Recipe for Love (2 page)

She’d worked out who he was by now – who else would be so close to Somerby who wasn’t going there? And this man – arrogant and argumentative – had to be one of the judges. He could never be a mere contestant in a cookery competition. And as she knew the other judges by sight from their television appearances, this could only be Gideon Irving. He was a well-known name in the world of food, as a critic, food writer and entrepreneur. His writing style was acerbic and often cruel, but he loved to discover new chefs and had brought a lot of young talent to the notice of the restaurant-going public.

She hadn’t been exactly rude but she had leant a bit in that direction. She wouldn’t win the competition now. And wouldn’t being alone with one of the judges – however innocently – be against the rules? Why oh why hadn’t she just stayed lying in the grass, listening to the larks? She ran to catch him up.

They found some biggish logs as well as the branches. Some clearing had been done nearby, most of the tree trunks had been removed but quite a lot remained.

‘I’ll take some of the larger bits of timber and you bring what you can carry,’ he said.

She nodded and began gathering up the bits of birch, fir and beech that lay about.

‘If this doesn’t work,’ she said, finding it hard to keep up with him even though his arms were full of logs, ‘we could go to the house and ask them to send a tractor or something.’

‘We could,’ Gideon Irving agreed, ‘but we’ll try this first.’ He didn’t quite smile at her but the speculative look he shot her indicated he liked what he saw.

Zoe wasn’t her own biggest fan but her short, curly
brown
hair, small frame, pale skin and freckles hadn’t given her any complexes. She knew she could scrub up fairly well, only today she wasn’t scrubbed up at all. She was wearing her jeans, plimmies and a striped Breton top. She never wore much make-up but currently wasn’t wearing any. She had blue eyes and dark lashes, and knew her size made her look younger than twenty-seven.

‘OK.’

Together they piled the wood into the ditch, building a platform for the overhanging wheel. They didn’t speak much but Zoe was enjoying herself. She liked problem-solving and when she spotted some stones that had fallen out of a wall, went to get them.

Her thanks was a glance and a grunt but somehow she felt rewarded. He did have amazing eyes. She felt a flutter of excitement.

‘The question is, do we have to do this all over again in the other ditch?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. She had been considering this while she worked. ‘But now we’ve got the stones it won’t take so long.’

Zoe was filthy and fairly sweaty by the time they’d finished. He’d long since thrown off his jacket and his white T-shirt was covered in mud.

‘Can you drive?’ he demanded.

‘Yes.’

‘Follow simple instructions?’

‘Yes.’ Yet again, Zoe decided not to take offence. It was easier to just get in the car. Really, she wanted to laugh but sensed that would not be a good move. Men really didn’t like being laughed at when they were in trouble with their cars. She was no expert on men, but even she knew that.

The car smelt slightly of rather delicious cologne and
leather
upholstery. It had a dashboard which took a moment to understand.

He loomed over her as he spoke through the open window. ‘You accelerate – gently – and we’ll see what happens.’

Some moments and a fair amount of mud later, he came back to the window and scowled at her.

She smiled back sympathetically. ‘I can still walk back to the house and get help.’ Zoe looked up at him. He was sweating too now and a lock of hair was caught on his forehead.

He shook his head. ‘I’ll walk back if it comes to that.’ He paused, inspecting her, his gaze inscrutable. ‘Try reversing.’

It took quite a lot of backing and edging forward and ditch-filling but at last the car was turned round. Zoe felt she’d run a marathon. She got out and found she was trembling although she’d only been driving.

‘Well done,’ he said, and then smiled. She felt as if she’d just won Gold in the hundred metres.

‘Like a lift back to the house?’ He was still smiling.

‘Oh … yes,’ she said, unsure if her legs were shaking because of what she’d just been through or something else.

‘So get in then,’ he said when she didn’t move.

Somehow she made her body function and got in the car. Now the sharp smell of man overlaid the cologne and the leather. Zoe moistened her dry lips and looked firmly out of the passenger window. Being so close to him seemed almost too much although she wasn’t entirely sure why. He had a very unsettling effect on her. She wasn’t sure whether she liked it or not.

