Authors: Katie Fforde

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

Second Thyme Around (5 page)

BOOK: Second Thyme Around

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‘Well, you know about the television thing …’

She shook her head. ‘Actually, I haven’t heard a word since they all trooped out of my kitchen. I sort of hoped the idea was off.’

‘Not according to Mr Grantly. CMG himself doesn’t talk about it,’ said Greg.

‘CMG?’ asked Perdita.

‘Call Me God,’ Greg explained. ‘It’s how he likes to be addressed.’

‘Not really?’

‘Well no, we leave out the Call Me part.’

‘Oh dear. So working with him isn’t much fun then?’

Janey sighed. ‘I’m just glad I’m not making a television programme with him.’

‘Oh, that’s so unfair!’ said Perdita, recognising the disappointment in Janey’s tones. ‘Who are they getting?’

‘Well, you, of course,’ said Janey. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘Oh
no
! I thought that was just that man’s whim, not a serious suggestion. I won’t do it.’

‘But you must!’ said Janey. ‘It’s such a wonderful opportunity! Think of the publicity!’

‘I don’t need publicity, Janey. I can hardly supply all the customers I’ve got already. I don’t need any new ones.’

‘But you’re always broke!’ said Greg.

‘Well, yes, but I work all the hours God sends. I couldn’t handle any more customers.’

‘You could expand.’

‘I don’t want to. I don’t mind working hard and I like keeping things in my control. When businesses get too big the proprietor can’t keep in touch and things get out of hand. Then they go belly up.’ This was almost a direct quote from something she’d heard on the radio.

‘You still have to do the telly,’ said Janey, who didn’t care about efficient business practice. ‘It’s not fair to Lucas otherwise.’

‘Honey, they’d get someone else if I wouldn’t do it,’ explained Perdita. ‘It wouldn’t mean the programme wouldn’t get made. It might even mean they’d do it here, which is what he wants, after all. You might be in it, Janey.’

‘No, Mr Grantly told us they won’t do it here. They’re dead set on your cottage.’

‘For God’s sake! You know my kitchen, Janey. Would you set a cookery programme in it?’

‘I don’t know anything about television,’ said Janey unhelpfully. ‘If they think it’s suitable, it probably is.’

‘Nonsense. I think they should find another chef and another set and leave us to get on with our work.’ Perdita drained her tea. ‘And if Lucas is a prick, you should tell Mr Grantly. He’s probably got no idea what a swine he is.’

‘Sure,’ said Greg. ‘Mr Grantly thinks the sun shines out of Lucas’s—’

‘Out of my what?’ demanded the man in question,
appearing like a dark cloud on a sunny day, in the corner of the kitchen.

Perdita jumped off the work surface, jarring her feet in her hurry. ‘You don’t want to know, Lucas,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought your veg.’

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d come here solely to distract my staff from their work.’

‘Hadn’t you better go and check it?’ said Perdita, who would have been furious if he had suggested that such a thing was necessary.

Lucas snarled, and disappeared into the cold store.

Taking advantage of his absence, Perdita hissed at Janey: ‘He’s a bastard, don’t work for him.’

Janey, aware that she’d got behind with her tasks, frantically dug into a potato. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but he’s so gorgeous! I’d rather be sworn at by Lucas than be – be – be’ d nice to by anyone else.’

‘Your brains have scrambled! You don’t want to work for a man like that!’

‘Yes I do! Knowing he’s going to be here, however horrible he’s going to be, makes me look forward to coming into work in the morning.’

Perdita gave up on the logical approach. It was no good trying to argue Janey out of her lunacy – she knew that from personal experience. What Janey needed was not only another job, but another man to have a crush on. And at that moment, the very chap occurred to her.

‘Janey, you don’t work on Sundays, do you? Come to Sunday lunch this weekend.’

‘But, Perdita!’ Janey was surprised. ‘You don’t cook!’

‘No,’ said Perdita with dignity. ‘But I heat up very well.’

