Читать книгу Second Chances at the Log Fire Cabin: A Christmas holiday romance for 2018 from the ebook bestseller - Catherine Ferguson, Catherine Ferguson - Страница 11

Driving back along the road to the Log Fire Cabin, Poppy gives me a run-down of what I’ll be doing during my days here.

‘I really feel like I’m dumping you in at the deep end,’ she says, apologetically. ‘If it’s too much, just say so.’

‘No, honestly, it’s fine.’ The more hours I can spend at the Log Fire Cabin each day, the less time I’ll have to kick my heels at home, moping about Jackson, so I’ll get over him much faster. That’s the theory, anyway.

‘I haven’t spoiled your Christmas plans, I hope?’

I shake my head and explain about Mum and Dad going off on a cruise. ‘My flatmate, Flo, is away, too, with her family. They’re spending the festive season in New York.’

‘Ooh, lucky Flo!’

‘I know.’

‘So … I thought if you could make the desserts, I’ll concentrate on the main courses and we can do the starter together. How does that sound?’

‘Good,’ I say, as my stomach turns several somersaults in quick succession. Isn’t there a dessert called Eton Mess? That sounds right up my street.

As I park outside the house, I ask her how she first met Jed and her serious expression melts into a faraway smile.

‘He phoned me, thinking I was his brother’s girlfriend, Clemmy. He got the wrong number, you see. So he left a message inviting me – well, Clemmy – for Christmas. And, well, I phoned him back and told him he’d got the wrong number and we chatted …’ Her face is glowing just thinking about it.

‘So what happened?’

‘Well, I thought that was that. But there was something about his voice I really liked. And then I happened to be at the station when he was meeting Clemmy off the train.’

She shoots me a glance, her cheeks colouring up. ‘When I say I “happened” to be there, I actually went to the station deliberately. I suppose I was curious to see Jed in person. And it all sort of fell into place after that.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Yes. He found out I was setting up my dinner party business and he just happened to need a caterer for over the Christmas holidays – so that was it!’

‘How romantic.’

She beams at me. ‘It was. I couldn’t quite believe it when we finally got together.’

‘And that was two years ago? And you’ve been together ever since?’

Her smile slips. ‘Two years, yes,’ she murmurs, almost as if she’s forgotten I’m there.

‘Do you live at the Log Fire Cabin with Jed?’

There’s a pause. Then she turns. ‘No, we don’t live together. I have my own flat in the village, although I stay over at Jed’s place once during the week. And most weekends.’

‘Lovely.’

She nods. ‘Of course it makes sense for me to stay here every night until the baking contract ends at Christmas. But after that, it’s back to my own place!’ She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

As we walk in the imposing entrance, with its modern, oak wood staircase rising up to the first-floor bedrooms, the man himself – Jed Turner – runs downstairs. Seeing Poppy, his handsome face spreads into a beaming smile.

‘Hey, you.’

‘Hey,’ she responds with a shy smile.

‘And you must be Roxy. I hope she’s treating you well?’

‘Oh, yes. Very well.’ I smile and we shake hands. Then he takes Poppy into a loose cuddle and plants a lingering kiss on top of her head.

She relaxes fully into his embrace for just a moment. Then she pulls away. ‘Right. We have two hundred gingerbread men to ice.’ She reaches up and plants a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘Let’s go, Roxy.’

She walks briskly along to the kitchen and I follow in her wake, turning back to smile at Jed. He’s standing there with his arms folded, staring after us, a pensive look on his face.

Icing gingerbread men turns out to be even more tricky than I’d imagined, and I need four tries – and much embarrassed laughter on my part and giggles on Poppy’s – before she deems me proficient enough to work on my own. I’m painfully aware that I’m slowing up the proceedings. But if Poppy is worried, she doesn’t show it. She just keeps making encouraging remarks and praises me to the skies when I finally get Santa’s red suit with white trim and black buttons almost perfect. He looks a little cross-eyed, but she doesn’t seem to mind about that.

‘Right, if we get these done by five, we can run through the recipe for the mince pies to get a head start for tomorrow. Then we can start on dinner. I’ve told them eight o’clock tonight because I knew we’d be working up to the wire.’

