The Way to a Woman's Heart (41 page)

Billy shook his head. ‘No, it wouldn’t. And anyway, I think you need to talk to young George before anyone else knows at all. Explain it to him properly. Make sure he’s happy.’

‘He will be. He loves you.’

‘And I love him. And his mum.’

Billy pulled Poll to her feet and kissed her again. Properly. Poll, who had never been kissed properly before, thought dizzily that she hoped Billy would go on kissing her properly for ever and ever…

‘So,’ Billy whispered into her hair, ‘we’ll start courting for a few months, and then…’

‘And then –’ Poll sighed blissfully ‘– we’ll have a small and very quiet winter wedding. I’ve always loved the thought of a winter wedding.’

‘Sounds perfect. Just us and George and the Hideaway family. But when we’ve announced it publicly,’ Billy said, ‘I
want to buy you an engagement ring so that all the world knows.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely. But you don’t have to. I don’t need –’

‘But I do.’ Billy smiled as he kissed her again. ‘I want this to be the right and proper start to the rest of our lives together.’

The rest of our lives together. Poll smiled dreamily. Oh, how wonderful that sounded.

In the fourth and final week of the
Dewberrys’ Dinners
heats, the temperatures continued to soar, the country baked, the hosepipe ban had been extended, the tabloids forecast the end of the world as we know it, the fish and chips team from Devon won the western area heat, and the northern area heats were well under way.

Ella, curled on her bed, with the voile curtains hanging listlessly at the window, and with the sweat trickling down her back as the evening sun beat down across the farm, felt sick as she punched out the familiar numbers.

The wait for a connection seemed endless. The ringing went on for ever.

‘Oh, um, hi, Mark, it’s me… Are you? Which pub? Oh, yes – great. With? Ah, right… Yes, yes, we’re going to be in the next round… You won’t watch it? Oh, yes, of course… cooking was never your thing, was it? Well, have a nice time.’ She swallowed. ‘Mark, look, I just need to say
something… What? When? Oh, with Nick and Andy – are you? And who? Oh, yes, the girls from Customer Services… A villa? Lovely. Look, Mark, I know I should do this face to face, but…’ She took a deep breath. ‘I think we should call it a day. Now. No point in dragging it out until August.’

She listened to the silence. Oh, God…

Then he spoke and she swallowed the lump in her throat.

‘What? No, I don’t know if I’ll stay on here or come back to London when the three months is up, but whatever I do, I think it’s unfair to you to keep you hanging on.’

Another silence. More words.

‘Mark… ? Oh, has it? Well, that’s good. Have you? Look, I know we’ve been together for ages but we weren’t going anywhere, and now I know…’

She listened, her hands shaking.

‘OK, that’s fine, then… Yes, you too… As long as you’re not – oh, you’re not… Well, enjoy your holiday. No, there’s no point in… OK, fine. Yes, of course.’

She snapped the phone shut, hurled it on to the bed and burst into tears.

‘Ella?’ Poll’s voice floated up the stairs. ‘
Dewberrys’ Dinners
is just about to start.’

‘Er.’ Ella dashed away the tears, hoping her voice sounded normal. ‘OK, I’ll be down in minute.’

She scrambled from the bed, feeling desperately sad, and stared at her face in the dressing table’s mirror. OK, so her eyes were red, but she could put that down to hay fever. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to explain away the rest of the
bleakness. Applying some blusher and lipgloss, a bit more mascara and fluffing at her hair, she stared at herself again.

Better – not great – but better…

So, she’d done it. Burned her boats. Now she had neither a relationship nor a life to return to in London. So after she left here, she’d be completely on her own.

A fresh start? Or a lonely future?

Whatever, it was up to her now, she thought, no one else, just her, as she headed downstairs to watch the opposition.

