Recipe for Love (33 page)

Finally, Rupert dared to do the deed and they served it from the top, saving the caramel star for later. And it was delicious. The puffs broke and then melted, oozing flavoured cream. It really was a triumph.

‘That girl is not a bad cook,’ Zoe overheard Lady Gainsborough say to one of the other guests. ‘Although making her godmother is taking gratitude a bit far.’

Sarah and Zoe were doing the last of the clearing-up. The guests had gone, Rupert had taken his parents for a drive and Fenella and Glory had retreated to bed for a glorious nap.

‘That was a triumph,’ said Sarah. ‘It’s lovely when those plans actually work. So often it rains, or the food isn’t that good, or the salads flop or someone disturbs a wasps’ nest, but that was perfect!’

‘I’m so glad, for Fen’s sake. It was all so rushed, from her point of view. It’s brilliant that it worked so well.’

‘They can always have a big party for all their friends a bit later, when Glory can wear what she likes.’

‘Although she did look adorable!’

‘Yes, but it was a bit worrying, everyone holding her with sticky fingers!’ Then Sarah stopped reminiscing. ‘So, Zoe, what are your plans?’

‘For now? Or after the competition?’

‘After. I imagine now you’ll be planning menus and
practising
like mad. I do think you should do a croquembouche for your pudding though. That worked so well.’

‘I probably will. It demonstrates my skills: choux pastry, caramel – tricky things.’

‘So?’ Sarah seemed genuinely interested.

‘Well, if I win – and it is a big if – I’d like to open a deli.’ She went on to tell Sarah all that she’d told Gideon and, like him, Sarah seemed to approve.

‘I do think that sounds excellent but I had wondered if you’d like to be a wedding caterer? You’re obviously good at it.’

‘I wouldn’t mind doing that on the side, to supplement my income – golly, don’t I sound grown up? – but basically it would be part of the package, not the main event. It’s a deli I really want.’

‘Well, let’s keep in touch.’ Sarah paused. ‘What will you do if you don’t win? Although all the signs are that you will.’

‘Oh, don’t jinx it! If I don’t win, I’ll just get a job – cooking in a pub, doing a spot of catering, I don’t know.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I do want to win. When I first entered I thought I just wanted the experience, the exposure, but now, I really, really want it!’

‘ARE YOU SURE
you have to go?’ Fenella had Glory clutched to her chest, standing on the steps of Somerby, while Rupert loaded Zoe’s bags into her car.

‘Yes! My family thinks I’ve emigrated and, anyway, you don’t need me any more.’ Zoe did have mixed feelings about leaving Somerby and Fenella and Rupert but now all the extra family had gone, there was no excuse for her to stay. And as Gideon hadn’t called anyway – maybe he didn’t have the Somerby number either? – there was no particular point.

‘Well, I’ll say it again, if ever you want a job – as almost anything – there’s sure to be one here,’ said Fenella. ‘We’ll need a catering manager or something quite soon.’

‘I’m really grateful—’

‘But, of course, when you win the competition you’ll open your deli, so you won’t need a job,’ Fenella went on. ‘If ever you need a reference …’

‘I might not win! In fact I probably won’t and I might be very grateful for a job.’

Rupert strode over to Zoe and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I expect you want to leave now. Fen would keep you here for ever if she could.’

‘I’m glad you liked me staying so much. I’m very grateful too. I’ve had a brilliant time and I now have all sorts of useful experience. But I’m going now, or I won’t be home in time for lunch, and my parents are expecting me.’

It was a wrench leaving Somerby. It was so tied up in her mind with Gideon. They had met there – or nearby – she had fallen in love and they had got to know each other there.

She refused to get neurotic about the fact he hadn’t been in touch. There’d be some perfectly reasonable reason why he hadn’t.

In spite of this sensible attitude, the worm of doubt continued to crawl about in her brain from time to time. Was she just the girl who was handy and quite amusing? Were her feelings not reciprocated? Was it all on her side? She thought back to some of their shared moments: playing butler and cook to Rupert’s parents, the stolen moment in the woods, their last, passionate kiss. No, she couldn’t have read the signs so wrong. It must be all right.

So, as she drove along the high-hedged lanes she tried to feel happy about it. It had been a joyous affair, full of fun and kindness and one glorious night of mind-blowing sex. She mustn’t worry that it had ended. It hadn’t. It was just taking a break!

As she got nearer home, she found herself dithering about what, if anything, to tell her mother. Her mother might well ask. And while she was happy to talk about Gideon all day and half the night, her mother would worry about the fact he was a judge. Zoe was worried too. But she probably wouldn’t get away with not saying anything. It was the way of mothers that they could recognise if their daughters had undergone some sort of change.

Both parents were on the doorstep when she drove in. She was surprised to see her father.

‘Not working, Dad?’ she said as she hugged him.

‘No, I wangled the afternoon off.’

‘It’s lovely to see you, darling,’ said her mother, hugging just as hard.

‘Hey, you two! I haven’t been away that long!’

‘I know, but you’ve been through a lot,’ said her mother, ushering her into the house. ‘I thought we’d just have a snack in the garden for lunch, as it’s so sunny.’

Over the wine and the salad Zoe kept her parents entertained with tales of Somerby, Rupert’s parents, the croquembouche and, in an expurgated version, Gideon. When her father went off to his study to catch up on a bit of work her mother made tea and set the mug firmly in front of her daughter; she wanted details.