I nod, focusing on getting Santa’s pupils in the right place this time.

‘You’re very welcome to stay for dinner,’ she says suddenly, and I glance up. ‘You might as well. There’ll be plenty.’

She’s smiling encouragingly.

‘Oh, no. I really need to get back. But thank you.’ Flo will be desperate to know how today went!

‘Is there anything at all to read around here?’ says a voice.

We both turn to find a statuesque girl in her early twenties standing in the doorway, chewing gum in a rather bored fashion. She’s wearing a short, silky, pale lilac dress and skyscraper nude heels, and her hair flows down over her shoulders in sculpted honey-blonde curls.

‘I’m not being funny but is it always this tedious in the countryside?’ She crosses her arms and gazes around sulkily.

‘Oh, hi, Sophie,’ says Poppy. ‘Roxy, this is Sophie. She’s going out with Jed’s friend, Jack. Sophie, this is my new assistant, Roxy.’

I smile at Sophie. ‘Hi.’

She hitches her mouth up fractionally, flicks her eyes over me and continues chewing. ‘Well?’

‘Oh, books, yes,’ says Poppy. ‘If you go through to the study along the hall you’ll find a big bookshelf—’

‘I don’t mean books.’ She looks so horrified, I want to giggle.

Poppy raises her eyebrows questioningly.

‘Cosmo?’ snaps Sophie impatiently. ‘Harper’s Bazaar? Vogue?’

‘Ah, sorry, no. I’m afraid I don’t buy fashion magazines.’ She suddenly colours bright red and glances at me with a grimace that I don’t understand. ‘I mean, I do sometimes.’

Sophie eyes Poppy’s outfit of blue jeans and a plain pink T-shirt. ‘Perhaps you should read them more often. You might pick up some tips.’ She smiles to show she’s just being helpful.

If Poppy is annoyed, she doesn’t let it show. Instead, she beams at Sophie. ‘Roxy, Sophie here is a very important person in the world of fashion magazine publishing. She’s the editor-in-chief of Dazzle.’

‘Oh. Dazzle? Wow, that’s amazing. I used to read it all the time.’ I’m genuinely impressed. Come to think of it, Sophie is dressed impeccably – as I guess she should be, representing such a stylish magazine as Dazzle.

‘But you don’t read it now?’ Her tone is a little accusatory.

‘Er, well, sometimes I do,’ I say awkwardly. Dazzle is pretty much all fashion, which I was well into in my teens. But since the accident, my twenties have been much more about covering up …

Sophie is looking quite put out. But maybe that’s just her normal expression. Still, better not mention I only ever flick through Dazzle now when I find a copy in the dentist’s surgery.

‘My mum insists on giving me her back copies of The People’s Friend. Any good?’ offers Poppy. I glance at her. She’s gazing innocently at Sophie but I’m fairly certain she has her tongue firmly in her cheek.

Sophie doesn’t even dignify this with a reply.

‘How’s the hotel?’ Poppy asks. She turns to me. ‘Sophie and her boyfriend are staying at the same place as Alex. You know, when I first came here, it was just a sad, rundown old cottage. And look at it now! A gorgeous boutique hotel! Sylvia’s done a superb job transforming it, don’t you think?’

‘It does look lovely,’ I agree. ‘Especially all decorated for Christmas.’

Sophie wrinkles her perfect nose. ‘It’s okay I suppose, although the rooms are quite small. It’s not a patch on The Lawns,’ she adds, naming a five-star hotel twenty miles from here. Renowned for its elegance and attention to detail, it also boasts a Michelin-starred chef. ‘We stayed there a few nights ago.’ Sophie gives a theatrical sigh. ‘So romantic. The bedrooms are big enough to host a party!’ She picks up one of the mince pies and holds it aloft, examining it with her pinky finger in the air. She takes a tiny bite, chews doubtfully, then drops the rest in the bin.

Walking out, she calls back, ‘A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’

Poppy and I stare after her with our mouths literally hanging open.

‘What a bloody cheek! That woman thinks she’s royalty just because she edits a fashion magazine,’ mutters Poppy once she’s gone. ‘And as for her romantic night at The Lawns – excuse me while I puke!’ She shakes her head wearily. ‘I’m just not in the mood to hear about love’s young dream at the moment.’