Knowing their next television appearance was rapidly approaching, the Hideaway contingent had practised their new recipes, and their cooking, and their timings, to perfection. It had become a rather out-of-sync routine, given that Ella and Ash were still awkward with one another, while Poll and Billy were constantly smiling and touching and wearing matching faraway dreamy expressions.

‘Hi, just in time,’ Poll said as Ella wandered into the peaches and cream sitting room and then met her eyes. ‘Ah… OK, you come and sit over here.’

Not looking at Ash – or anyone else – Ella gratefully scuttled to the sofa.

Tonight’s contestants were a quartet of very skinny students from Newcastle who looked like they’d never eaten a solid meal in their lives but who prepared an amazing traditional Geordie Slap-Up. With a combination of leek pudding, stottie cakes, pease pudding and singing hinnies, they sent an increasingly caustic Gabby and Tom into the realms of culinary ecstasy.

‘Blimey,’ Billy groaned, as ‘Pickin’ a Chicken’ bounced
round the sitting room at the end of their show. ‘They were brilliant.’

‘Yes, they were,’ Poll agreed. ‘We’ve certainly got some very stiff competition. But we’ll wow them again on Monday, you’ll see. Our new menu’s as good as any of them. Right, who’s for a long cold drink?’

‘Not me.’ Ash hauled himself out of the armchair furthest away from Ella. ‘I’ve got to clean out Roy’s vivarium and then I’m off to the pub with Joe and the rest of the blokes.’

Ella watched him leave the room. ‘Was that supposed to indicate that I’m Billy-no-Mates – no personal insult intended, Billy –? Well, tough.’

‘I’m sure it wasn’t anything of the sort,’ Poll said soothingly. ‘Dear me, the pair of you are behaving like George and his on-off best friend/worst enemy.’

‘Thanks.’ Ella stood up. ‘I really needed to be told I’m being childish! Tonight of all nights!’

‘Ella!’

‘Sorry, Poll, but I’ve, er, I’ve just made the phone call.’

‘Oh, love, have you? I’m so sorry.’

‘What phone call?’ Trixie enquired perkily.

‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ Poll said quickly. ‘Just something work-related between me and Ella. Anyway, we’re all feeling grumpy, aren’t we? It’s the never-ending heat and the buildup to next Monday, and, well, everything.’

Ella smiled gratefully. ‘Yes – and sorry – I’m not usually a grouchy cow.’

‘I know, love. I know. Shall I pour you a drink and we’ll sit in the garden and, er, chill out a bit or talk?’

Ella shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’m really not very good company at the moment. I think I’ll go and have a long, cool bath and find a good book to read and have an early night.’

‘And that,’ Onyx said, popping her head round the sitting room door, ‘sounds about as boring a night in as I’ve heard in a long time.’ She grinned. ‘Ash said you were all in here, and also that I’m not needed in his plans for tonight because as soon as he’s finished dunging-out Roy, he’s going out with the boys – sooo –’ she raised her eyebrows at Ella ‘– why don’t you and I have some girlie time together?’

Ella knew Poll was staring at her with deep sympathy.

It was the last thing on earth she wanted to do.

‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s quite late and I’m all hot and tired and bad-tempered. I really don’t feel like going out.’

‘Who said anything about going out?’ Onyx chuckled. ‘I thought we could have a girlie night in. Just the two of us.’

An hour later, in Ella’s pale-blue bedroom, Onyx finished rooting through the jars and boxes on the dressing table. ‘You’re so lucky. This is such a fab room. So pretty and so much space – and that bathroom is to die for. And you’ve got some really super stuff here. Not that you need it, do you? Look at you. With your hair all in those gorgeous natural Pre-Raphaelite curls, and your skin all dappled and sun-kissed and lovely.’

‘Me?’ Ella, hugging her knees on the bed, letting the slight evening breeze now wafting through the voile curtains cool her, frowned. ‘Since I’ve stopped going to the hairdresser and having facials, I’m sunburnt, ginger and frazzled.’