Lucas reappeared. ‘Don’t forget, Janey, that if you contract salmonella you can’t work with food. I’d have to sack you.’

‘Oh, I won’t give Janey that,’ said Perdita sweetly. ‘She’s allergic to fish.’

Lucas scowled, and even Greg and Janey looked a little disappointed at Perdita’s childish pun.

‘Was everything in order with the veg?’ she went on, unabashed.

‘No. You left the cold store in complete chaos.’

She smiled. ‘There are rather a lot of crates to take back. I wonder if Janey could give me a hand? I see Greg’s busy.’

‘And as Janey obviously isn’t, she’s no loss if she helps you. Don’t be long, Janey; you’re not paid to shift boxes for the greengrocer.’

‘Specialist greengrocer, if you don’t mind,’ Perdita corrected haughtily, as she went into the cold store to collect the first load of crates.

She went back for a second load. ‘I can manage these, Janey. Now don’t forget, Sunday. Come about one. You can come too, Greg, if you want to.’ She added this more doubtfully. Greg’s presence would mess up her plans a bit.

‘No, you’re all right. I’m having Sunday dinner at my girlfriend’s. Her mum does lovely roast potatoes.’

Perdita left before anyone could comment on her abilities in that direction.

‘Cooking Sunday lunch can’t be that difficult,’ she said to Kitty later as she helped her stack flowerpots. ‘After all, women have been doing it for generations.’

Kitty sucked on her pipe doubtfully. ‘Hell in a bucket, my love. You have to get everything cooked at the same time and the oven’s never hot enough for the potatoes.’

Perdita thought about her oven for a second. ‘Oh God. Do you have to have roast potatoes? Baked ones wouldn’t do?’

‘Men like roast potatoes,’ said Kitty. ‘But anyway, who are you going to ask to be your man?’

‘No one. I don’t need a man.’

‘Darling, won’t it be a bit obvious? If you invite Janey and William and no one else?’

‘The only unattached man I know of within fifty miles is Lucas, and it’s him I’m trying to lure Janey away from. Not to mention my feelings on the matter. Besides he’d never, ever come.’ Perdita thought for a moment. ‘You come, Kitty. You can help me.’ Perdita watched her friend searching for a reason to refuse. ‘Come on, it’ll be fun.’

‘Oh, very well. Now come along in and let’s have a drink.’

William was almost as reluctant a guest as Kitty. What is it about me that makes people so reluctant to come to my house to eat? thought Perdita.

‘William, you’re not doing anything much this Sunday, are you?’

‘Why? Do you want me to do some overtime? I could probably manage about four hours or so.’

‘No, I want to invite you to lunch.’ There was a long silence. ‘Please,’ added Perdita. ‘I’m going to do roast potatoes. And roast beef – or lamb – whichever you like, really.’

William seemed genuinely confused. His boss did take him to the pub occasionally – she even bought him the odd bar snack – but she had never asked him for anything which could be described as a meal.

Perdita decided that she had better come clean. ‘There’s this girl I want you to meet. You don’t have to marry her or anything, or even take her out, but she needs to meet a few nice men.’ William didn’t respond. ‘The trouble is,’ Perdita went on rather desperately, ‘she has a tendency to fall in love with bastards.’ This was a bit of a slur on Janey, because as far as she knew, Lucas was the first bastard. ‘I want her to see that there are lots of other men out there who are perfectly nice and just as attractive.’

She saw the beginnings of a blush steal from William’s beard to his hair and she hoped he wasn’t taking her remarks too personally. It would be dreadful if William
decided that she, Perdita, had developed a crush on him.

‘So you’ll come?’ she persevered.

William nodded somewhat anxiously.

I must find myself a man, thought Perdita, seriously. Poor William’s quite shy enough without having to worry about whether his boss is likely to make a pass at him.

While she was buying organic meat from the butcher in the next village, she did wonder if she could possibly invite him. He was personable, good-looking and young. But even if she had the nerve, which she certainly hadn’t, and if he was single, which was definitely unlikely, she couldn’t let him witness the ruination of the joint he had so painstakingly explained about, boned and wrapped for her. It would be too cruel.