I heave a sigh. ‘I know what you mean.’

I’d like to ask Poppy about her relationship with Jed but I definitely don’t know her well enough yet – and she is my boss, after all.

‘God, I’m starving. What time is it?’ Poppy glances at her watch, then crosses the kitchen, pulls the fridge door open and peers inside. She brings out a Tupperware box and sniffs the contents. ‘Kedgeree leftovers. Would you like some?’

‘No, thanks. You go ahead.’ I grin as she gets a fork and starts chomping through the fish and rice concoction in the box. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer it hot?’

She grins. ‘Not bothered. I can’t seem to stop eating these days. It must be the worry.’

‘Worry?’

She shrugs. ‘That I won’t be able to fulfil this contract. There’s so much depending on it. I want to take the business to the next level – perhaps even start employing a couple of full-time staff. But if this doesn’t work out …’ She shakes her head and munches faster.

‘It’ll be fine. We’ll do it.’ I try to sound reassuring, although I have absolutely no idea if it will be fine.

‘I thought we could have trifle for dessert,’ she says. ‘I found a box in the cupboard. Nice and quick.’

I feel a big surge of relief. Yes! I can make trifle from a box! We have it every Christmas when I’m at Mum and Dad’s!

Poppy presents me with a lovely cut-glass bowl, the box and a tin. I pat the canned fruit cocktail happily. You can’t go wrong with a tin!

‘Shall we make the custard from scratch?’ she asks.

I stare at her blankly then glance at the box. I didn’t know you could make custard from scratch.

She nods. ‘I know, I know. You’re right. Far too time-consuming! Let’s just stick to the packet variety.’ She opens the trifle box and looks inside, drawing out the packets of jelly and custard that I happen to know you just add hot water to. Even I can do that!

Poppy grins, pops the packets back into the box and hands it to me. ‘There you go!’

And there, indeed, I went. With a huge feeling of relief.

I make the trifle in no time, according to the instructions, and when Poppy asks me to whip some cream for the top, I casually ask where she keeps her ‘balloon whisk’. (I learned about balloon whisks when I was watching cookery demos on YouTube.)

Peeling a load of prawns for the starter is easy by comparison.

Every time I need to go to the fridge for something, I peer at my trifle with pride.

First dessert made. And I think I got away with it!

From about seven o’clock, there are lots of comings and goings out in the hall but I’m too busy trying to present the prawn cocktails with panache (like they do on MasterChef) to pay much attention. Soon, the kitchen is filled with the delicious aroma of Poppy’s lasagne and, before I know what’s happening, she’s loading the starters onto a large tray and carrying them through to the dining room.

I watch them go like an anxious mum dropping her kids for their first day at a new school. When the dishes come back empty with no report of complaints, a feeling of sheer relief rushes through me, making me feel quite light-headed. Maybe I’ll be able to do this!

When it comes to dessert, Poppy insists I should carry my trifle into the dining room myself. It will be a good chance, she says, for me to meet all the guests.

I’m a little nervous but at least I already know Jed and Alex, and I’ve met Sophie. In fact, I’m quite looking forward to Alex seeing my beautiful trifle because then he’ll realise I’m not quite such a flop in the kitchen, after all …

My hands feel a little sweaty from nerves so I run them down my jeans a few times and pick up the bowl. Walking through the hallway, I’m concentrating so hard on not tripping over any rugs that I’m not even looking at the diners.

‘Presenting … Roxy’s trifle everyone!’ says Poppy.

I look up and meet Alex’s eye. He gives me a big encouraging smile and a sly wink, which bolsters my confidence. He’s had the haircut he promised. It suits him short.

My gaze slides to Sophie. She’s eyeing the trifle with a wary look as if she’s worried I might poison her. Her head is resting on the shoulder of the man next to her.

A second later, my eyes collide with his and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest.

‘Jackson?’ I gasp, my knees turning to blancmange.

‘Roxy?’ growls Jackson, shock written all over his handsome face.

The blood rushes to my head and I think I might keel over.

I manage to save myself but not the trifle, which slides out of my damp grasp and lands on the wooden floor with a spectacular, rainbow-coloured crash.