Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Four





IT WAS NINE o’clock, and the contestants were huddled together in one of the barns at Somerby, shell shocked and drinking wine. A makeshift bar had been set up for them, almost as if the powers that be sensed they would need it after the gruelling day they’d had. There were six of them: the other three remaining contestants, who were staying in the village, had already gone back home to bed.

Of course everyone knew someone would be eliminated. It was a competition; one person would be leaving after each task. But because both groups had found the task so hard, they had somehow forgotten this aspect. And Dwaine had gone, just like that.

Zoe thought her group had been a disaster. She and Muriel had ended up doing most of the work. Dwaine had spent far too long building towers of food, hunched over plates, placing little bits of God-knew-what on top of worrying brown smears until the whole lot was stone cold and was then sent back.

And his food didn’t taste of much either. It turned out that he had learnt all his cooking from television programmes but didn’t ever taste anything. According to him, if it looked right it was right and that was his undoing. He refused to compromise. And despite everything he had remained confident to the end.

Anna Fortune had come in halfway through service. She had observed the kitchen, which Muriel and Zoe had turned into a factory for omelette (served with chips and salad), and gone out again with an audible sniff.

After a couple of seconds exchanging horrified glances, Zoe and Muriel carried on with their plan. Alan had made salads, Muriel the omelettes and Zoe had been the gofer, running between the kitchen and the restaurant making sure everyone was happy. Cher had polished glasses and served wine. Dwaine had sulked.

Just at the end of service, Zoe observed a dark figure slink out, like a wolf. It was Gideon. It was odd, they decided as they gave the kitchen a final wipe down, that after the initial nervousness, having the camera crew observing their every move hadn’t felt as if they were being watched. But a judge was like a presence from on high, taking note of every move.

‘Poor Dwaine, he was totally out of his depth,’ said Zoe, now passing the bottle of wine to Alan on her left.

‘He wasn’t a team player, though, was he?’ said Alan.

‘No,’ agreed Muriel vehemently.

‘He was the weakest link, he had to go,’ said Cher.

Muriel and Zoe exchanged glances. Cher had been a fairly weak link herself and yet she was still here. Zoe wondered if Muriel was also wondering if it was Cher’s good looks that saved her this time, and if they always would.

‘Any clue what the next challenge will be?’ asked Bill, an ex-builder in his sixties, who’d been on the other team.

‘I hope it’s something individual,’ said Becca, the one who Zoe had immediately identified as major competition, although she didn’t say much. ‘I’m better on my own.’

‘I reckon you did really well today,’ said Bill. ‘Cooked up a storm, she did.’

‘Will we always be in the same teams, do you think?’ asked Zoe, thinking she’d swap kindly Bill for Cher any day of the week.

Cher was great at looking as if she was doing something if the camera was on her or if there was a judge present, but she didn’t do much in between.

‘Oh, I think they’ll mix us up for team challenges,’ said Muriel. She yawned. ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I don’t have the stamina I once had.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Bill. ‘I’ll walk you back. You’re in one of the stables, aren’t you? Me, I’m in the pigsty.’

Everyone agreed they were tired and the party broke up. Cher and Zoe walked back towards their converted cowshed. ‘If we’re put into pairs I want to be with you,’ said Cher briskly. Had she been more friendly, Zoe might have been flattered, but she suspected an ulterior motive. Her instincts weren’t wrong. ‘I feel we look good together. You set me off nicely, being short and dark.’

‘So you think you look better – taller and blonder – if you’re next to me?’ Zoe wanted confirmation her suspicions were right.

‘Yup. Don’t be offended. You’re not bad looking, but you’re just not …’ She paused. ‘You’re just not as good looking as I am.’

‘Right,’ said Zoe, feeling suddenly that the less they had to do with each other, the better. ‘I think I’ll go up to the house to get some milk for tea in the morning. We seem to have run out.’

‘Oh good. See you later.’

‘And do try to be out of the bathroom by the time I get back.’

The Somerby kitchen was empty and in a state. The remains of a large dinner party was on the table and every working surface had saucepans, greasy roasting tins and dirty glasses on it. The sink was full of more pans, soaking. Zoe, who thought her legs wouldn’t function very much longer, went to the fridge, trying to ignore the mess. And then she thought of Fenella, heavily pregnant, who had probably gone to bed without tidying up for very good reasons. She wouldn’t want to see all this in the morning.

‘I must give up being so bloody helpful!’ she said aloud as she started clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. ‘I should just get the milk and go back to my bed, and get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s challenge.’

But she didn’t listen. She seemed to be on autopilot; having spent all day clearing up, she couldn’t stop now.