Chapter Four

Perdita had accepted that roast potatoes were essential, and had borrowed a Delia Smith from Kitty to tell her how to do them. As she handed Perdita the book, Kitty had said, ‘If all else fails, stick them under the grill.’ It was sound advice, which Perdita would willing have taken had her grill worked. As it was, she would have to rely on her unreliable oven.

Tidying the kitchen had been the worst part. It was so full of horticultural paraphernalia which, for various reasons, couldn’t join their horticultural cousins in the shed or the poly-tunnels. Eventually, Perdita filled a corner with as many non-cookery items as it would take, and flung a faded Indian bedspread over them. Thank goodness it was only Janey, William and Kitty, who all knew her well, and had better reasons for loving her than her culinary skills. Kitty was bringing sherry and wine, as she didn’t share Perdita’s opinion that for wine, good value meant cheap.

The lamb smelt delicious. Perdita had studded it with sprigs of rosemary and a clove of elephant garlic, which, sliced up, was enough to ensure that the lamb both looked like the picture in her recipe book, and would taste distinctly Mediterranean.

She swept the sitting-room floor, and took a stiff broom to the worn and faded rugs which covered it, unfortunately covering everything with dust as she did so. Perdita didn’t own a vacuum cleaner, convinced that, not having fitted carpets, she didn’t need one. It was only
at times like this that she wondered if perhaps she should see what she could find in that line at the next car boot sale she went to.

Having dusted the mantelpiece with her sleeve she dashed out into the garden and picked a huge bunch of late asters and chrysanthemums. They looked wonderfully opulent in her copper jug, which, she told herself, was better tarnished, more subtle.

It took her a while to work out how to seat four people round her little gate-leg table without anyone sitting with the leg inelegantly between their knees. Eventually she managed it, providing that William wouldn’t mind having his knee pressed up against the leg. She also hoped William wouldn’t mind being the only man.

Still, she thought, it would be difficult for him not to appreciate Janey, with her ravishing hair, green eyes and wide mouth. She didn’t need to be self-deprecating to feel that set against Kitty, beautiful indeed, but nearly ninety, and herself, passable, but older than William, and his boss, Janey was bound to shine. Which was the point of the exercise.

In a washing up bowl, usually used to sprout pea seeds, was a hotchpotch of all she had in the garden and in her tunnels – broccoli, cauliflower, spinach, beet tops, Swiss chard, and some Good King Henry, in fact everything that she could find which looked like green veg.

Kitty often wondered aloud how it was that Perdita was such a talented gardener and such an untalented cook. Kitty herself, when she could be bothered, was an excellent cook, feeling that if you’ve gone to so much trouble to grow the vegetables, surely they should reach the table at their very best.

Perdita perfectly agreed with her, but as she usually ate things raw or stir-fried, the thought of cooking a lot of vegetables which all had to be ready at the same time, daunted her. Kitty, she hoped, would take pity and cook
them for her. In case she didn’t, Perdita had bought some carrots, which she was roasting in the oven under the meat.

For pudding, Perdita had made Kitty’s version of trifle, which took a maximum of ten minutes to prepare and tasted delicious, even if it was very liquid and alcoholic.

Perdita was collapsed in front of the wood-burning stove, which was blazing well, when Kitty arrived. She had walked over with a basket containing the promised sherry and wine, but also some ground coffee and a box of chocolates.

Perdita kissed the wrinkled cheek offered her, and then hugged Kitty hard. Although they loved each other dearly, they usually kept their embraces fairly restrained. But Perdita was overcome with a rush of love for her elderly friend – probably, the slightly surprised friend commented, because she knew that Kitty was going to help her out in a difficult situation.

‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’ Perdita demanded. ‘Otherwise I shall just take your goodies and send you back out into the snow.’ She took the basket. ‘You shouldn’t have carried all those heavy things. You should have let me collect you in the van.’