At the bottom of the long drive, he stopped the car. ‘Are you a contestant?’

She nodded. ‘Are you a judge?’ she asked although she knew the answer.

He nodded. ‘Better get out here then,’ he said.

‘Yup.’ She paused. ‘Maybe we’d better pretend we haven’t met before.’

‘If you like,’ he said, ‘but it won’t make any difference to how I judge you.’

‘Oh.’ She blushed. ‘Not that I thought it would. I just wanted to help.’

‘And you did.’ He almost smiled. ‘But it won’t make you win.’

‘I’ll get out now,’ said Zoe.

‘And I’ll have a drive around the lanes.’

Zoe walked up the hill to the house, her legs stiff after their exertion. Somerby was a big house, but not imposing. It was as friendly-looking as its owner had seemed on first meeting.

Brushing off flecks of mud and grass, she knocked on the front door and waited a little while for Fenella to answer. When she did, she didn’t seem very pleased to see her. Several dogs streamed out of the door and on to the grass in front of the house.

‘Oh! You’re back already!’

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Zoe. ‘You said four o’clock before you wanted to see me again. And it’s four o’clock now.’

Fenella sighed and brushed her hair back from her face. ‘I would really like it to go on being two o’clock for a lot longer.’

Zoe laughed. ‘One of those days?’

Fenella nodded. ‘However hard you try to plan and prepare and make lists, some days just go wrong anyway.’

Zoe hovered on the doorstep. ‘Has anything in particular gone wrong?’

‘No, just nothing has gone particularly right.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s because Rupert – that’s my husband – is away.’

‘Bad timing!’

‘Yes! And I’ve got the judges’ tea to do and my careful plans for there to be a cake have gone wrong. I haven’t even got time to buy one now.’

‘Oh.’

Fenella held the door wider. ‘Do come in. None of this is your problem. I’m sure soggy digestive biscuits are just what snobby foody people like with their afternoon tea.’

‘Absolutely!’ Zoe agreed diplomatically.

‘We’re hoping to have a “restaurant with rooms” type thing in the barn. We might need the snobby foody people on our side.’ She paused for breath and looked at Zoe properly. ‘What happened to you? You look like you’ve been mud-wrestling!’

‘I know. I have. Well, sort of.’

Possibly sensing Zoe didn’t want to go into details Fenella went on, ‘Let me show you to your room so you can get cleaned up. Of course you know you have to share, but at least you’re in the grounds. Dogs!’

The small pack came lolloping into the house and Fenella led Zoe through the back and out across the courtyard to the converted cowshed where Zoe and another contestant were to be billeted. Not all of them could be accommodated at Somerby: some were in local B and Bs. The cowshed was charming and had a wood-burning stove, a little cooker, a dinky sofa and a double bed. A single bed had been squeezed in, presumably for the sake of the contestants. ‘You’re here first,’ said Fenella, ‘so you get the double bed!’

‘Fab! But a shower first, I think.’

Fenella said, ‘It’s through there. Do you mind if I don’t show you? I’ve got this bloody tea to sort out.’

Zoe sensed that Fenella didn’t usually swear about small things – she must be really panicking. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘why don’t I shower and change and then come and make you some scones or something? What time are they coming?’

Fenella looked at her watch. ‘In three-quarters of an hour. No time to make anything.’ She sighed. ‘A girlfriend from the village was coming up with a cake. I had it all organised but one of her children is ill and she can’t leave him.’

‘I’ll just wash my hands and come. Scones don’t take that long.’

Fenella made a face that was intended to be firm and denying but ended up pleading. ‘I couldn’t ask you to do that!’

‘You didn’t and I’d rather be active. It was only when I got here – the first time – that I realised how absolutely terrified I am of this whole competition thing.’ She meant it: she’d always hated exams but at least exams didn’t involve television cameras. ‘I’ll be better if I’m doing something.’

