Читать книгу The Cotswolds Cookery Club: a deliciously uplifting feel-good read - Alice Ross - Страница 13

Chapter Five

On Monday morning, Connie had just stepped out of the shower when the doorbell rang.

Her heart sank. The decorator. She’d had a pleasant weekend without him, but now kettle duty would be resumed.

Throwing on a pair of khaki shorts and a crumpled pink T-shirt, she hurtled down the stairs and yanked open the door to discover not Mr Milk and Two Sugars, but a gorgeous guy in his mid twenties, with floppy dark hair, sculpted cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.

‘Morning!’ he said, through – she couldn’t help but notice – a rather delectable mouth, which then stretched into an adorable grin. ‘Just out of the shower, are we?’ He flicked a look at her chest.

Glancing down and realising she had a bit of a wet T-shirt thing going on, Connie hastily folded her arms over the offending area, while simultaneously flushing the same colour as the Decadent Décor cherry-red van outside. ‘Um, yes,’ she uttered, completely wrong-footed. ‘I was expecting… That is, I wasn’t expecting anyone so, um…’ Gorgeous, sexy, young? ‘Early. I wasn’t expecting anyone so early.’

‘It’s half past eight. We always start at half past eight.’

‘Oh. Yes. Right,’ she blustered. ‘Well, er, you’d better come in.’

‘Might be useful,’ he said, the accompanying wink causing her stomach to flip. ‘I’m Liam by the way.’

‘Connie,’ said Connie, hoping, in her disorientated state, that she’d got that right. Evidently she must have.

‘Nice. Short for Constance?’

‘Yes. But only my mother ever calls me that. Thank God.’

He chuckled, two cute dimples appearing in his cheeks.

‘Bedrooms up here, I take it,’ he said, turning to the staircase.

‘Y-yes,’ stammered Connie, the thought of him in the bedrooms just a little too much to cope with at that precise moment. In an attempt to quash the inappropriate images suddenly trampolining into her mind, she scrabbled together several words which came out as, ‘Would you like a coffee or something before you start?’

Twinkling blue eyes turned back to her. ‘Thanks. I wouldn’t mind a juice. Or water. Anything cool. It’s supposed to be belting hot today.’

‘Yes,’ she whimpered, gaze fixed on impressively firm buttocks as he started up the stairs. ‘I believe it will be.’

A few minutes later – despite the rising temperature both inside and outside the house – Connie had not only pulled on a cardigan, and buttoned it up to her neck, but also pulled herself together and managed to hand over a cold glass of orange juice to Liam the Adonis, without allowing him to see so much as a hint of the effect he was having on her. Or at least she hoped she hadn’t – praying the traitorous clinking of ice cubes as her shaking hand passed the drink to him hadn’t given her away.

Back in the kitchen, she attempted to do some work but, again because of the decorator, couldn’t concentrate. She didn’t know who was the greater distraction – Milk and Two Sugars, or the Adonis. About whom she was experiencing quite lust-ridden thoughts. When was the last time she’d had lust-ridden thoughts, she wondered. Evidently it was so far back, she couldn’t remember. In fact, she didn’t know if she’d ever had any. A fact which, contemplating the matter further, she could only attribute to a lack of lusty-thought-provoking men in her life. Somewhat embarrassingly, Connie could count on one hand the number of romantic liaisons in which she’d partaken during her thirty-four years – and still have a finger left over. There’d been a couple of “relationships” at university, the longest lasting six months, and then an eighteen-month on-off thing with a computer geek just after she’d graduated. And then Charles for the last five years. Five completely wasted years, as it now turned out. Rather unoriginally, she’d met him in a bar on a Friday night. It hadn’t been love at first sight – in fact, now she wondered if it had ever been love at all – but they’d trundled along okay together at the start. Even then, though – in the early days when lovers are supposed to be consumed by passion – she couldn’t recall ever experiencing a burning desire to rip off every shred of his clothing, smother him in panna cotta and lick off every remaining drop. Like she did with Liam every time he came within a two-metre radius. Which wasn’t only worryingly kinky, but also completely ridiculous given she was old enough to have been his school prefect.