She was putting the last things in, cramming the dishwasher as full as she could, when she heard a voice behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’

She turned, hoping it was Rupert but knowing perfectly well it wasn’t.

‘I could ask you the same question!’ she said, remembering too late she should try and stay on his good side.

‘I left my notes here and I need them for tomorrow. We’re still upstairs discussing things.’ Gideon gestured towards a briefcase on a chair. ‘You?’

‘I was getting milk for tea tomorrow morning. Fen said we should do that.’

‘And Fen keeps milk in the dishwasher, does she?’

Probably because she was tired, Zoe found herself smiling. ‘Of course, doesn’t everyone?’

Gideon, who, now she looked at him properly, seemed tired too – the whole day had been fraught and even though the judges had had an easier time of it they obviously took their roles seriously – allowed his mouth to quirk a little in return. ‘I was here when Fen went to bed. You’ve tidied up this lot, haven’t you?’

Zoe couldn’t think if she was allowed to help Fenella or not. ‘I might have …’

Gideon nodded. ‘You’ve been brainwashed during the day. You can’t see washing-up without having to do it.’

Her forehead wrinkled a little. ‘I think maybe that’s right.’ She looked under the sink and found some tablets and put the dishwasher on. ‘OK, milk.’

‘It might seem a mad idea but I suggest you look in the fridge.’

Zoe ignored this, but as she turned back to the room, a plastic bottle in her hand, she saw Gideon yawning. He stretched out his arms to their full extent and groaned. It made Zoe think of a bear – albeit a very sexy one. He smiled sleepily. ‘You know, I have a sudden desire for hot chocolate. How much milk is there in the fridge?’

Zoe looked back into it. ‘Masses.’ Then she heard herself say, ‘Shall I make you some?’ She really shouldn’t keep offering to do things for people all the time. He’d probably think she was trying to suck up to him, which would never do.

He saved her from herself. He shook his head. ‘You sit down. I’m an expert.’

‘At hot chocolate? But you’re a food critic and entrepreneur!’ He’d never manage without real chocolate from Mexico and possibly cream.

‘That doesn’t mean I can’t make fabulous cocoa, does it? Sit!’

Zoe pulled out a chair and sat, telling herself he wasn’t talking to her as if she was a dog but just insisting she took the weight off her feet, which she did need to do. And if he could make cocoa, then good for him.

The cocoa did take a bit more in the way of creaming, whisking and reheating than Zoe would have thought necessary but when he put a steaming, foaming mug in front of her the aroma was heavenly.

‘Biscuits,’ he said firmly.

‘In that box,’ Zoe said, pointing. ‘Fen said they are for clients’ use only. That’s me, if not you.’

Gideon rummaged in the box and brought a packet of digestives back with him. ‘There are others if you’d rather but I think these are best with hot chocolate.’

Zoe giggled.

‘What’s funny?’ he demanded.

His outrage made her laugh even more. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just so … I don’t know, cheffy of you – although I know you’re not a chef – to have a special biscuit to go with hot chocolate.’

He gave her a look which could have been a warning. ‘I think, given that you’ve entered a cookery competition, you should take it all a bit more seriously.’

But Zoe was past being warned. ‘I may have entered a cookery competition but that doesn’t mean I have to be a pretentious prat!’ She paused. ‘Does it?’

‘Taking your art seriously doesn’t mean you’re pretentious.’ He pulled out another chair and sat down, cupping his hands around his own mug of cocoa.

‘Except in your case!’ She sent him a glance, challenging him.

‘Don’t flash your eyes at me. I’m the expert here! You’re the lowly contestant.’

Zoe took a sip of the hot chocolate and sighed. ‘I must admit, you may have made a great deal of fuss and even more mess, but this is heavenly.’

‘I’m flattered.’

‘Oh don’t be. My opinion counts for nothing. I am only a “lowly contestant”, after all.’

He laughed properly now. ‘Not one that seems intent on charming the judges, that’s for sure. The girl who did your front of house in the challenge today certainly knew which side her bread was buttered.’

‘Glad to hear it. It’s a cookery competition.’

He shook his head gently. ‘That’s not really funny, you know.’

‘I know. But I am taking the competition seriously. And if I don’t win because I don’t flirt with the judges, that’s OK. I want to win on my own merits.’

He looked at her steadily and said, ‘I don’t know much about your merits – yet – but you’re not doing a bad job at flirting with the judges.’

Zoe was horrified. ‘You don’t think I was flirting, do you? I was just joking around!’

‘Then that’s all right then. I absolve you of flirting.’

