Recipe for Love

CHAPTER Eight





ZOE’S PHONE AWOKE them at seven the following morning and they got ready without speaking beyond ‘do you want tea or coffee?’ Zoe decided to try and stop worrying about Cher trying to sabotage her – it was just too difficult to share a house otherwise.

Cher peered out of the window. ‘It’s bloody pouring with rain. Why is it today we have to cook in a field?’

‘Just the way it is. Anyway, we cooked in a field yesterday.’ She went on, ‘Have you done anything like that before?’

‘Are you joking? As if!’

Zoe wasn’t surprised. She didn’t see Cher as the Girl Guide type. Glamping would be the nearest she ever got.

They ate their breakfast cereal in silence and headed for the bus.



‘OK, guys!’ said Mike once they’d arrived at a beauty spot about half an hour away and were safely under canvas. ‘Two teams of four. The judges will decide who goes where and will tell you what’s going on.’

While they waited for the cameramen to do their thing, Zoe crossed her fingers that she wouldn’t be in Cher’s team. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Cher over-salting her potatoes or anything – if they were on the same team she wouldn’t risk jeopardising their chances – but rather that she’d probably be hopeless in conditions without electricity and running water.

‘Good morning, contestants!’ said Anna Fortune. ‘I hope you all had a good night’s sleep because you’ve a tough challenge before you today.’

Zoe felt herself blush but decided she had to get over it. Cher might have worked out where she slept the other night but there was no reason to think the judges – apart from Gideon, obviously – had any inkling. ‘You’re going to be cooking a hearty lunch for two groups of ramblers. They will have walked up to seven miles and will be hungry – and wet! They’ll want soup, main course and pudding, but at twelve o’clock on the dot. That gives you three hours. The winning team will be decided by the walkers, but we’ll decide which of you, from the losing team, will go out. Fred, will you tell them who they’re working with?’

Fred smiled benignly and produced a piece of paper from his pocket.

‘OK, we have two team leaders, Muriel and Bill. Bill’s team is Shona, Alan and Becca. Muriel has …’

Zoe didn’t listen to the names. Once she’d realised she’d be working with Cher her spirits slumped. Still, they had Shadrach, who seemed to be brilliant, although how he’d cope without anything except knives and chopping boards had yet to be seen and he was rather messy. Zoe knew that Muriel would be all right, and she would be too. Her own experience as a Saturday girl in a small, ill-equipped café meant she was used to depending on sub-standard equipment.

‘There are ingredients over there.’ Fred made a gesture towards a section of the tented area where piles of boxes could be seen. ‘Decide what you want to cook and get down to it. It’s up to the team leaders to decide who’s doing what. Their decision is final so no arguing. You have three hours.’

‘Right, team,’ said Muriel. ‘Follow me to help carry back the food. I’ll choose what to do.’

‘I don’t peel potatoes,’ said Cher.

‘What do you mean you don’t peel potatoes?’ said Zoe. ‘Are you genetically different from the rest of us?’

Cher scowled at her. ‘I don’t do peeling. Just saying.’

Zoe heard Muriel muttering as she strode towards the food, Shadrach at her heels.

‘Come on, we must go and help,’ said Zoe, tugging Cher’s sleeve.

‘I so don’t want to do this!’ Cher said.

‘Look, we’re all in this together,’ said Zoe. ‘If we lose, one of us will go out. If you don’t pull your weight, it’ll be you!’

Finally convinced, Cher followed Zoe to where the others were grabbing provisions and piling them into a basket. She was muttering as she went, but as soon as a camera panned in she was all smiles. The moment it moved to the other group her scowl returned. Zoe couldn’t help marvel at Cher’s chameleon ability to switch the charm on and off and also to sense when the camera was on her.

‘Right,’ said Muriel, ‘we missed the chicken so we’ve got stewing steak. That’ll be a casserole then.’

‘We could put a pastry top on it,’ suggested Shadrach. ‘Pie is better than just stew.’

