I shook myself and focused, for a moment, on Charlie Chingo, who stood like an obedient child while Roxy, as usual, powdered his nose. Gaynor chatted to Edward, who just gave her cursory grunts and nods. My cookery students, young mums from the village, explored their work-stations and examined today’s ingredients.
Grateful for a moment to myself, I took a deep breath. The theme for today was Traditional British Fare. I’d shared Dennis Smith’s overheard thoughts with Lady C and Kathleen, so yesterday they’d spent hours coaching me while I prepared steak and kidney pie and sherry trifle – again and again and again. The shortcrust pastry wasn’t as difficult as I’d imagined, and the pies were teeny-tiny, like the fancy grub served up on
Masterchef
. Handling raw kidneys was the biggest challenge –
ick
– and made me realize I’d be totally useless if there ever was a zombie apocalypse.
At least the trifle was fun and I eventually mastered getting sponges to rise – sort of—and custard to thicken without lumps. I’d never realized how rewarding it was to put a completed dish that tasted good on the table.
Seeing as today’s pupils were all women, and alcohol had gone down very well at the last class, first off was girlie cocktail-making so that we could drink our way through the session. The booze of choice?
The English Rose
, a classic mixed drink (apparently), using apricot brandy, vermouth and grenadine. This ladylike tipple was topped with a shoe-shiny maraschino cherry.
Hopefully, I waved at Edward. Talking of zombies, expressionless, he stared back and my heart squeezed tight. In vain, I’d tried to apologise several times about the engagement misunderstanding, but each time he cut me off. He’d still been down in the dumps last night, when we’d all watched the Sunday episode of
Million Dollar Mansion
in the Parlour and cheered our success.
The general opinion was that the Second World War reunion was much better than Marwick Castle’s celebrity orgy. Even cool young fans on Facebook got involved and posted war stories their grandparents had told them. They also loved the tribute to
Ghost
’s pottery wheel scene and without my help (or, that is, my Facebook persona Eleanor Goodwin) had set up another vote. Plus, luckily, the jury was still out as to whether it was really Miss Abigail Croxley taking part in these movie re-enactments. One of the ‘beastly tabloids’ —Lady C’s words, not mine; I loved the smaller papers cos you could just look at the pics —was running a poll and, at the latest count, thirty-nine per cent of viewers thought it really was Abbey cleaning the fountain with Nick.
On the downside, their suggestions for the next one were…eek! Mega racy:
The sexy food feeding scene by the fridge in
Nine and a Half Weeks
.
The naughty interrogation scene from
Basic Instinct
where Sharon Stone uncrosses her knickerless legs.
Numerous scenes from vampire movie series
Twilight
, like where Robert Pattinson breaks the bed or Taylor Lautner strips to the waist.
If it was sexing-up Roxy wanted, that’s certainly what she was going to get.
Still not waving back –in fact, arms folded—Edward leant back against the kitchen wall, unaware that the young mums were ogling him. Last night, he’d barely blinked while watching the footage of Nick and, ahem, another person stroking the fountain. Thankfully, Lady C missed that scene as she’d been talking animatedly to Kathleen and the Earl about the vulgarity of the Baron’s party. Even I had to agree (along with a surprisingly large number of people on Facebook and Twitter) that Dodgy Dirk the rock star wasn’t all that hot. More than once he’d thrown up down the well, peed against the Grizzly Bear and come out of the Baron’s bathroom with a mysterious white powder clinging to his moustache.
Online, people were getting bored with the Castle’s flashes of boobs and bums. One Facebook comment got a lot of ‘likes’—it said stag and hen nights were ‘only fun to watch if you were also pissed’.
‘Ten minutes to go,’ said Roxy, who’d sidled up to me. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. She cleared her throat. ‘Abbey, can I just say something?’
Perhaps Edward had mentioned his doubts.
‘I think you are fucking fantastic,’ she muttered in her usual quick voice.
My eyes widened.
‘Excuse my language.’ She giggled. ‘I never thought Applebridge Hall stood a chance, but the evacuees’ reunion was a piece of genius and, as for you and Nick…’
Aw, I loved Roxy, yet, despite feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, I managed to take on an innocent air. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Well, whatever…’ said Roxy. ‘All I wanted to say was: you Go, Girl. Miss Abigail Croxley rocks.’
‘Thank you…’ I said. ‘I just hope it all…that my presence here pays off.’