Admitting defeat with the Five Hundred Fascinating Facts About Fly Fishing, and with Liam still occupied upstairs, Connie slipped into the downstairs loo and studied her reflection in the mirror. While in a league as far from Melody’s as Sydney was from Sidcup, she supposed she didn’t look too bad for a woman in her mid thirties. An average size twelve, she’d benefit from some toning up, but who – apart from just about every female she’d encountered in the Cotswolds – wouldn’t? Her thick chestnut hair – in the same “style” she’d worn it since she was twelve – fell halfway down her back, but still showed no sign of grey. And her skin remained line-free – well, apart from the couple of faint ones fanning out from the corners of her eyes. But discounting those – which she frequently did – she concluded she didn’t look too bad for someone approaching those scary middle years.

Fifteen minutes before leaving for Melody’s house, Connie smoothed down her hair, ran her tongue over her lips, and mounted the stairs to inform Liam of her departure.

‘Going anywhere nice?’ he asked, grinning at her from up his ladder.

‘To a friend’s. For lunch,’ she replied, hoping that made her sound ultra-cool, popular and… young.

‘Sweet. Enjoy. I’ll be knocking off for a bite myself soon.’

Connie attempted to ignore the wave of lust that crashed over her at this proclamation, the thought of Liam biting anything conjuring up all sorts of weird and wonderful images. ‘Right. Well, I’ll, er, see you later then,’ she stammered.

‘You most certainly will,’ he replied, the ensuing wink causing her knees to weaken and her pulse to quicken.

Having given pulse and knees a strict talking to, and managed to coax Eric out from behind the sofa, Connie left the house and – somewhat reluctantly – Liam, and wound her way through the village to Melody’s abode. Her route took her past pilot – and reckless car driver – Max Templeton’s cottage. This time, though, rather than lurking behind the rhododendrons, she marched directly past, head high. Or at least she would have – had Eric not stopped to pee on the gatepost. Thankfully, though, there was no sign of the Porsche – or the matching one Mrs Templeton no doubt drove. Which most likely had pink wheels. What had Eleanor said about her again? Oh yes – that she worked for a cosmetics company. Which probably meant she was one of those women who shovelled on six inches of make-up before venturing out the door. Hopefully she’d never find out, as she had absolutely no desire to make Mrs T’s acquaintance. Eric’s piddling completed, Connie carried on her way, following Melody’s directions and turning left at the end of the street.

Five minutes later, Connie screeched to a halt outside an enormous house, which, with its undulating roof, cluster of chimney pots and ivy-covered façade, wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Sunday-night period drama. This couldn’t be it. Surely. She checked the text again – which clearly said the house name was Foxgloves. And this house’s name was… Foxgloves, she discovered upon reaching the wrought-iron gates.

Blimey. Connie had no idea what line of business Melody’s husband worked in, but it was obviously a very lucrative one.

Slipping through the gates, she continued up the drive – flanked on either side by pristine lawns and rhododendron bushes – in stupefied awe, reaching the door what felt like three hours later. There, she pressed the old-fashioned brass bell, while experiencing the unnerving sensation that she really should be using the servants’ entrance.

What felt like another three hours later, Melody opened the door, looking lovely in cream leggings and a chiffon floral shirt.

‘Hi. Thanks so much for coming,’ she said, beaming at Connie and bending down to stroke Eric.

‘Thanks for asking us. Your house is awesome.’

Melody shrugged, her smile dipping slightly. ‘It’s okay. Far too big for the two of us. Between you and me, I would have been quite happy living in Malcolm’s bachelor pad – a lovely little house on the outskirts of Cirencester. But he wanted us to choose somewhere together. I preferred a cottage in the next village, but he fell in love with this place. And as it’s his money, I pretended to do the same.’

Her tone was coloured with something Connie couldn’t identify. Whatever it had been, though, Melody quickly dispensed with it, her smile returning with additional wattage.

‘Come on in. I’ll introduce you both to Tilly.’

She led them down an enormous hall into a kitchen five times the size of Anna’s.

‘Wow. This is amazing.’

‘It’s a bit excessive when you’re only cooking for one or two,’ pointed out Melody. She marched across the space to the open folding doors which made up the back wall. ‘Tills,’ she called into the garden. ‘Come and meet Connie and Eric.’

