The Way to a Woman's Heart (36 page)

They’d lived and relived every single minute of their appearance on
Dewberrys’ Dinners
.

Gabby and Tom and the entourage, followed by the film crew, had swept off, cheered wildly by the waiting crowds, and the house had seemed suddenly empty and very quiet without them.

It almost seemed now, Ella thought, licking cheese from her fingers, as bats and moths skittered overhead, like it hadn’t happened. Like it was all a dream.

Trixie, sitting beside her, in a floral shirtwaister, delicately nibbling at a slice of Seafood Special, had been very quiet all evening.

Making sure that the others were all busily engaged laughing over Poll’s rather inebriated champagne-fuelled impersonation of Gabby, Ella leaned closer. ‘Trixie…’

‘Yes, dear?’

‘That thing you did – in the kitchen – when Gabby was going to take a bite out of Roy’s dinner, was it… ? Well, was it… magic?’

‘I didn’t do anything, dear.’ Trixie wiped her lips delicately with a piece of kitchen roll. ‘But my fairy friends helped avert a disaster, yes. However, as you don’t believe in them…’

Ella sighed. ‘I don’t know what to believe. I do know that something odd happened – again – and if it hadn’t then things would have gone very wrong indeed, and we certainly wouldn’t have stood a chance of going through to the next round and –’

‘And that’s all you need to know, dear.’ Trixie smiled kindly. ‘I have no intention of trying to turn you into a card-carrying fairy believer. I’m just delighted that we were able to help out tonight.’

‘But, can’t you explain – ?’

Trixie shook her tightly permed hair. ‘No, sorry, dear. Explanations would kill the magic, and you don’t need them. Just trust, dear, that’s all you need.’

‘But,’ Ella insisted, ‘I can’t trust if I don’t understand… and those names you called out… Puck – which was really funny because Gabby’s a bit thick and thought you were swearing – and I’ve heard of him, of course. But Mustardweb and Cobblossom and Peaseed?’

Onyx looked up. ‘Did you just say Puck? And Cobweb, Peaseblossom and Mustardseed?’

Ella frowned towards Poll, Ash and Billy. ‘Yes, or at least I tried to. Clearly I didn’t get the names quite right, but I don’t really think we should be talking about them in public – oh, sorry, but I really, really don’t want Poll to overhear this conversation because she’s addled enough already. But do they mean something to you? Do you recognise them?’

‘Course I do. I’m Reading Uni’s Eng Lit queen, remember? They’re Shakespeare’s
Midsummer Night’s Dream
fairies – and a very suitable topic for tonight. But, honestly, Ella, isn’t a literary discussion a bit heavy given what you’ve been through today? Why are you –?’

Ella looked across at a smiling Trixie then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter, but thanks, it explains a lot… I think.’

‘Right.’ Poll bustled into the peaches and cream sitting room. ‘Are we all ready?’

Ella, Billy and Trixie nodded. George drummed his heels.

‘Ash not here yet?’

Ella shook her head. ‘He texted just now. He’s on his way.

He got stuck with a lot of customers out at Angel Meadows again.’

‘Poor Ash.’ Poll plumped herself down on the sofa beside Ella. ‘It must be doubly difficult for him – selling ice creams in the middle of the hottest summer since nineteen seventy-six and being recognised everywhere he goes. No doubt he has to tell the tale over and over again.’

Ella chuckled. They’d all been treated like superstars ever since last week’s programme. Everywhere they went they were asked the same questions. She felt like typing up a fact sheet and handing it out.

Yes, Gabby was exactly the same in real life.

No, Tom wasn’t putting on a doormat act.

Yes, it had been scary.

Yes, they’d loved every minute of it.

No, they didn’t think they were going to win.

But in a very short space of time, Ella thought now, butterflies racing up and down in her stomach, they’d know.

Now it was eight o’clock on Monday,
Dewberrys’ Dinners
was about to start with week two: the eastern heats, and the southern area Weekly Winner would be announced.

‘Don’t get too disappointed – I still think they’d have rung us before now if we’d won, duck,’ Billy said. ‘Stands to reason, they wouldn’t leave it to chance. And them ones from Bedfordshire on Friday night were right good, weren’t they?’

Ella and Poll nodded. They had been.

On Thursday, the Wiltshire contestants, a quartet of very up-themselves self-made entrepreneurs, who’d already changed careers several times and thought it was ‘a toss up between writing a novel next or becoming a celebrity chef – but honestly, Gabby, writing’s easy, isn’t it? Anyone can write a book. So, always wanting to challenge ourselves, we’ve taken the harder creative option…’, had failed spectacularly with their culinary take on ‘Foodie Food for the Twenty-first Century’.

Their samphire had gone gritty, their aubergine and venison stack with broad bean purée had looked like dog vomit, and their imaginatively arranged three minimalist puddings with spun sugar drapery – ‘just a little taste of heaven especially for you, Gabby’ – had turned into a hellish, blackened, burned-on glob.

Hideaway Farm had whooped and clapped and cheered no end.

But the Bedfordshire team – two rather sweet, very young and very much in love couples – had produced a meal Cath Kidston would have killed for. Each tiny course was so artistically pretty – delicate and ethereal, sprinkled with little pastel flower petals and whimsy pea shoots – it had looked and clearly tasted – judging by Gabby and Tom’s ecstatic reaction – wonderful.

They’d win, Ella thought sadly. She knew they’d win.

With trembling hands, Poll pressed the television’s remote control and, after a couple of false starts, ‘Pickin’ a Chicken’ bounced into the room.

Gabby, in silver tonight, and Tom, looking even more Heathcliff-dishevelled, prepared for their opening lines. Ella still found it funny that before last Wednesday she’d imagined, in her innocence, it was just Gabby, Tom and the contestants in the kitchen – now she knew just how many people were beavering away out of shot to make the programme appear that homely, relaxed and easy.