Although, she thought, perhaps she had flirted a little bit? Gideon had that effect on her and secretly she’d rather enjoyed it. He was much less formidable in the cosy Somerby kitchen. But she had to be careful.

‘Good! I want to win this fair and square.’

‘That’s very admirable.’ He paused. ‘So why do you want to win?’

She was quite glad they were on safer ground.

She considered. ‘I want to win because I love food and I love cooking. I gave up a job I’d had for a while and I really want the prize.’ She sent him a rueful look. ‘I’m not totally focused on money or anything, but I want to set up a deli. The cash would help.’

‘Fair enough.’

He was looking at her rather too intently so she decided to ask him a question. ‘So what about you? Do you have any long-held ambitions? Or are you a complete success?’

He laughed. ‘Far from it! And yes, I do have long-held ambitions.’

‘Which are?’

‘I feel like a Miss World contestant when I say this but I really want to do something to help education about food. Jamie Oliver has done so much but I’d like to join that fight.’ He was stirring the remains of his cocoa as he spoke, a look of concentration on his face. It was clearly something he felt passionate about.

‘So why don’t you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, after all.’

‘I haven’t really found the right platform. It needs to be big, but I’ll do it. One day.’

‘I think that’s a terrific ambition. Much better than just wanting to open a deli.’ Zoe was rather pleased he had ideals. It made her like him even more.

‘We can’t all change the world and good delis are wonderful.’

Zoe nodded. ‘Don’t start me on them. I have so many ideas …’ Suddenly she yawned.

‘Hey, you’d better go to bed. You need to sleep. You’ve got a competition to win.’

‘I suddenly feel terribly guilty.’

‘Why?’ Gideon was bemused.

‘Telling you my ambitions. It might make you favour me.’

He laughed. ‘I promise you, I’m incorruptible. You’ll probably get your deli one day even if you don’t win.’

‘Maybe. Anyway …’ She hesitated, reluctant to leave although she knew she should.

‘I think if you’re really determined, you will get what you want.’ He seemed to think her hesitation was lack of self-belief.

‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She felt strangely free to say what she thought with Gideon: she felt more comfortable with him than she usually did with men nearer her own age with more similar backgrounds. There was something about the kitchen too that invited intimacy.

Maybe he felt the same because instead of going back upstairs (surely people would be wondering what had happened to him?) he said, ‘So what’s it like, staying on the premises?’

‘It’s only been one night but Fen and Rupert are very hospitable. It’s why I cleared up for them – they’ve been so lovely to me.’

‘I might blag myself a bed here then.’

‘Why? Isn’t your hotel comfortable?’

‘I’m sure it is. I’m just allergic to them. I spend too much time away and would much rather stay in someone’s house.’

Zoe thought of Fenella, who already had far too much to do. ‘Well, I don’t think you should.’

He was surprised. ‘Why on earth not?’

‘It’s nothing to do with me, of course, but Fen’s pregnant. You staying here would make much more work for her.’

‘Would it?’

‘Of course! She’d have to make proper breakfast, make sure your room was tidy – all sorts of things she probably could do without.’

He studied her more closely. ‘You’re very protective of her.’

‘No – well, maybe I am. But I feel sorry for her having all these people around her when she’s just about to pop.’

He considered. ‘OK, if I promise not to demand – or even accept – any special attention, even breakfast, clean up after myself and don’t come in late and drunk, can I ask if there’s a spare bed they could put me into? The television company would be paying them, after all.’

Zoe made a face. ‘Of course, it’s none of my business—’

‘None at all.’

‘But if you stick to those terms and conditions—’

‘Ooh, formal,’ he teased.

‘You can ask if you can stay.’

Gideon got up and took Zoe’s empty mug. ‘I’ll say I have permission from their tame Rottweiler.’

‘Oh please don’t.’ Zoe was suddenly serious. ‘They’d be mortified, if not seriously annoyed. I don’t want that.’

‘OK, it’ll stay our secret.’

Zoe got up and collected the milk. Gideon strode towards her. ‘Goodnight.’ He looked as if he might kiss her cheek, as he would if they had met socially, in the normal way.

Zoe looked up at him and tried to think of something smart to say to end the conversation but nothing came to her, so, clutching the milk, she turned and left.

Much to her relief, Cher was asleep when she got back. She didn’t have to endure questions as to whether she’d had to milk the cow because it had taken her so long to get back with it. By morning she’d have thought up a good excuse. Cher was a very suspicious character. It was like living with the Spanish Inquisition even if you hadn’t done anything wrong. After all, there was nothing in the rules to say she couldn’t share hot chocolate with one of the judges. Or was there?