‘Good point!’ said Muriel. ‘Let’s hope we have time. There was lots of flour and butter to make it and we have butternut squash, so that’s our soup option.’

Zoe had a private groan fearing she would be left cutting up the squashes and that they were very tough. With luck there’d be a potato peeler.

‘So what are we doing for sweet?’ asked Cher.

‘I don’t know. We have some lovely dried apricots so we could do a crumble,’ said Muriel.

‘I heard the others say they were doing crumble,’ said Cher. Perhaps her knack for overhearing things had some good uses, Zoe thought.

Muriel sighed. ‘What else can you do with apricots that isn’t a pie or a crumble or a mousse or a soufflé?’ she added, looking at Shadrach the designated expert, who shrugged.

‘Bread and butter pudding,’ said Zoe. ‘With apricots. I think I saw bread and we’ve loads of butter and eggs.’

‘I don’t like bread and butter pudding,’ said Cher. ‘It’s so carby.’

Muriel speared her with an eye that revealed her past career as a teacher. ‘I think I’ll put you on veg prep, Cher. Now, you have to be quick because if we don’t get the stew on, the meat’ll be chewy.’

‘Shouldn’t we do the soup first, seeing as it’s the first course?’ said Cher, who, in response to Muriel, had turned into a stroppy teenager. ‘The hint is in the name?’

‘No, butternut squash is quick to cook. We need to get the meat on. Shadrach, you chop that, the rest of us will do the veg.’

‘This is quite fun, actually,’ said Cher to Zoe a bit later. She was dicing an onion into perfect cubes. Zoe was in agony watching her, she was being so slow.

‘Just as much fun if you go a bit faster,’ said Zoe, who was taking a cleaver to a butternut squash the size of a loaf of bread.

‘No, it’s only fun if you do it really precisely,’ said Cher and Zoe decided it wasn’t her job to try and make her speed up. The squash fell into two and she raised her cleaver again.

‘Hey, watch what you’re doing with that, you’ll have your fingers off,’ complained Muriel. ‘I can’t afford to have you out of action.’

The judges chose this moment to swing by. Gideon, seeing Zoe with her cleaver, sucked in his breath and took it out of her hand. He picked up her board and tutted. Then he found a cloth, wetted it, spread it out, and put the board back on top. ‘If you were in a professional kitchen and didn’t do that, the chef would slaughter you,’ he growled. ‘I told you before!’

‘Yes, chef,’ muttered Zoe.

‘And the same goes for you too!’ He sent his scorching glance towards Cher, who flapped her hands and her eyelashes.

Zoe experienced an unexpected moment of sisterhood with Cher and cursed Gideon for taking away her cleaver.



It was very stressful watching the ramblers file by since they were going to decide which team won. Every dish was to be tasted by everyone and marked. Then they could fill up on their favourite. They were mostly in late middle age, hale and hearty, but there was the occasional more elderly one, who hadn’t been on the walk but was probably a parent of someone who had.

‘That old woman won’t have eaten butternut squash before,’ muttered Cher, ‘and her teeth won’t manage the stew.’ They hadn’t had time to do a pie in the end.

‘Yes they will, it’s very tender, and tasty,’ said Zoe, who had tried it earlier. ‘I’m more worried about the pudding. They’ll think it’s not proper because it hasn’t got sultanas in it.’

‘It was your idea. We did have sultanas,’ said Cher. Their brief moment of sisterhood hadn’t lasted beyond the time it took for Zoe to get her cleaver back.

‘At least there was no fat on the meat,’ Cher went on. ‘I hate meat in stews with fat on it.’

‘Actually, so do I.’ Zoe hesitated and then added, ‘Cher, I really do think we should try to be friends. I know we’re competing with each other but everyone is; we can still be mates.’