‘You’re so funny.’ Onyx sniffed at one of the scent bottles.
‘Ooh, Givenchy… lovely… Do you never look at yourself, Ella? You turn heads wherever you go.’

‘Er, no. That’s you.’

Onyx laughed. ‘Because I’m black, six feet tall and wear minimal clothing – as Ash would say? Yeah, OK, but you do because you’re truly beautiful. And I so wish you’d let me teach you to dance. You’d be like Isadora Duncan. All floaty hair and trailing veils and scarves.’

Ella smiled. It was difficult with a broken heart. ‘And didn’t one of those trailing scarves strangle her in the end?’

‘Yeah, well, I wasn’t suggesting you took it that far, but now you’ve seen how easy it is to dance.’

‘Easy? You’re joking. For you, maybe. You’re brilliant at it. You’re a natural. I couldn’t do what you do in a million years.’

‘You could, you know. I’m starting a class in Hazy Hassocks village hall. So many people have asked me, and it’ll be something else to put off the dreaded “using my degree” thing for a bit longer. You must come along.’

Ella shook her head. ‘No, honestly, I’m truly not the greatest dancer in the world. I can shuffle with the rest of them after a few cocktails, but I’d feel really silly trying something as difficult as that – especially in front of loads of other people.’

Onyx grinned. ‘It’s not difficult at all. And I’ll teach you now, if you like. Just some of the basics. Then you’d be one step ahead of the rest of them when you join my class.’

‘I’m not joining your class.’

Onyx plonked herself down on the end of the bed. ‘OK,
look, I’ll teach you the rudiments of what the non-purists call belly-dancing, and you can teach me how to boil an egg.’

Ella sighed. This was absolutely not what she wanted or needed tonight. ‘You must
know
how to boil an egg.’

‘Yeah, OK. But some basic cookery stuff. Ella, please. You’re amazing at it, I’m rubbish, and I just need to know some basics.’

‘Buy some books, or use the internet.’

‘Not the same as hands-on, though, is it? I can’t ask a book questions as I go along, can I? Cookery books and recipes will be OK later – when I know what I’m doing.’

Ella took a deep breath. ‘So, why don’t you ask Ash to teach you?’

Onyx shook her head. ‘I can’t.’

Ella cursed inwardly. Of course she couldn’t. Because it was Ash that Onyx was wanting to impress with her new-found talents wasn’t it? Or maybe even worse – Ash had suggested they live together – oh, God! – here? Yes, of course – and Onyx wanted to learn some sort of cookery skills so that they could share the chores in their newly found domestic bliss?

Oh, joy…

Ah, well, nothing like turning the screw a little bit tighter on your own pain and abject misery.

‘OK, then. I’ll wobble my tummy and while I’m doing it I’ll talk you through some of the easy-peasy things about cooking.’

‘Cheers.’ Onyx looked animated again. ‘Right, you find something suitable to wear to get you in the mood, and I’ll just nip down to my car for a CD.’

‘Suitable? Like what?’

‘Oh, anything loose – I’ll suggest tracksuit bottoms and vest or T-shirt for my class to start with, and a long scarf or shawl to shimmy with, but you suit yourself tonight.’

Totally, totally mad, Ella thought, hauling herself off the bed after Onyx had gone downstairs to retrieve the appropriate belly-dancing music from her car.

The last thing – no, correction, the
two
last things – she needed right now, on this stiflingly hot evening when she was not only heartbroken but also tired and very, very angry both with Ash and herself – not to mention Mark who clearly didn’t
care –
was to be shimmying about like a demented clumsy baby elephant
thing
in front of the sublimely talented Onyx,
and
teaching the sublimely talented and devastatingly gorgeous Onyx how to cook simply to impress Ash.

Of course, she thought, rooting through her pared-down wardrobe, she could teach Onyx all the wrong things. Give her a lot of false information, so that when she first tried to wow Ash with her new-found culinary prowess, she’d make a complete horlicks of it.