In a flash, a streak of white fur shot into the room, heading directly for Eric. Connie held her breath. Having unfastened his lead, she expected him to head directly to the nearest hiding place, or, at the very least, begin quivering like a jittery jelly. But he didn’t. As Tilly skidded to a stop in front of him, his ears pricked up and his tail flickered. Tilly shuffled in a shade closer, stuck out her tongue, licked his nose, then shot off through the folding doors again.

Eric stood stock-still for a moment, seeming to weigh up his plan of action. Then, to Connie’s astonishment, he followed Tilly – with a distinct bounce to his step.

‘I don’t believe it,’ gasped Connie.

‘Obviously thinks he’s on to a good thing,’ tittered Melody. ‘I’ll have to have words with Tilly about kissing on a first date.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Connie, making her way to the doors and watching Eric trot along after Tilly as she strutted around the garden. ‘This might well be the making of him.’

‘Let’s hope so. He’d enjoy life so much more if he wasn’t afraid of his own shadow. Let’s leave them to it and I’ll give you a quick tour.’

A “quick tour” – due to the vastness of the property – took thirty minutes. Connie had never been in such a huge private house before, but despite its impressive proportions and grandeur, she had to agree with Melody – for two people and a little dog it did seem excessive.

They finished in the garden, where the dogs now lay on the terrace basking in the sunshine. Eric opened one sleepy eye at their arrival, but otherwise seemed uncharacteristically at ease.

‘Take a seat,’ said Melody, indicating a wrought-iron table and chairs overlooking the extensive lawn and Olympic-sized pool. ‘Lunch is all prepared but I’m terrified to bring it out. I’d obviously had one glass of wine too many when I jumped in and offered to host the next meeting. And now I’m having a fit about it. My cooking is nowhere near as good as yours.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ tutted Connie. ‘The club’s not about one-upmanship. It’s about enjoying ourselves, trying new recipes and sharing tips. Now go and get it. I’m starving.’

‘Only if you promise to give me your absolute honest opinion.’

‘I absolutely promise.’

As Melody scuttled back into the house, Connie sat down and scanned her surroundings. Crikey. This really was how the other half lived. But something told her Melody wasn’t all that enamoured of the lifestyle.

Her host returned a few minutes later.

‘I’d love you to try these.’ She set down a tray on which sat two terracotta dishes of pan-fried prawns, a basket of crusty bread and two glasses of fizzy pink liquid with a strawberry anchored to the rim.

‘This looks incredible,’ exclaimed Connie, as Melody placed one of the dishes in front of her.

‘Pan-fried prawns with chilli, lemon and parsley. Plus a strawberry bellini to wash them down with.’

‘Excuse me while I pinch myself. Today is just getting better and better.’

‘Don’t say anything until you’ve tried them. Or, in fact, until tomorrow. If I haven’t given you food poisoning, then you have my full permission to gush.’

‘I’m going to be gushing any second now,’ giggled Connie, tearing off a piece of bread from the chunk she’d removed from the basket and dipping it into the juice in the bowl. ‘Yep,’ she confirmed, popping it into her mouth. ‘I am definitely gushing. That is sublime.’

Melody grimaced. ‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly,’ confirmed Connie, spearing one of the butterflied prawns. ‘The flavours are amazing. They burst into life on the tongue.’

‘Gosh. Thank you.’ Melody sat down and took a sip of her bellini. ‘I know I sound pathetic but I really don’t want to be the weak link in the club.’

Connie chewed her prawn, savouring the heavenly mingling tastes of the Mediterranean. ‘Impossible,’ she declared when she’d finished. ‘On so many counts. First, because I’ve never tasted prawns like that in my entire life. And second, because there are no weak links. We’re all in it together.’

Melody didn’t look convinced as she stabbed a prawn with her fork and swirled it around in the oil. ‘The thing is, I’ve never been good at anything. I’ve never had a chance to be. From being seven, my mother dragged me around the beauty circuit. And that was my life for the next twelve years.’

‘Goodness.’ Connie picked up her drink and sat back in her chair. ‘That sounds glamorous.’

