Читать книгу Getting Organised - Carolyn Caterer - Страница 6

Serena Brown-Davis surveyed the perfectly cooked lemon meringue pie, which she had taken out of the oven a mere five minutes earlier and wondered if it would be too hot to eat. She knew that she really didn’t need to check it as she was a very good cook, having been a chalet girl in the 1980’s (after gaining a first class honours degree in French) and the perfect hostess for the many dinner parties which she had thrown on behalf of her husband and his city firm.

However it was impossible to resist the crisp top of the meringue which soon gave way to the soft whipped egg white and the dense feel of the lemon filling, before the knife broke through the crisp pastry below.

She could resist no longer and, taking the knife from its wooden block, sliced into the pie, marvelling at the way everything melded together as the blade made its way through her work of art. She placed the slice carefully on the plate, added a copious amount of extra thick double cream (what a shame she hadn’t bought any clotted cream this week) and then picked up a pastry fork in full anticipation of the delights that were about to dance over her taste buds.

Serena had the perfect life, or so it seemed to those around her. A talented student, she had been brought up to believe that the best thing she could do would be to support a good husband who would look after her every need and Charles had certainly not let her down. As someone very respected in the world of International Banking, Charles was prone to bringing home colleagues and contacts who were both entertaining and demanding in terms of their culinary preferences. Serena, never one to baulk at a challenge, had spent the past twenty years honing her skills in a way which would leave even a potential Michelin starred chef struggling. No matter what their preference Serena would ensure she rose to the challenge, and boy how much easier had that become thanks to the rise of the internet which would enable her to quickly search for local and national dishes and ensure her guests felt completely at home, whilst she also introduced them to the delights of more traditional British fayre, though she had yet to persuade Charles to allow her to put either Haggis or Faggots on the menu.

What most astounded her about her guests was their obsession with traditional British puddings, whether it was apple pie, jam roly poly, treacle sponge or trifle. The only thing to exceed the puddings in praise was the accompanying custard (home made of course) and she often marvelled at the way her guests always had room for a second helping.

Even the rather chic and slightly skeletal wife of the president of the French arm of Charles’ company tucked into her rhubarb crumble with an enthusiasm that had been absent during the rest of the meal, including the 1998 Dom Perignon that Charles had opened to accompany the seafood canapés. She had gone on to confess to Serena that puddings were her weakness and she particularly loved the heartiness of the British ones, but steadfastly avoided them when at home in France for fear that she would no longer be able to fit into any of her Chanel suits.

Charles had always maintained that her cooking and expert hostess skills were his secret weapons in terms of his career and it was hard to argue with this, as he had experienced an almost meteoric rise from his first day in his new management job to CEO in a mere fifteen years. As a result he was admired and held in awe by most of his peers and many an ambitious employee had since tried to emulate his success but had failed to match him in any way. What they hadn’t realised was that Charles had paid his dues by working in two other major banks before he arrived at Wingards, and had made some very good connections, which undoubtedly helped. At the age of 57 he had been CEO for ten years and the bank had continued to go from strength to strength and become one of the biggest players in the world market.

As a couple they were glamorous and devoted. They had two children: Martha aged twenty-five had inherited her Mother’s linguistic skills and had completed a degree in modern languages. She then surprised them all by announcing she wanted to change tack and spent another three years at University doing a degree in Oceanography, much to their amazement. Shortly afterwards, she had secured herself a grant to go and study the Great Barrier Reef and had lately been in Australia for a couple of months doing just that.

Alex, meanwhile, was no less ambitious and had completed a degree in mechanical engineering. He had chosen to spend some time in South America doing voluntary work and seemed to be loving every minute of it, if his texts and emails were anything to go by, but Serena had a sneaking suspicion that it might also be due to the presence of a certain local student called Juanita, who seemed to feature a lot in his updates and in all the pictures that appeared on his Facebook page. She did start to wonder if he would ever actually return to the UK, as he showed no interest in doing so and was now in his second year out there and still writing enthusiastically about it at every opportunity. As much as she would have loved to see more of her children, Serena was equally proud of all they had achieved and the fact that they were now making their own way in the world without any further help from their parents. All in all she was very pleased with how they had turned out.

To any outsider Serena had the perfect life, but with Martha in Australia and Alex equally far away in South America, she found her days somewhat lacking in a way that she couldn’t fully describe.

