Recipe for Love (22 page)

She was aware of others struggling. As she went to the chill room she passed the meat section and saw Muriel floundering, surrounded by half-cooked racks of lamb, and Cher screaming as she dropped a plate of pastry cases on the floor. She was fairly sure that no one but her saw Cher put the unbroken ones back on the plate, but she didn’t say anything. Time and the restaurant was the greater enemy just now. Her battles with Cher were not to be fought during a challenge. Besides, she had to get back to her own station.

‘OK, guys, service is over!’ a voice boomed above the din.

It seemed to Zoe as if a great machine had been turned off. The show was over but, very much to her surprise, Zoe was still exhilarated. Somehow during that long, hot morning she’d got in the groove and enjoyed herself. She looked around. Chefs of all degrees were still cleaning up their stations, sluicing down their working areas with hot soapy water and wiping up repeatedly. Kitchen porters carried teetering piles of baking trays, bowls and pans to be washed up. People started to talk; the air had gone out of the balloon.

Pierre came up to Zoe and she tensed; although she knew she’d been fine really, her body expected her to be castigated if not actually beheaded. ‘You did well. You need to speed up considerably, of course, if you’re ever to work in a professional kitchen, but otherwise – not bad.’

He moved on, having smiled like a snake spotting a baby rabbit. Zoe lost some of her exhilaration. He obviously thought the chances of her working in a professional kitchen were slim.

Mike, their producer, came up to them. ‘Right, everyone, we’re going to do the judging now. They’re waiting for you in the restaurant.’

‘Can we tidy up a bit?’ asked Muriel. ‘Ourselves, I mean, instead of this goddamn kitchen.’ That was the first time anyone had heard Muriel use an expletive. The challenge had obviously really got to her.

Mike shook his head. ‘’Fraid not. We want it completely natural, just as you are. Come along please.’

They filed out of the kitchen and into the restaurant to meet their fate.

‘Where’s Gideon?’ asked Muriel in a whisper.

Zoe had noticed he was missing almost before she could see he wasn’t there. ‘I don’t know!’ she said, and then realised she’d sounded a bit panicked. She forced a smile. ‘Oh well, one less person to try and impress.’

‘OK, guys,’ said Anna Fortune. ‘Firstly, you’ll notice that Gideon isn’t with us. He’s gone to New York to see about making this programme over there.’

Zoe moved her dry lips together, trying to moisten them. New York! Wasn’t that where Sylvie said his one true love had gone? Then she mentally kicked herself. New York was huge, and if he was going to follow her he’d have done it years ago.

She forced herself to focus on Anna, who went on: ‘But you’ll be glad to know he sampled your cooking and he’ll be back to judge the rest of the competition.’

Zoe was indeed glad to hear that although what she would do if she went out now, she didn’t know. She had no way of contacting him and he had no way of contacting
her
, except through the production company and she couldn’t risk that in case they wondered why. She hoped he wouldn’t ask, either. Zoe was discovering it was possible to have a lot of deep important thoughts in a very short space of time. She rather wished her brain would just stop though as the thoughts were making her feel sick.

‘You’ve done really well, on the whole, with a couple of exceptions …’ Anna went on, her low, modulated voice managing to cause panic in several breasts.

She seemed to be going on for ever. And then Fred had his say, and then they read out the notes Gideon had made before he left for the airport. And then Pierre came on and in spite of apparently hating the whole television thing, seemed intent on dragging out his five minutes of fame as long as possible.

Everyone was extra nervous. Zoe could feel Muriel beside her almost trembling. This was harder on her, Zoe told herself firmly, to stop self-pity creeping up from her aching feet and swamping her. Muriel was older than the rest of them, she probably didn’t have the same stamina. But Muriel’s heart wasn’t involved. Or if it was, she had kept it well hidden. She crossed her fingers and prayed, very hard.

At last Fred said, ‘This is the end of the line for one of you. But when you leave, leave with your head high knowing you cook better than most people in this country and you’ve learnt more in this past fortnight about cooking than many people learn in a lifetime.’

It was a bit clichéd, thought Zoe, but he was trying to boost the morale of whoever did have to make the walk of shame, taking off their apron, unbuttoning their chef’s jacket.

‘And the person not going through to the next round is … Muriel!’

At first Zoe just felt shocked. Muriel couldn’t go! She
was
her friend! Her ally! If Muriel went it would just be just Cher, Becca and the boys, Shadrach, Bill and Alan, left.

Then she realised if it was Muriel, it wasn’t her. Relief followed by guilt threatened to swamp her. She turned to Muriel and hugged her. They both started to cry.

‘I’m all right, really,’ Muriel said, recovering first. ‘I’m just tired! I’m so happy to have lasted this long but I didn’t cope well in there …’

There was a lot of hugging and weeping and general congratulation before they were lined up again to do the final shot, when the remaining contestants looked relieved as Muriel walked away.

‘Well, I thought that was fun!’ said Cher as they gathered in the foyer of the hotel, waiting for the taxi to the station. ‘I don’t know why you all thought it was so hard!’

Zoe was very glad Muriel had already left. A car had driven her to her home where her family would be there to greet her.

‘We weren’t all fiddling about with bits of whipped cream and pastry,’ said Becca, empowered by her recent achievements.

‘There’s a lot more to pastry work than just that,’ said Cher seriously.

‘Whatever, we’re lucky to be left in. Muriel was a great cook,’ said Alan.

‘Not as great as all that,’ said Cher. Zoe didn’t have the heart to reply.