‘Oh Zoe!’ Cher flung up her hands and rolled her eyes. ‘Of course we’re mates!’ She hugged Zoe and kissed the air near her cheek. ‘We’re in this together and if we play our cards right, one of us will win!’

Zoe wasn’t so sure. She was confident in her abilities but there was tough competition. A couple of the others might one day become Michelin starred chefs. She was much more of an all rounder. But still, she was going to do her utmost to win!

The tasting took for ever, and the continual sound of the rain drip, dripping on to the tent didn’t help. The food was going cold and the people seemed to eat agonisingly slowly.

‘If only they could get on with it!’ said Muriel. ‘This is driving me mad.’

‘What do the other team’s dishes look like?’ said Cher.

‘They did Queen of Puddings,’ said Muriel. ‘We have to hope the meringue goes soggy.’

‘Oh, we could have done crumble after all,’ said Zoe, doubting the apricot bread and butter pudding now.

At last the tasting was over and the testers, who must have been starving by now, having walked for miles and then only been allowed tiny amounts of the food on offer, really tucked in.

‘I feel like I’m working in a school canteen!’ said Cher.

‘I like feeding people,’ said Zoe. ‘I just don’t like getting marks out of ten.’

‘Tell you what,’ said Muriel, ‘I’m going to walk up and down among them, and see if I can find out if they liked ours.’

She came back a few minutes later. ‘Mixed opinions. Some thought the soup and the stew were both too spicy. I suppose we shouldn’t have had two spicy things.’

‘Old people can’t cope with spicy food,’ said Cher.

‘These people are not old!’ said Muriel. ‘Some of them are my age!’

‘Sorry,’ muttered Cher.

‘What about the pudding?’ asked Zoe, feeling responsible.

Muriel made a face, ‘“What’s wrong with sultanas?”’

‘We did have sultanas,’ said Cher, glaring at Zoe.

‘I know! You said!’ Zoe sighed and wiped her perfectly clean station again. She couldn’t remember now why she’d insisted on leaving them out. She just hoped it hadn’t cost her a place.

At last the diners were ferried away, many of them taking the trouble to tell the contestants how much they’d enjoyed their lunch.

‘At least we had some happy campers,’ said Muriel.

‘Ergh! Don’t say the “C” word! Can’t imagine anything worse,’ said Cher.

‘So what do you do when you go to a festival?’ asked Zoe, curious.

Cher shuddered. ‘I don’t. Pyramids of poo first thing in the morning … puhleese! This is the nearest to camping I intend to get.’

Zoe chuckled. ‘At least you’ve cooked under canvas now.’

Cher made a face at her.

Mike came up. ‘OK, guys, if you’d like to make your way to the dining area, we’ll give you the results and I’m afraid one of you will be going home.’

The mud had got a lot worse now the ground had been churned up by the walkers. They slid a bit as they made their way to the judging.

‘God, I hate this!’ said Cher, clutching on to Zoe and nearly pulling her over.

‘The mud is the easy part,’ said Zoe.

‘Right,’ said Mike when everyone was assembled. ‘We had some very satisfied customers there, so well done everyone. It’s a shame there has to be a losing team really, when both teams have done well. Isn’t that so, judges?’

‘Up to a point,’ said Anna Fortune. ‘Some of you have appalling knife skills – or rather no knife skills – to the extent that the judges would be considering giving lessons if time weren’t so short.’ She paused ominously. ‘Gideon and I were just saying we’ll be lucky if we get through this competition without anyone losing a finger.’

The director came and joined them. ‘Not sure that’s exactly what we’d want televised to the world. Could we be a bit more upbeat?’

‘No,’ said Gideon. ‘Anna is right and it’s important that the viewing public knows how important knife skills are.’

The director sighed. ‘OK, have it your own way, but I warn you, that bit may be cut.’

‘Can we get on?’ said Mike. ‘The minibus people have another appointment and we don’t want anyone having to walk home.’

Anna Fortune shrugged in a way that reminded Zoe that she was half Italian.