She listened in silence while Zoe went through the description of how they’d met and how outrageously and utterly gorgeous and stunningly sexy he was. She went on to say how different from other people he was and how his hopes and ambitions coincided with hers, to a certain extent.

Her mother left a long, tactful silence before saying, ‘So, doesn’t the fact that he’s a judge make him completely off limits?’

Zoe sighed and nodded. ‘But you can’t always choose who you – fancy.’ She stopped but she knew her mother wasn’t fooled. She sensed it had gone further than just fancying.

‘I’ll put the kettle on again,’ her mother said.

After her mother had come through with the refilled mugs of tea and had produced a packet of chocolate digestives, she went on: ‘Couldn’t you put it all on hold until after the competition?’

‘That’s what we are doing, more or less. We haven’t actually discussed it yet. I haven’t heard from him since he went away anyway. I’m fine about it’ – she smiled to hide her fib – ‘and maybe he was thinking the same thing,
maybe
that’s why he hasn’t tried to get in touch. Maybe he thinks it’s better if we don’t see each other until it’s all over.’

‘It does seem a shame to risk—’

‘I know, Mum! You don’t need to remind me. I’m determined not to risk my chances in the competition.’

Zoe’s mother seemed a bit sceptical but only said, ‘Oh! How could I have forgotten! There was a something in the post for you a couple of days ago. It might have information about your final challenge.’

Glad that her mother was distracted from Gideon, Zoe followed her mother into the house. ‘How exciting! We know it’s fine dining but not all the details.’

‘Here you go!’ She handed Zoe a couple of envelopes, with the one she considered important on the top.

As Zoe took the envelopes and the letter opener her mother passed she noticed the second envelope was handwritten. She didn’t recognise the writing but she knew instantly who it was from. Her heart sang and she gave an ecstatic little sigh, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice.

‘Actually, Mum? Would you like another cup of tea? I’ll make it.’ She was awash herself but her mother had no limits to her capacity.

When she came back she was fully in charge of her feelings and focused on the competition.

The official envelope was large and full of bits of paper. The first thing Zoe picked up was a printed invitation. ‘Wow!’ she said, passing it to her mother.

‘An after-show party! How nice! Do you think it’ll be full of celebs?’

‘Maybe,’ said Zoe, examining it. ‘But I’m not asking Jamie Oliver for his autograph, even if you beg me.’

‘Oh, OK,’ said her mother. ‘Alan Titchmarsh?’

‘It’s a cooking thing. He does gardens.’

Her mother sighed in resignation. ‘All right, so what are you going to wear?’

‘Mum! What I wear isn’t important! It’s how I cook! Look!’ She pulled out a sheet of paper on which was written the next challenge and handed it to her mother. Really she was longing to get to what she was sure was Gideon’s letter but she felt she must give her professional life precedence.

‘“A celebration meal for six: two chefs, two critics, a food-loving celebrity and one of the original judges”,’ her mother read aloud.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Zoe, reading over her mother’s shoulder. Seeing it all in print made it scarily real. ‘Four courses and top, fine-dining food.’ She had a moment of panic. She’d lost valuable practise time at Somerby, even if it had been in a good cause. She had a lot to catch up on!

‘But you can order what ingredients you like. They do say good food starts in the shop,’ said her mother, reading.

‘Or with the producer,’ said Zoe. ‘There are some great ones near Somerby.’

‘But still, I hate to say this, but I’m so glad it’s you and not me!’

Zoe pulled out a chair and sat at the garden table. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got this far, I can do it. And I already know what I’ll make for pudding – a croquembouche.’

‘Oh? Like you did for the christening. Good idea!’

Zoe’s enthusiasm grew. ‘I’d quite like to put gold leaf on some physalis fruit – you know, cape gooseberries – or something, so I can put little gold balls in between the profiteroles.’

‘Will you have time? It sounds awfully fiddly. And would gold leaf stick? You know how the toffee always falls off the toffee apples unless you’re really careful. And what would you do as a starter?’

Zoe gathered the papers together, including the handwritten envelope. ‘Actually, Mum, I need to have a bit of a think. I’ll take this lot upstairs and reread everything and then we’ll hit the cookery books.’

Clutching the papers to her she ran up to her bedroom, dumped everything on the side table but took the envelope and sat on her bed.

She could open Gideon’s letter at last. She was tempted to scrabble it open with her fingers, but as she’d picked up the letter opener with the papers she slit it open. She might want to keep the envelope intact.

Dear Zoe
,

I am so sorry not to have been in touch. Still kicking myself for not exchanging numbers. I didn’t even have the number at Somerby with me. I managed to get your home address by devious means!

I have a lot to tell you. Life has got even more hectic than usual. But we’ll be together very soon and I can explain then
.

I’m about to be whisked away to a meeting
.

Yours, Gideon

As a love letter, it wasn’t entirely satisfactory, but it was so much better than nothing. And it was really nice to see his handwriting. It was good writing and he had obviously used a fountain pen. Most people texted or emailed these days; it was very special to have something tangible she could keep for ever. It was just like Gideon to have written to her. There was no tender sign-off though. How long does it take to write ‘lots of love’? Hardly any time at all. But was ‘yours’ better? Maybe it meant more than just ‘lots of love’. Zoe hardly ever wrote an email that she didn’t put ‘lots of love’ at the end of.