So Serena concentrated on what she did best; keeping her house tidy and her husband happy when he was at home. Her day was entirely built around the time he left for work and the time he returned home to a fabulous home-cooked meal, the best quality wine, and a wife who would enquire after his day, but never ask him any tricky questions no matter what she may have read in the papers or seen on the news. In fact Serena would have made an excellent diplomat, so skilled was she in the art of smoothing things over and ensuring that everything ran like clockwork and Charles had nothing to worry about other than his waistline, but even then she had booked him in with a personal trainer during his lunchtimes at work up in the city. She didn’t want him getting a paunch from ambling around on a golf course every weekend, and as a gym bunny herself, she was going to ensure that her husband kept himself in as good shape as she did. In fact she was convinced that in comparison to the amount of time she spent working out, Charles was going to have an easy ride if she was not careful and this was what had led to Serena’s decision to employ the personal trainer for Charles to ensure he had no excuse not to keep fit. Clive turned up every weekday, at midday, and put Charles through his paces in the company gym, meaning that he had soon re-acquired the washboard stomach that he had been so proud of in his twenties and had also gained admiring glances from his female colleagues, who concluded he was simply the fittest CEO the company had ever had. In fact they also commented how he looked ten years younger than his fifty-seven years and were pretty envious of Serena having someone so sexy coming home to her.

Charles, whilst at first cursing the whole idea of the trips to the gym when he could think of better ways to exercise, soon realised the advantages of having a finely toned body when it came to getting his own way (with both the women and the men who reported into him at work, as well as his contacts in other companies) and his particular brand of charm became even more potent as his ratio of fat to muscle diminished. He had a renewed energy and vigour and was determined to take advantage of it. Charles was arrogant, but in a completely understated way, so that no one ever really noticed this particular trait and he was universally liked and admired by those around him.

The fact that life was so good for Charles had not been lost on him and he appreciated what he had, but also what it meant he was capable of getting.

Each day at six o’clock he would leave the office and his chauffer would drive him home or to a business engagement or late meeting. If it were the latter he could guarantee that Serena would have a light supper waiting for him upon his return. Charles was a man who was in charge, but also a man who had his needs met by all of those around him. Adored by his children he certainly had to admit he led a charmed life, but then that was exactly what he felt he deserved.

Yet for all that he had Charles, over the last ten years, had begun to feel restless. He needed something more than the domestic perfection that he had taken for granted. He wasn’t averse to risk in his working life, but since he had taken over the role of CEO he had responsibilities to his shareholders and was under pressure from the other board members to hold a steady course for the company and build a long term stable future. While understanding the sound economic reasons for this, Charles was privately bored to tears with this inherent need of his company to play it safe, and wondered if he should perhaps set up an online account and start to take his penchant for risk into the world of online poker.

However, he knew that this wasn’t the answer and instead had taken up a far more interesting past time where he found the perfect combination of risk, reward and that rare experience these days of not being totally in control. It suited him very well and probably helped him be the best husband, father and CEO that anyone could have wished for. All in all his life was very good indeed.

Charles glanced down at his watch and realised it was time to leave. Today he was heading straight home and looking forward to a quiet evening in with Serena, good food, a couple of glasses of red wine (permitted by Clive) and maybe even some quality sex to round off the evening.

He walked out of the office and into his waiting car, sent a few emails on his Blackberry and rang to let Serena know he was on the way. Pressing the ‘play’ button on his surround sound car system he sat back for the rest of the journey with his eyes closed and let the soothing melody of Brahms’ second symphony wash over him.

A little over an hour later he was walking into the kitchen. He kissed Serena slowly on the lips (a sign that he would most certainly be interested in some action later) and threw his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs, shortly followed by his tie. Serena handed him a glass of Australian Shiraz and he sipped it before turning to head off upstairs to change.

‘Dinner smells delicious darling. What is it tonight?’

‘Salmon en croute with a green salad and then strawberries and cream for desert’

‘I thought you said at breakfast you were going to make lemon meringue pie?’

‘I changed my mind’ Serena smiled sweetly.

Charles turned and walked upstairs to change, secretly relieved that lemon meringue pie was off the menu as he knew if he ate it, Clive would have him doing an extra half an hour at the gym and he could think of far better ways to burn off excess calories.