‘My dear child,’ replied Kitty, allowing Perdita to relieve her of her ancient, but politically incorrect fur coat, ‘when I can’t walk a few hundred yards with a couple of bottles of wine and a box of chocolates, I hope you’ll have me humanely put to sleep.’

Perdita ignored this. ‘I hope no one saw you wearing this coat,’ she said, taking the offending item. ‘They might throw things at you.’

‘Nonsense, that coat is even older than I am and it’s warm. Why shouldn’t I wear it?’

Perdita didn’t waste her breath explaining again. ‘Well, if you leave it to me I won’t know what to do with it.’

‘I’m not going to leave it to you. It’s going to Sylvia, my bridge partner.’

‘Oh, you’ve got a bridge partner, have you? I thought no one ever played with you twice?’

Kitty chuckled richly. ‘They don’t, but Sylvia kindly takes me to my bridge afternoons and brings me home, so I’ve promised her this coat.
She
doesn’t worry about animals which have been dead for hundreds of years. Now, have I time for a quick pipe before the others come? Then I’ll see what a muddle you’ve got into in the kitchen.’

Kitty smoked her pipe looking at Perdita’s flower garden, taking the opportunity to do a bit of dead heading while she was about it, and then went into the kitchen.

‘What time are they coming?’ she asked, after surveying the scene for a few moments.

‘In about ten minutes,’ said Perdita, having shot an anguished glance at her watch.

‘Have you got those big sherry glasses I gave you?’

Perdita, correctly interpreting this as indication that her kitchen and its contents were past praying for, dutifully retrieved the glasses from the back of a cupboard, and gave them a cursory dust with a tea towel.

‘I’m very lucky to have all these nice things,’ she said, pulling the foil off the bottle of sherry Kitty had brought with her. ‘I love these glasses.’

‘Not at all. I was very lucky to have you to off-load a lot of unnecessary possessions on to.’

‘But they’re not unnecessary.’ Perdita filled one with sherry and took a large gulp. ‘QED.’

‘I meant unnecessary to me,’ said Kitty, pouring a somewhat smaller measure.

Before Kitty had taken more than a sip, the door knocker rattled loudly. Perdita answered it.

On the doorstep was a distraught Janey with Lucas on her heels.

Lucas saved Janey the trouble of explaining. ‘I invited myself. It wasn’t Janey’s fault.’

‘I could have worked that out.’ Perdita stood in the doorway, not letting either Lucas or Janey across the threshold.

‘I wanted to see how your kitchen functioned when it wasn’t full of garden rubbish.’ Lucas pushed forward slightly.

‘You’re welcome to another time,’ said Perdita, untruthfully. ‘But this is a private lunch party. I’m terribly sorry, but you can’t come.’

‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous! If you’re cooking a joint you can stretch it. I’ll carve if you can’t.’ Lucas took a couple of steps forward. Janey’s anxious expression made Perdita sigh and step aside to let them both through.

‘I suppose I’ll have to let you in,’ she said grudgingly, adding to Janey, ‘How
could
you?’

‘Mrs … Anson …’ said Lucas. ‘We haven’t met for some years.’

Kitty, who had seated herself in the one armchair, regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘No. Well, I don’t suppose it’ll be a pleasure seeing you again, but I dare say it’ll be interesting.’

Perdita was aware of a shudder from Janey and decided, for her sake, to keep lunch as explosion free as possible. ‘Well, do sit down everyone, and I’ll get us a glass of sherry.’

Lucas removed himself to the window seat and Janey sat on the Windsor chair. As Perdita passed the sherry she realised that poor William would either have to squash next to Lucas, or sit on the floor.

‘Right,’ she said, after everyone had taken their first sip and was looking to her for the next step, ‘I’m just going to have a peep at what’s going on in the kitchen and then I’ll see if I can fit another place round the table.’

‘I don’t mind eating separately,’ said Lucas, who, she noted, had put on an extremely smart suit for the occasion.
She hoped William wouldn’t feel out of place when he turned up in corduroys, flannel shirt and jumper.