She grinned. ‘Apparently, the Baron of Marwick was spitting last night after the show aired, and said something about taking his game ‘up to the next level’ to outdo Lieutenant Robert Mayhew’s engagement party on Wednesday night. He better come up with something good, because that’s basically his last chance. After Thursday night’s broadcast, when voting lines open, all that’s left is the live final on Saturday.’ Roxy stopped to breathe for a moment. ‘He won’t have much time to change people’s opinions by then. So, bravo! You’ve really managed to turn things around.’
I fiddled with the waistband of my skirt. ‘The engagement party idea was nothing to do with me.’
‘Yes, but, thanks to you, viewers have a vested interest now in watching the Applebridge Hall footage,’ she said at her usual top speed. ‘They care a lot more since your, um, high-jinks – intended or not. You’re more…human, rather than some old-fashioned figure who could have stepped out of a Jane Austen book. And, as for the moving stories about the Second World War and old Lord Croxley…’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve just seen him walking towards the pond with your aunt. Your uncle’s really come out of himself. For the first time, at that reunion, we saw some emotion from him. At last people can relate to him in some way.’
I nodded. He
had
become a touch more laid-back.
‘Then there’s been numerous comments online,’ continued Roxy. ‘Even one of the broadsheets mentioned his little speech. How he made no bones about not really being into the show until this reunion. How he felt everyone who’d ever lived in the house deserved to have their tale heard. Your family may be uptight and stuffy and hopelessly straight, Abbey, but…’ she shrugged ‘…you’ve got principles. Whilst the Baron is open about his motives, there’s somehow something more honest about the Croxleys, and that counts for a lot as far as the British Public are concerned. It’s a certain sincerity – like the way family friends on the show are genuine. Most of the Baron’s famous guests have known him for a month or two at the most.’
Honest?
I almost laughed out loud. What if Roxy and the British Public found out the truth about me?
‘Positions, darlings,’ called Gaynor.
Roxy grinned and slipped a stick of chewing gum into her mouth.
Charlie Chingo came over to me, on the way winking at the three young mums. He spoke to me but I couldn’t remember, afterwards, what he said. Then, somehow, I demonstrated the cocktail. Somehow my pastry didn’t crumble and my trifle actually set. Afterwards, the cookery session seemed like nothing but a blur. Kneading, frying, whisking, beating… All I could think of, instead, was how increasingly important it was that my real identity stayed secret. Often, now, I’d find my stomach scrunched or hands sweaty… It reminded me of those tense weeks doing GCSEs.
Edward stayed right until the end and then shot off before we could chat. I did my wrapping-up interview with Charlie. After congratulating the young mums, I charged out of the house, perspiration dripping from my forehead.
I needed air, which could smell of the Earl’s roses or Jean’s fertilizer – who cared, as long as it filled my lungs and slowed my heart and took away the sense of panic I’d felt ever since Roxy spelt out how important I was to the Croxleys winning this show?
I headed for the bench by the pond and sat down, gazing at a multi-coloured bird with a long black tail. Lady C would have known its name.
‘Cousin?’ Edward emerged from the other bank, behind the bulrushes. ‘Nick said you headed this way.’ He sat down next to me.
‘Did you, um, enjoy the show?’ I asked.
‘Yes. It was… interesting.’
Nausea rose up at the back of my throat and I held my head in my hands. ‘Go on, admit it. After everything Dennis Smith said, you doubt me and my qualifications.’
‘Everything he said?’
I looked up. ‘Um…I mean at the dining table… It was obvious he thought I’d never trained as a chef.’
Edward snorted. ‘You should have heard what he said later on – he tried to convince me you were useless so that I would employ his granddaughter instead.’
‘Really?’ I hadn’t stayed to hear that bit.
Edward rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Apparently, she has run his South of France restaurant for five years. She isn’t married, has no ties and wants a new challenge outside of the family enterprise. According to Dennis, she’d be perfect to mould the Applebridge Food Academy into a modern, thriving business.’ He shrugged. ‘I watched your capable performance this morning so that if he pesters me again I’ll be able to knock back any of his ridiculous criticisms.’
‘Oh… How very loyal. It’s appreciated.’
He stood up. ‘That’s what family is for, Abbey. You’ve stood by us in these difficult times. It’s the least I can do. Oh, yes, Nick…’ His nose wrinkled. ‘Apparently, you asked to see him earlier, some query about the vegetable garden…’
Did I?