Melody shook her head. ‘Anything but. Of course, you think it’s great when you’re seven – all the attention, the sparkly frocks, people telling you how pretty you are all the time. But as I grew older, I saw another side to it. The bitchy, competitive side. Not to mention the pressure to look perfect all the time. By the time I’d reached sixteen, I was desperate to pack it all in; to concentrate on my exams and train to be a dietician. But my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d set her heart on my becoming Miss Bristol. And believe me, when my mother has set her mind on something, you don’t argue.’

Connie chuckled. ‘It must have been exciting, though. All the travelling about, all the different competitions.’

‘Not really. One backstage area is much like another. And we never stayed anywhere. We couldn’t afford it. We just did the show, then drove home.’

‘And how did you do in the Miss Bristol competition?’

‘Won it when I was eighteen. My mother was ecstatic. I had a year of trotting around opening supermarkets and smiling until my jaw hurt. And that was it. The achieving of all my mother’s ambitions and none of my own.’

‘But surely you could still have trained as a dietician,’ pointed out Connie, setting down her glass and breaking off another piece of bread.

Melody wrinkled her nose, still toying with her prawn. ‘In theory. But because I hadn’t had a chance to study for my exams, I didn’t have the grades. I thought about evening classes, but I didn’t have the confidence. And, if I’m honest, I never really considered myself clever enough. Instead, I took a job on the cosmetics counter in a big department store in Bristol and worked there for seven years, until I married Malcolm. As the fairy tale goes, he whisked me away from it all.’

‘Blimey,’ puffed Connie, whose own life seemed remarkably dull by comparison. Not that that was unusual. Her life seemed dull compared to that of your average earthworm. ‘Where did you meet Malcolm?’

‘On the cosmetics counter. He came in looking for a new aftershave. I served him. After that, he came in every day for a week on the pretence of wanting something or other. Then he asked me out. And I said yes – despite him being double my age.’

Connie cocked an astounded eyebrow as she picked up her fork and stabbed another prawn.

Melody shook her head. ‘I know it sounds like a huge difference, but we get on so well. All the other guys I’d been out with had been my age, and only ever interested in getting hammered. Malcolm was different. Interesting. He made me laugh. We did all the usual stuff: cinema, walks, going out for a meal. When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me he worked for a software company. It wasn’t until I’d been seeing him for four months that he fessed up to owning the company. By which point we were head over heels in love. Not that anyone believes me when I tell them that. Everyone – including the whole of Little Biddington, from the way most of them snub me – thinks I’m the archetypal dollybird who sank her claws into a rich, older man.’

‘I don’t think that. I can see how much you love Malcolm by the way your face lights up every time you mention him.’

Melody flushed. ‘I know. I can’t help it. I love the bones of him. But I want him to be as proud of me as I am of him.’

‘I’m sure he already is.’

‘I’d like to think so. I don’t want him to think the same as everyone else – that I’m just after his money. Which is why I’d have preferred a smaller house. And why I’m desperate to do something for myself. Pay my way. Because I’ve always had to exercise to stay in shape, I trained as a fitness instructor a few years ago and I’ve approached the Residents’ Committee to ask about doing classes in the village hall – Zumba, Pilates, that kind of thing.’

‘Sounds like a great idea.’

‘That’s what I thought. But apparently not. Despite putting forward what I consider a very reasoned proposal, they’ve turned me down.’

‘Hmm. Well, from what I’ve heard, they sound a bit of a bunch. Couldn’t Malcolm help?’

‘Probably. But the chair of the committee is Celia Smythe – wife of Malcolm’s right-hand man at work. And by the way she looks down her nose at me every time I see her, she’s made it dazzlingly clear she considers me the archetypal blonde bimbo who’s only interested in Malcolm’s wallet. Which is why I really don’t want to involve him. I want to sort this out myself. Show Celia Smythe I’m not what she thinks. So, I’ll keep chipping away.’

Connie shook her head in awe. ‘I totally admire your determination. You’ll have to let me know how it goes.’

‘I will. I might even rope you in. Particularly if they want me to demonstrate a class.’

‘Hmm. I’m not sure having me and lycra in the same room would help your case,’ giggled Connie. ‘But I could certainly do with more exercise. Especially if you’re going to knock up dishes like this. These prawns are superb.’

‘Malcolm said that when I made them for him last night. Not that I believed him. He’s eaten in some of the world’s best restaurants. Still, sweet of him to say so. Even if it was just to keep me happy.’