Perdita went into the kitchen, more for a moment to herself than because she thought she could do anything about the chaos that met her there. Fury with Lucas for turning up uninvited tempted her to throw her carefully grown vegetables into a pot and boil them to destruction. But as that wasn’t fair on the others, she decided to let Kitty deal with the vegetables later.

She peered into the oven and saw that the lamb was brown on top, and the garlic and rosemary at least smelled nice. The potatoes were the colour of church candles and showed no inclination to change. ‘Sod it,’ she said, slamming the oven door, dislodging the leg of the cooker as she did so. It took her several minutes to put back the wodge of cardboard she used to level it.

On her way back to join the others she bumped into Lucas. ‘Can I help?’ he asked.

‘Only by leaving the country,’ said Perdita, pushing him backwards out of the room. ‘Or you could get the chair down from the bathroom.’

‘Where is the bathroom?’

‘Upstairs. Not hard to find.’ It was only after she had dispatched him thence that she remembered that her bathroom chair was loaded with several weeks worth of unwashed clothes. Oh well. If he would invite himself to lunch, it was his look out if he had to confront her dirty knickers.

William arrived while Lucas was still upstairs. He looked clean but crumpled, and extremely dubious.

‘William, how lovely. Let me give you a drink.’ She thrust a glass of sherry into a hand which would have looked more at home wrapped round a pint. ‘You know my friend Mrs Anson.’ Kitty nodded benignly but although William mumbled something polite-sounding, he visibly shied away.

‘And Janey. She works at Grantly House. I don’t think you’ve met.’

William dipped his head and glanced at Janey from under his eyebrows.

Lucas and the chair announced their imminent arrival with banging and muted swearing as they came down the stairs. Perdita waited until they had appeared before adding, ‘And this is Lucas, who also works at Grantly House.’ She was about to add that he had invited himself but decided the situation was already awkward enough. ‘Lucas, this is William.’

‘We met the other day,’ said Lucas. ‘Hello. Where do you want this chair?’

It had taken Perdita long enough to fit four chairs round the table, she didn’t intend to struggle with a fifth. ‘If you wouldn’t mind just fitting it in somewhere … And try to make it that no one’s sitting in front of a leg,’ she said, knowing this was impossible, but feeling it a just punishment for him.

The room was silent apart from the shifting of chairs and more muted swearing from Lucas. Perdita perched on the arm of Kitty’s chair, trying frantically to think of something to say. Judging by the expressions on the faces of her guests, they were engaged in the same task.

‘Nuts, anyone?’ Perdita said at last. ‘I’m sure I’ve got some somewhere.’

Janey followed her into the kitchen. ‘Knives and forks. We’ll need some for Lucas. Oh God!’ she went on, when they were out of earshot. ‘I’m just so sorry! But he heard you invite me—’

Perdita held up a hand to stem Janey’s stream of apologies. ‘I know, I know, there was nothing you could do, and you’ve got to work for him, which is hard enough already.’

‘And you must admit,’ Janey went on, ‘he does look lovely in a suit. I do like smartly dressed men.’

This didn’t bode well for Perdita’s matchmaking plans. William had many admirable qualities, but sartorial elegance was not among them.

‘Did you suggest he wore a suit?’ Perdita pulled out a pile of stained willow-pattern plates from a cupboard.

‘Oh no, I wouldn’t dare. I just found him outside my door when I set off to walk here. It was kind of him to give me a lift.’

Perdita discarded a severely chipped plate and substituted it with one less so. ‘I could have arranged for William to pick you up.’ Though he would have taken some persuading. ‘You haven’t met him before, have you?’

‘Not to speak to, but I have seen him playing skittles down the pub. He’s a bit older than me, you know.’

‘But
decades
younger than Lucas!’

‘So?’

‘Oh, never mind.’ Her matchmaking doomed to failure, Perdita took another look at her potatoes. ‘Do you think they’re just a little bit brown?’

Janey shook her head. ‘Well, I dare say they were whiter than that before, but no one could call them brown.’

BOOK: Second Thyme Around

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