‘He asked me to tell you he’s there at the moment if you’ve still got things to discuss.’
‘Oh…thanks.’ Ah, nice excuse, Nick. We did need to talk about our next strategy. ‘Are you returning to the house? Let me walk with you.’
It was a quiet stroll back and I fought the urge to hold his hand. There was no point apologizing again about the engagement mix-up, but now I felt even worse, seeing as he’d stuck up for me. Edward had closed himself off again and had a detached look on his face. He merely grunted when I said goodbye and headed around the back. Jean was nowhere to be seen. Nick passed me a freshly picked strawberry.
‘We’d better get practising, Miss,’ he said and grinned. ‘Guess which scene our Facebook fans have voted for.’
‘Not the fridge one from
Nine and A Half Weeks?
’
‘Of course, if you don’t think it’s appropriate…’
My heart sank. ‘Fine. This is the final week. One must pull out all of the stops. That’s if you are okay with doing it?’
He ran a hand through his thick hair and I caught a whiff of cologne. ‘Yeah, of course.’
‘Although we must make every effort to keep it classy – we don’t want our footage to be as tacky as the Baron’s.’
Nick nodded. ‘So, how did this morning’s cookery class go?’
‘I’m reasonably pleased.’
‘I couldn’t help overhearing what that Dennis Smith said in the dining room, when I was serving him wine,’ said Nick and leant on the hoe. ‘I’m surprised your uncle didn’t throw him out there and then. So you studied catering in Surrey, after your finishing school in Bern? That must have been a bit of a come-down.’
I smiled. ‘Not really. Surrey’s, um, a delightful part of the country.’
Nick stared at me for a moment, before brushing down his trousers. ‘Right, so… You and me and sticky fruit… When do you think we can access the kitchen fridge, Miss, with cameras hanging around but no Kathleen?’
‘Good question.’ I mumbled. ‘On Wednesday the kitchen will be busy all day, due to preparations for the engagement party, so we’ll have to find time tomorrow—although Kathleen will still be preparing food in advance…’ For one second I wondered whether to tell Kathleen of this latest bonkers plan, but no—safety in numbers. She might tell Lady C, who definitely wouldn’t approve.
‘Unless we get up extra early,’ said Nick. ‘I could give a nudge and a wink to the cameraman that you—Miss Croxley—wanted to see me in the kitchen.’
‘I’m not sure anyone from the crew will be keen on an early start.’
‘But you must realize,’ he said softly, ‘that they’re all aware of the excitement on Facebook. Just one hint from me that I’m meeting a woman secretly is all it will take for a discreetly positioned lens to be waiting.
I nodded. Perhaps it might be better, though, if I fed Nick. Then, if people found out that the mysterious woman was Abbey, at least they wouldn’t be left with a totally undignified image of her mouth stuffed with fruit.
‘How about I feed you, unlike in the film, where Mickey Rourke feeds Kim Basinger?’
‘Yeah – I don’t reckon it matters too much, either way. I really admire you, Miss,’ he said and picked up his shovel. ‘Not many, um, ladies, would be prepared to put their reputation on the line.’ He glanced at me sideways. ‘You must really feel a strong connection to Applebridge Hall.’
Aarghh! More compliments! My conscience couldn’t take it. ‘See you tomorrow then, Nick, in the kitchen, about seven a.m.,’ I said weakly. ‘Perhaps I’ll keep my hooded dressing gown on, so that there’s no obvious clues to say that it’s me.’
My mood didn’t improve all afternoon, whilst discussing the coming party with Kathleen and Lady C. Wednesday’s cookery class would involve making canapés for the evening do and Kathleen had insisted she would make the cake tomorrow and put together some fancy fruit bowls (the contents of which would come in handy for the
Nine and a Half Weeks
plan). Apparently, Henrietta insisted on bringing in outside caterers for the buffet, as she knew Applebridge Hall’s staff would have their work cut out, just cleaning the place and getting it ready to receive lots of important guests.
At least chatting with my supposed aunt and the cook I could be my real non-aristocratic self, which only increased the urge to rush to my room after dinner and dress as Gemma. I stripped off my Abbey clothes – along with all the lies. Phew. That was better – although, having dressed in my own clothes, put on my make-up and sprayed my red hair, I stared at the chicken fillets. Was I really going to spend the rest of my adult life padding out my bra? Out of habit, I put my hand up my top and slipped them into position.