‘As lovely as he sounds,’ tutted Connie, ‘I can assure you he would not have been saying it just to keep you happy. They are outstanding. You should be more confident about your cooking.’

Melody smiled. ‘Thanks. I’m hoping the club will help with that. In fact, it would be lovely if it could improve my confidence full stop. Since moving here, I’ve felt like a fish out of water. Which is another reason I joined the club – to meet more like-minded people.’

‘And you have,’ confirmed Connie, taste buds drooling as she prepared to devour yet another prawn. ‘And I for one am incredibly pleased you signed up for it.’

Liam was still up the ladder when Connie arrived back at the house. Entering the bedroom, her eyes immediately homed in on those toned buttocks again. The only buttocks she could imagine looking sexy in a pair of white, paint-splattered overalls.

‘Impressive progress,’ she said, employing a humongous effort to drag her gaze away from his rear and onto the wall being transformed from pale lilac to moss-green. ‘That looks great.’

‘Doesn’t it. Cool choice of colour. You lived here long?’

‘Um, no,’ she uttered, trying desperately not to salivate as she focused now on his tanned bicep, which flexed every time he moved the roller. ‘I actually live in London. I’m housesitting here for a few months while my friend and her husband are in Australia.’

‘Oh. Right.’ He swivelled his head round to her. ‘I’m off to Oz in a couple of months. Got a job sorted with a mate of mine. Might stay if I like it.’

‘Really,’ squeaked Connie, as he turned back to the wall and the biceps began doing their stuff again.

‘Might as well. Nothing to keep me here.’

‘No girlfriend?’ she whimpered.

‘Nah. What about you? Boyfriend not mind you upping sticks and moving here for a bit?’

‘No boyfriend.’

He twisted round to her again, eyes glinting with mischievousness. ‘Hot babe like you? Don’t believe that for a minute.’

Connie’s cheeks flew scarlet. She’d never been called a babe before. Never mind a hot one. Most likely due to her being neither. Still, nice to hear, even if it was pure fiction.

‘Would you… like another drink?’ she blurted, having no idea where the conversation was heading. And suspecting that, wherever it was, she would be way out of her depth.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he said through a disarming smile, before putting down the roller and dismounting the ladder.

Connie cursed herself as Liam followed her down the stairs. Of all the days to wear a pair of crappy baggy khaki shorts, why had she picked this one? And why hadn’t she shaved her legs when she’d been meaning to for the last fortnight? Tonight, she resolved, the shorts were going in the charity bag, and there would be a serious tidying up of self. Which might even include the painting of nails. Melody’s nails had been a glossy vibrant pink, and her legs smooth, shiny and fuzz-free. Plus, she would probably prefer a month of back-to-back karaoke evenings with the dreaded Residents’ Committee than to be seen in crappy baggy khaki shorts.

Upon reaching the kitchen, Liam perched his toned buttocks on a stool at the island, while Connie, aware of his eyes on her, did her best to detract from the shorts faux pas by sashaying over to the fridge. At least she hoped she sashayed. By the bemused look Eric shot her from his basket, she suspected she might look in dire need of the loo.

‘Apple, orange or cranberry?’ she asked, aiming for a casual lounge against the fridge door – and knocking off three of Anna’s treasured magnets in the process.

A strange snorting sound came from Liam, which hastily morphed into a cough. ‘Cranberry, please,’ he replied, a definite humorous lilt to his tone.

Connie engaged in another bout of silent cursing as she bent down and scrabbled together the magnets, cringingly aware the action was drawing yet more attention to her hideous attire.

The magnets duly collected, she clamped them back onto the fridge, then opened the door and retrieved the carton of juice. Closing it again, her heart skipped a beat as she discovered Liam beside her.

‘Oh,’ she gasped, parts of her body fluttering that hadn’t fluttered in their entire thirty-four-year existence. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’

‘Reading this.’ He indicated the slogan on her apron, hanging next to the fridge. ‘Food is better than sex, eh? Whoever came up with that has obviously never had the right buttons pressed.’ The remark was accompanied by another wink and a knowing smile that brought forth those adorable dimples.

The combination caused such a rush of heat to suffuse Connie that she almost yanked open the fridge again and clambered inside.