‘Shall we do this now?’ said Gideon. ‘We don’t need all the fake waiting when we’ve made our decision, do we?’

‘This is television,’ Fred reminded him.

Gideon made a growling sound and turned away.

‘And the winner is … the Blue Team!’ cried Mike.

Cher squeaked, Zoe sighed with relief and Muriel smiled ‘Oh, that’s us!’ she said. ‘Well done, team!’

‘So someone from the Red Team—’

‘We know!’ said Cher, embarrassingly loudly. ‘One of those losers goes.’

It was nervy Shona who had to leave. She cried, but as apparently she’d been crying during most of the challenge this wasn’t much of a surprise.

‘Right now, dinner in the pub again tonight but the buses are leaving at nine thirty sharp so if you miss them, you walk, OK!’ Mike’s initial jolliness seemed to have worn thin.

‘If we miss it we can get a lift,’ said Cher with the confidence of a pretty girl who didn’t mind using her looks to get her through life.

Zoe considered not going to the pub. She wasn’t really in the mood for group jollity. But on the other hand there was nothing to eat in their accommodation and she didn’t want to scrounge from Fenella and Rupert.

‘Oh come on, Zoe!’ said Cher, sounding genuinely friendly. ‘It won’t be half as much fun without you!’

Hunger and this encouragement, with nods from the others, convinced Zoe and she went with them all. She’d wondered if they might mix with the camera and production crew but the powers that be obviously wanted to keep them all separate.

Cher continued to be so pleasant throughout the evening that Zoe was beginning to wonder if her early hostility had been nerves. The winning team were all in a good mood and did their best to encourage the losers so it was a cheerful evening. Zoe did wonder if she should have drunk so much cider. That, and the water she felt obliged to drink with it, meant constant trips to the loo which was across an alleyway and each journey made her a little wetter from the rain, which refused to let up.

‘At least you won’t get a hangover,’ said Muriel, ‘which is the main thing. There’s something awful about the self-inflicted wound.’ She sighed. ‘I’m far too sensible to get them now, of course!’

‘That sounds like a challenge, Muriel!’ said Shadrach, who’d really shone for his team and had become bumptious.

‘Oh no, not tonight,’ said Muriel. She looked at her watch. ‘It’s time to get in the minibus. They won’t wait.’

‘We’ll stay for another one,’ said Cher, including Zoe in her statement. ‘We’ll get a lift.’

‘Cher? I’d rather get back! I don’t want to get a lift with a stranger.’

‘Don’t be a piker, Zoe! I just want a shot. Maybe two.’

‘What, in the head?’ said Shadrach.

Cher gave him a look. ‘Come on, Zoe, let’s go into the other bar and see who’s there.’

Although her every instinct was telling her she was mad, Zoe followed Cher in the hope that maybe some girlish foolishness together would make living with her easier. Of course, she might not have to do that for too much longer, she thought gloomily, following Cher’s bright hair through the passages to the Snug, where, she gathered from Cher, the friendly locals did their drinking. Tiredness, the weather and witnessing just how good Becca and Shadrach in particular were had dampened her usual optimistic spirits. The competition was definitely hotting up.



They staggered out a bit later in the wake of a cheerful member of the Young Farmers’ Association. As there were two of them and only one of him, Zoe felt reasonably safe, and as he was in training for some sort of event that involved hurling oneself over hedges and ditches, he hadn’t been drinking. He dropped them by the gate and they linked arms as they made their way to their cowshed. Zoe had enjoyed the evening in the end, amused by Cher’s blatant flirting and the high spirits of the other punters. Just before they reached their front door, Cher slipped in the mud, pulling Zoe over on top of her.

‘Sorree!’ she said. ‘You can have the shower first!’

Zoe was not entirely sober, and she did feel she and Cher were friends now, yet something didn’t seem quite right about this generous offer. But as they giggled their way along she decided she was being unnecessarily suspicious.

