘We’ll open first, in a quiet way, when we’re ready and all the health-and-safety stuff is signed off, then we’ll invite everyone we can think of to a massive party.’ She paused again. ‘I’d love you to do the catering for that, if you want to that is …’

Astrid had by now discovered the breadth of Zoe’s talents when it came to food. She’d heard how she’d had to make canapés and cupcakes at the same time. She’d also heard quite a bit about Gideon. Having suffered her share of wrong-man syndrome she approved of Zoe’s zero-tolerance policy when it came to contact.

‘OK, we just need to know how many people it’s for.’ Zoe pulled a battered notebook from her back pocket and got out an old Ikea pencil. ‘Would you want hot and cold canapés? And pudding ones?’

‘Yes to everything. And …’ Astrid eyed Zoe speculatively. ‘… what would be really good to put in the window is a croquembouche.’

Zoe sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have told you about that! But I have pretty much got the hang of them now I think.’

‘It would be so eye-catching. And stylish,’ she said wistfully.

Zoe was a cook: window displays hadn’t played any part in her life up to now. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do! And my mate, who has a kitchen shop in a little town near Birmingham, has got a mould she’d lend me. I’m seeing her at the weekend. I’ll pick it up.’

‘We wouldn’t be able to fill the choux buns with anything but I reckon I could make it look good. And you’re right, it will draw people in.’ She tapped the notebook with the pencil. ‘So, how many?’

Astrid looked worried. ‘They never tell you how they come up with the guest list on those programmes. We’ll have to start with the local telephone directory.’

‘And the local paper?’

Astrid nodded. Zoe wrote it all down.



Finally they were ready. Health and Safety had given their seal of approval (an official document they had to pin up on the wall), the paint was now dry and the shelves stocked. Zoe felt a certain amount of pride and satisfaction to think how much time and energy she had put in. If only it were her very own deli. Still, this was a good second best. Astrid had been the perfect boss and apart from the weekend she went to Birmingham and the nights spent alone in the flat above the shop Zoe really hadn’t had that much time to think about Gideon. A production line of ready meals she’d got together in Astrid’s kitchen also helped keep her focus on food and not love. And with free accommodation and a modest wage, Zoe knew she could survive working here for as long as Astrid needed her. With luck her heart would have mended by then.

The actual opening, as opposed to the launch, was disappointingly low key. Astrid opened the front door of the shop and turned the sign to ‘Open’ and that was that.

However, they were both thrilled with how the shop looked. The long display shelf was lovely. It also provided storage for some random items Astrid couldn’t think what else to do with. There was a huge Majolica-ware pot, attractive if badly chipped, that she’d fallen in love with at a junk shop. Lots of tins of olive oil as well as jars of olives and one of pickled lemons were punctuated by decorative plates, many of them donated by Astrid’s mother.

‘I’m so glad we decided to do that shelf,’ said Astrid admiringly. ‘It looks fab!’

‘It was all your idea,’ said Zoe.

‘Yes, but you arranged the plates and things. Not doing ladders is a terrible disadvantage for a shopkeeper.’

Zoe chuckled. ‘I had the other shelves as extra support. Anyway, it’s done now. We can get a feather duster with a very long handle to keep it clean.’

Astrid instantly made a note. ‘Excellent!’

Apart from their beloved shelf for decoration only the other shelves were loaded with the rare, the useful and the simply delicious. There was a small freezer filled with Zoe-made ready meals so the second-homers could rush in and buy something quick and easy when they’d foolishly invited friends for dinner. There was a section where ingredients were grouped together with a recipe sheet for people who wanted to cook but needed inspiration. There were organic vegetables sourced from local farms as well as a select range of ‘Strictly Local’ cheese and charcuterie.