‘Hello, everyone!’ Gabby beamed at the camera. ‘I’m Gabby Dewberry, and welcome to day one, of the second week, of the first heat, in the new series of
Dewberrys’ Dinners
.’

‘That sounds more like
Countdown
!’ Tom guffawed.

Gabby gave him a Look.

Tom stopped guffawing. ‘Er, yes – hi, and I’m Tom Dewberry, and on yet another scorching Monday evening, we’re in Norfolk for our first eastern area heat.’

Gabby glittered. ‘But before we introduce you to tonight’s eager chefs, we have the results of last week’s southern area cook-off. As you know, we select just one team of chefs from each area for our Finals Week.’

‘Yes,’ Tom agreed, ‘and this time it was a very, very hard decision to make. Last week’s cooks were all exceptional.’

‘No they weren’t!’ Ella snorted. ‘We were! OK, and maybe the Bedfordshire ones. Most of the rest of them were rubbish!’

‘However –’ Gabby twinkled ‘– after much deliberation, we’ve reached our decision, haven’t we, Tom?’

‘We have.’

‘Oh, for Lord’s sake!’ Poll shrieked. ‘Just get on with it!’

‘It won’t be us.’ Billy reached over and clutched her hand. ‘Like I said, they’d have told us before now.’

Gabby looked solemn. ‘The southern area Weekly Winners are…’

There was a silence. Tom and Gabby stared at one another.

‘God!’ Ella exploded. ‘I hate it when they do that to ratchet up the tension. They do it on all the reality shows, and it always irritated me before, now I think it’s just unbelievably cruel.’

Poll buried her face in a cushion.

‘And our first lucky Weekly Winners – who will be going on to cook for a second time in the
Dewberrys’ Dinners
finals week commencing the twentieth of July – are…’ Gabby paused. ‘Ooh, shall we do this together, Tom?’

Tom looked a bit surprised but nodded.

More silence.

Ella wanted to punch the screen.

‘The first Weekly Winners are…’ Gabby and Tom moved together and glittered in unison. ‘Berkshire’s Hideaway Farm!’

‘See,’ Billy said, ‘told you we wouldn’t…’

‘But we
have
!’ Ella shrieked with excitement grabbing Poll up off the sofa and dancing round and round with her. ‘We have! We have!’

‘Have we?’ Poll burst into tears. ‘Have we really?’

‘Yes, really!’

‘Oh, blimey… Are you sure? And please could we stop jigging now?’ Poll gulped. ‘I feel a bit sick.’

George scampered round the room with his T-shirt over his head, punching the air – he’d picked up some very doubtful habits from Doll Blessing’s children – while Billy sat and nodded happily. Only Trixie, smiling gently to herself, seemed relatively unmoved.

Ohmigod, though!

Totally stunned, Ella clapped her hands to her mouth. ‘Bloody hell, we’ve done it! Oh, I can’t believe it. Oh, I wish Ash was here – where is he? I can’t wait to tell him! Oh, and there’s the telephone going – it’ll be half the county wanting to share in the glory… and… crikey, my mobile’s going mad too.’

Poll, gently extricating herself from Ella’s clutches, staggered out of the room to answer the phone, followed by a skipping and still air-punching George.

Ella, skimming through her barrage of congratulatory
texts from practically everyone who knew her – except Mark, of course – still couldn’t quite believe it. She’d hoped and dreamed that they would win – and now they had and they were one huge step closer to Ash having his own restaurant and…

Trixie folded her magazine as, on screen, the team from Norfolk started doing something pretty awful with the innards of a chicken. ‘Well done, dears. I’m very, very happy for you.’

‘Thanks, Trixie, love,’ Billy said. ‘But I was still sure it wasn’t going to be us.’

‘Oh, I knew it would be.’ Trixie smiled sweetly.

Billy chuckled. ‘The fairies told you so, did they?’

‘As a matter of fact, they did, Mr Pumpkin Scoffer. They helped more than you’ll ever know.’

‘Whatever you say. I’m not going to get into any more arguments with you on that score. You almost spoiled our big moment last week, storming in and shouting “Puck” and all that malarkey, presumably because you didn’t want to be left out of the telly shenanigans, but I’ve said nothing about it because Poll seems to have forgotten about it and I won’t do anything to upset her.’

‘But?’ Trixie’s bubble perm quivered.

‘But –’ Billy puffed himself up ‘– I’d ask you, now we’re going to be on the telly again, to keep your fairy nonsense to yourself in future.’

‘Oh, I don’t have any control over the fairies,’ Trixie continued to smile. ‘They do whatever they like. I’m just a channel for them, but they do help me – and you… as young Ella knows only too well.’

Oooh no, Ella groaned, looking up from her phone, don’t drag me into this.

‘Do you?’ Billy looked at her.

‘Not really
know
as such, but I think I do understand a little more than I did before and…’

Oh, hallelujah! Saved by Poll drifting into the room, holding George’s hand, looking stunned.

‘That was Denise from
Dewberrys’ Dinners
. She was ringing to confirm that we’re the Weekly Winners… She said we couldn’t be told that we’d won until Gabby and Tom had broadcast it because it had to stay a strict secret and we might have talked.’ Poll looked shocked. ‘As if we would!’

Ella thought they definitely would.

‘Anyway –’ Poll smiled vaguely round the sitting room ‘– we’ll be filmed live again, from here, on Monday the twentieth of July… and if we win that one with the viewers’ votes, we’ll be in the television studio with the other lucky semi-finalist team, for the live audience final on Friday the twenty-fourth of July.’

At the mention of the dates, Ella noted with deep foreboding that Trixie suddenly looked animated.