Taking off their wellingtons seemed to take a long time. They sat on the step, pulling at them ineffectually as they slipped out of their hands. Eventually they were free of them and made their way into their little home.

‘I’ll make tea. You have a nice long shower,’ said Cher.

Again Zoe felt a prickle of suspicion, but as the thought of a long hot shower was too tempting to resist she took herself in the bathroom.

‘Your turn!’ she said as she came out. ‘I hope I haven’t left too much of a mess.’

‘Don’t worry, you’re all right.’

Zoe went to her bed to hunt out her pyjamas from under her pillow. At the same time as she put her hand on the bed and found that it was wet she saw that the window, which she clearly remembered shutting, was open.

‘No!’ she shouted. ‘My bed is soaking. Cher!’

As she was wearing only a towel, she hunted in her rucksack for another pair of pyjamas and put them on, then she thought what to do.

Convinced it was Cher’s fault her bed was wet, she felt she should take over the double bed and let Cher cope with sleeping on the tiny sofa without any bedding. But what was the point? It would just mean hours of shouting and fighting and upset. And there was no way she was sharing a bed with Cher even if Cher would countenance it (which she wouldn’t). No, she would go over to the house – she knew where the key was now – and snuggle up on the sofa in the kitchen. It would be warm and safe and she could think what to do about Cher in the morning. The woman was clearly deranged – all that business about them becoming ‘bessie mates’ when really she was trying to blow her chances in the competition. But why tonight? They didn’t have to do anything until nearly at least midday. They had a morning of rest and recuperation. As she got her things together she wondered if she was using Cher’s weird behaviour as an excuse to go to the house, in the hope that she’d see Gideon.

She had to ask herself the question, but she knew she’d be mad to try and see Gideon deliberately. She’d got away with spending the night with him once, by the proverbial skin of her teeth: she couldn’t chance it again.

But her bed was wet, and given that the room where he’d been sleeping was still being decorated he probably wasn’t there. This thought was a relief and she finished packing her day sack. Her one act of revenge was to take Cher’s wellington boots. They were bigger than hers and easier to slip on. Cher would never fit her size seven feet into Zoe’s size fives.

Zoe opened the back door as quietly as she could and replaced the key. For a moment she hesitated. If Gideon was there, it could be desperately awkward, not to mention get her thrown out of the competition. Then she shivered and realised she couldn’t go back. She stepped out of the wellingtons and tiptoed into the kitchen, hoping there weren’t dogs in there who were likely to bark.

She needn’t have bothered to be so quiet. The kitchen was occupied.

‘Hello, Zoe!’ said Rupert, looking up from a loaf of bread he was slicing. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘Oh!’ Zoe was so convinced that the kitchen would be empty she hadn’t prepared anything to say. ‘Um, is Fen still up?’

‘Yes. We’re upstairs in our little sitting room eating sandwiches and drinking. Why don’t you join us? You could carry the wine, and we’ll need an extra glass. I’ve lit the fire. There’s something wonderfully decadent about a fire in summer, don’t you think?’

‘Oh no, I don’t want to intrude …’

‘You wouldn’t be intruding and you said you wanted Fen. She’d love to see you. Come on, pick up that bottle and follow me.’

Zoe took the bottle Rupert indicated. She followed him up the stairs and along the landing. Rupert opened a door. ‘This would have been a bedroom, but we’ve turned it into a little room for us when the house is full, or in this case being decorated. Go in.’

The first thought that occurred to her was that by no one else’s standards would it be described as a little room. Although to be fair it was smaller than the reception rooms she’d caught sight of and been in briefly at the beginning of the competition. The fireplace at one end seemed large for a bedroom and a log fire burned brightly in it. Two substantial scuffed leather sofas were pulled up at each side and a large low coffee table covered in clutter was in between.

On one of the sofas, looking completely at home, was Gideon.

Her heart did a jolt that told her she was pleased to see him but her brain told her to turn around and go straight back downstairs to the kitchen, revert to Plan A and sleep on the sofa.