Shadrach yawned and stretched so widely Zoe heard his joints crack. ‘Well, I’m glad we’ve got a few days off. I want some of my mum’s home cooking.’

‘What do you want most?’ asked Zoe, curious.

‘Macaroni cheese with crispy onions and bacon on top,
with
breadcrumbs,’ said Shadrach instantly. ‘I’ve been dreaming of it for days.’

Zoe considered. ‘I think it has to be apple pie for me. With pastry top and bottom. My mother makes great pastry.’

‘Baked beans with hot chilli sauce stirred into them,’ said Bill. ‘Hey! I’m hungry!’

The others laughed. At least the competition hadn’t put them off food – apart from Cher, that is, but she didn’t eat much anyway. Zoe realised she’d grown rather fond of everyone. She’d miss Muriel. She couldn’t help wishing it had been Cher who’d been knocked out. She just seemed to get more and more smug. Perhaps after a few days away from her Zoe would feel more charitable and less irritated.

They’d arrived back at Somerby, collected a few belongings and gone their separate ways. Cher had been picked up in an expensive-looking car, giving them all a cheery little wave as she went. Bill had given Becca a lift to the station. Alan and Shadrach were leaving in the morning. Zoe said a quick hello and goodbye to Fenella and Rupert, who were delighted she was still in the competition, and then got into her little car and headed home.

AS ZOE POINTED
her car into the drive behind her mother’s Golf she felt she’d aged ten years since she’d left home.

Her mother, hearing her car, came out of the house to greet her. ‘Darling! You look shattered.’

‘Thanks a lot, Mum!’ said Zoe, returning her mother’s hug with equal force. ‘Oh, it’s good to be home!’ She meant it. She felt as if she’d been living in a very intense bubble for the last week or so. It was good to break free for a few days.

Her mother took her bag and they went into the house. Zeb the dog had to be greeted and even the cat came up and rubbed itself round Zoe’s legs.

‘Jenny is very keen to meet up. She wants to hear everything.’

Zoe yawned. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’ll definitely want an early night tonight.’

‘Well, Dad’ll be back soon so we can eat early.’

‘What are we having?’ All the talk of home cooking the evening before had made her extra interested.

‘Shepherd’s pie, little peas, then apple pie,’ said her mother promptly.

Zoe gave her mother another hug. ‘You know me so well!’

‘So I should hope.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Dad won’t be home for a bit yet. Do you want a bath or anything?’

‘Well, given that before I went back to Somerby to pick
up
my car I was at a very swanky hotel I’m not actually dirty, but a bath—’

‘With bubbles?’

‘And a book, would be lovely.’

Zoe’s mother laughed. ‘It’s just like when you used to come home after uni.’

After a wonderfully cosy and restorative evening with her parents, Zoe felt up to meeting her best friend Jenny the next day. The trouble with Jenny was Zoe couldn’t hide anything from her and she would weasel all the details about Gideon and how she felt out of her before they were halfway down the first glass of wine. But Zoe didn’t mind. She wanted to talk about him. It was a symptom of being in love – or whatever she was: you wanted to talk about your love-object all the time. And while she was close to her mother, there was no obvious happy ending with Gideon and she didn’t want her to worry, or take on that concerned look that always made Zoe feel bad. And she’d always shared everything with Jenny – they’d known each other since primary school.

Jenny claimed there were no troubles that couldn’t be solved by being close to a horse, so when Zoe had called her the night before, she had suggested that Zoe go over to the livery yard where she kept hers; and Zoe had felt it was worth the early start. Jenny’s horse, Prince Albert – Bert for short – was tied up to a rail in the yard while she mucked out his stall. Zoe went straight over to him for an initial chat. There was something definitely comforting about his solid presence, and he’d known Zoe quite a long time so they were old friends.

‘Hey Zoe!’ called Jenny, wheeling a barrow to the muck heap. ‘How are you?’

‘Good thanks. You? And lovely Bert?’ She stroked the massive head which leaned into her shoulder and whispered into her ear with lips like velvet.

‘We’re fine, but we haven’t been in a cookery competition. I want to hear all about it.’

Zoe was aware of Jenny’s knowing eyes on her as she and Bert communicated with strokes and caresses, hot breaths, snorts and murmurings. Jenny had an uncanny ability to sense when Zoe had something to hide.

‘I do love Bert. He’s just there for you. He doesn’t ask questions,’ said Zoe.

‘I’m sure it’s mutual. I also love you. But I do ask questions. Get a broom and help me muck out.’

Zoe set to with enthusiasm. It was somehow easier to get her thoughts in order while she was being active. She had done nothing but think about Gideon on the way home but everything was a jumble in her head. Mucking out helped clear the fog.

‘So, what are the others like?’ Jenny asked, tossing a pile of muck into the barrow with one deft action.

‘Most of them are really nice. My favourite went out last time though. It’s a girl I don’t like who bothers me.’

‘But you always like everyone!’

‘I know, but not her. It’s probably because she doesn’t like me.’

‘So? Tell me about her.’

Zoe concentrated on getting her broom into an awkward corner. ‘She’s very pretty, very focused and has at least twice tried to sabotage my chances.’

‘Drama! Did you tell anyone? The judges?’

‘Er – no. I’m not in a good position to do that.’

‘Why not? Are they unapproachable? Swear a lot? Or what?’

Zoe bit her lip. ‘Or what.’

‘Which means?’ Jenny stopped work and looked at her friend intently.

‘One of them is rather gorg.’

‘Oh! You mean you fancy one of the judges? Bet you didn’t see that coming!’