‘So I’d be doing you a favour letting you help?’

Zoe chuckled. ‘Sort of. Although I suppose I’d better find something clean to put on.’

‘I’ll lend you one of Rupert’s shirts. I’ve been living in them. They’ll cover you better than operating theatre scrubs.’

After dumping her rucksack Zoe followed Fenella back to the main house. She noted a few ladders leaning up against random walls and that quite a bit of work still needed to be done on some of the outhouses, but it was all very picturesque. Somerby itself would be a beautiful backdrop to the competition and it was a very photogenic time of year.

‘This is probably horribly against the rules,’ said Fenella after she’d found flour, butter and eggs for Zoe. ‘We’d better not tell anyone. I mean if the judges found out that they were eating your scones and they were delicious—’

‘Which they will be. Baking is my speciality.’

‘—it would look like we were trying to give you an advantage or something.’

Zoe nodded. ‘I agree. I just won’t let anyone see me.’

Fenella suddenly looked doubtful again. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

‘Oh yes! Doing something practical is so much better than sitting around chewing my nails.’ Or helping stranded motorists, however attractive, she thought. ‘I know what I’m doing in a kitchen with a bit of flour and a half-decent oven.’

The scones were too hot to fill with jam and cream so they were in separate bowls on the laden tray. Fenella had wanted to do this but Zoe – her knowledge of pregnancy sketchy – felt she knew enough to insist carrying heavy trays up flights of stairs wasn’t a good idea. She’d carry them up and then retreat to the kitchen and let Fenella face the judges. That way she should avoid being seen.

She was just setting things out before going back down for extra hot water when she heard voices and knew she was about to get caught.

She had a moment of panic but then she calmed down. Unless it was Gideon Irving she’d be fine. She wouldn’t make eye contact, she’d whisk out of the room before anyone took in what she looked like.

As the voices got nearer she realised it wouldn’t be quite that simple.

‘Got stuck in a bloody ditch,’ said a gravelly voice she knew quite well now. ‘Luckily a passing rambler helped me out.’

She turned her head away and carried on putting out plates, setting cups on their saucers on the little table in the window. She was swathed in white poplin, courtesy of Rupert, and doubted if she would be recognised. People didn’t recognise others if they didn’t expect to see then.

‘Yes,’ Gideon went on, ‘she was only a slip of a thing but could drive a car and heft logs like a weightlifter.’

Zoe felt herself blush at the back-handed compliment. She doubted Gideon would say that to her face.

‘So who was she again?’ The other male judge, an amiable chef who went into housewives’ kitchens and taught them how to make gravy, moved towards the table.

‘Just someone on a walk. I don’t see the point of walking myself, if you don’t need to get anywhere.’

Thankfully, Fenella then appeared and said, ‘Help yourselves to tea, gentlemen.’

Zoe scuttled away, muttering, ‘I’ll just get some hot water.’

Zoe had had a Saturday job in a café for years and was quite happy dealing with customers. What she wasn’t so happy about was trying not to be seen. She didn’t do subterfuge and now she had two secrets – both because she couldn’t help being helpful. Her mother had said she’d been born with a helpful gene. It was a virtue really, but just now it seemed like a vice.

Just as Zoe was about to return with the hot water, Fenella reappeared. ‘Oh thank you,’ she said. ‘Would you mind taking it up? I don’t think anyone noticed you, did they?’

She was about to say that Gideon might but then remembered Fenella wasn’t to know that she and Gideon had
already
met – and Fenella
was
pregnant. She didn’t have a choice. She took the jug. ‘I’ll be back.’

‘Now what do you have to do, Fen?’ she asked when she got back again. (Fenella had insisted Zoe call her Fen, saying no one called her Fenella unless they were cross with her.) Luckily Gideon and the other judge had been too deep in conversation to notice her. She was enjoying herself. She knew the nerves she’d been keeping at bay would come flooding back the moment she returned to her room. This had been just the distraction she’d needed.