No one seemed to notice the battle between her brain and her heart. Fen had her feet up on a large pouffe and was laughing at Gideon as if they’d known each other all their lives.

‘Here’s Zoe,’ announced Rupert. ‘I found her in the kitchen.’

‘Zoe!’ Fenella waved enthusiastically. ‘Come in. I can’t move, I’m afraid, but this is so nice! I was wondering how you were getting on and didn’t think I could ask Gideon.’

Gideon got up. After a moment’s pause he smiled, seemingly glad to see her. ‘Come and sit by the fire. You look a bit chilly. And you’re wearing your pyjamas,’ he added, surprised.

Zoe felt herself enveloped in warmth, from the fire and from the welcome she received.

‘Hello! I didn’t mean to crash a party!’ she said. ‘Unless it’s a pyjama party.’

‘Oh it is!’ said Fenella. ‘It’s all I wear these days. Rupes, get her a drink. Gideon, shove up so she can sit down.’

Gideon moved and patted the seat beside him. ‘Oh, you’ve got bare feet,’ he said when she was seated. ‘Why?’

‘I was wearing wellies when I came over but I took them off at the back door. They were terribly muddy.’

‘We’re not overly fussed about mud in this house unless we have proper guests,’ said Fenella. ‘Not like Gideon, who’s not proper at all.’

Gideon gave Fenella a look that meant he took this as the compliment it was. Then he took a rug from the back of the sofa, tucked it under Zoe’s feet and then lifted them on to the sofa. Zoe was touched by this gesture, although she tried to compose herself. Her emotions were all over the place. ‘So what are you doing here?’

‘I came to see if Fen was still up.’

‘Problem?’ Fen asked.

‘Yes.’ Zoe accepted the glass of wine Rupert held out to her.

‘What?’ asked Fen.

Zoe had hoped to tell Fenella privately what had happened. Now there was nothing for it; she’d have to tell them all. ‘My bed got wet while I was out today,’ Zoe said.

‘You didn’t leave the window open, did you?’ Fenella asked, clearly horrified.

‘No, I didn’t!’ said Zoe.

‘Was it that little cow Cher?’ asked Gideon. ‘She is pure poison.’

‘It must have been her because I clearly remember shutting it,’ Zoe went on. ‘I didn’t want to share a bed with her and was planning to sleep on the sofa in the kitchen, if you weren’t up.’

‘Oh, you don’t need to do that!’ said Fen. ‘We’ll find you a corner. Look, have another glass of wine for me.’ She paused. ‘It’s not really the alcohol I miss – at least I hope it isn’t – it’s the mateyness, the fun of sitting round with friends getting slightly pissed.’

Rupert topped up Zoe’s glass. ‘I’m afraid that ship has sailed,’ she said. ‘We went to the pub earlier and then Cher wanted to do shots.’

Gideon took the glass away from her. ‘You don’t want a hangover tomorrow.’

She took it back. ‘I know. I drank loads of water.’

‘Have a sandwich,’ said Rupert. ‘We’ve all eaten supper too but got hungry again. Or rather, Fen did, and so we didn’t want to be left out.’

Zoe sipped the wine and nibbled the sandwich, her legs curled under the rug on the sofa. Gideon put his arm round her in a casual way making her feel part of the group, but also rather special. Yet again she pushed away her anxieties about fraternisation with judges.

But she really was tired. The various stresses and strains of the day had finally caught up with her. She put down her glass and refused more wine. Really, she should break up the party and find somewhere to sleep. But that would involve Fenella moving too, and she was obviously having a very nice time.

Her eyes closed and somehow, Gideon pulled her closer to him so she was more comfortable, snuggled under his arm. She gave in to the lovely feeling of warmth, the delicious smell of his cologne, the friendly chatter between him and Fenella and Rupert and was soon lost in a deep and dreamless sleep.