Zoe was pleased to provide another outlet for some of the people she’d used during the competition. There was milk and cream from a source so local and so special it practically named the cow who had produced the milk on the carton. There was also a tray of bread pudding. The recipe had come from an old lady Astrid had run across and Zoe had made it. She and Astrid had eaten nearly the entire first batch, it was so delicious, but they had sworn not to eat any more until they’d actually sold some. ‘The mark-up is so brilliant!’ said Astrid. ‘We always have day-old bread to use up so it costs almost nothing!’

Zoe thought fleetingly of what the other contestants might be up to. She wondered if Cher was right now being signed up as a glamorous TV presenter – she wouldn’t put it past her. She also wondered if Gideon had contacted Fenella and Rupert at all and then dismissed the thought. It was no good worrying away at it like a dog with a sore leg.

As they weren’t exactly rushed off their feet to begin with, Zoe was able to plan the food for the launch when Astrid was on duty, and Astrid tweaked her guest list and press release while Zoe served.

They often ate together in the evenings, most often in Astrid’s little cottage, which had a tiny courtyard garden with a table that was, Astrid declared, just about big enough for two plates and two glasses and a bottle.

‘I’ve got all the local press, the free papers and Cotswold Life lined up,’ said Astrid, ‘and a new foodie mag that’s based locally. Should be good!’

‘Should be excellent but how many people do I cater for?’

‘Fifty,’ said Astrid firmly.

‘You just took that figure out of the air, didn’t you?’

Astrid nodded. ‘It’s as good a way as any to decide! We can sell the leftovers.’

‘I don’t think so!’ said Zoe. ‘But we could eat them.’



*

A few days later Astrid was writing an order and Zoe was behind the counter, retweaking the display of Bach flower remedies, when she heard the bell. She turned round with a welcoming smile on her face but when she saw who it was she ducked down, out of view. It was Rupert’s parents.

Fortunately for her, they were talking loudly to each other and weren’t paying attention.

‘How do we get any service? The first proper shop in the town for ages and there are no staff!’

Astrid turned round. Zoe had been there only seconds before. But not now. ‘Can I help?’ she asked.

‘Ah! Good! Glad to see there’s someone here. M’wife wants a snoop around, don’t you, m’dear?’

Behind the counter, Zoe’s desire to giggle increased.

She could hear Lord and Lady Gainsborough wandering round the shop, picking things up, making faintly disgusted noises and moving on. ‘What in merry hell is this! Look like dried brains!’

Those must be the fantastically expensive dried wild mushrooms, thought Zoe.

‘And baked beans? In a shop like this? What’s that fancy label for? Where are the ones we always have? Perfectly good.’

Hmm, thought Zoe. Was the whole town full of people not prepared to pay over the odds for the special beans from America made from a traditional recipe involving black molasses?

‘Algy!’ said Lady Gainsborough. ‘They’ve got that vile fish paste you like!’

That will be the Gentleman’s Relish, thought Zoe, who was now developing cramp in her legs.

‘Thank God there’s something edible.’

Zoe wished they’d hurry up and decide whether they wanted to buy something or not before she fell over. She also wished she’d just served them.

While she heard Rupert’s father stride over to the fridge she decided that wanting no contact from Gideon had made her paranoid. He’d hardly have applied to Lord and Lady Gainsborough for details of her whereabouts. She sat down. She could hardly pop up from behind the counter now.

‘Gold!’ Rupert’s father boomed. ‘I’ve found gold!’

Rupert’s mother rushed over. ‘What in God’s name have you found that’s made you so excited?’

‘Bread pudding!’ declared Lord Gainsborough. ‘I never thought I’d eat it again!’



Astrid laughed when Zoe appeared from behind the counter once she knew the coast was clear, stretching and rubbing her legs. ‘That’s where you were! Gotta love those wrinklies. They bought all the bread pudding. That’s a tenner in the till with hardly any outlay. Apart from your skill in the kitchen,’ she added hastily.

Zoe just smiled. The thought of the indignation Lord and Lady Gainsborough would have felt at being described as wrinklies was worth the cramp.