Page 42 of Mistaken Impression

“Yes.” She runs her hand up my arm, letting it rest on my bicep. “We want people to see you properly, don’t we?”

“Not particularly, no.” And certainly not looking like this.

“I’m sorry to interrupt…” Ella’s voice rings out and I look up, Kennedy turning to face her at the same time.

“What is it?” Kennedy says, although Ella’s looking at me, not her.

“Everyone keeps telling me that the schedules are tight and budgets are restricted, so do you think Blake and I could get on with what we’re supposed to be doing?”

I don’t wait for Kennedy’s answer, but take my chance to escape, putting my t-shirt and the apron on the table before I quickly make my way back to the other side of the studio, taking refuge behind the island unit. I notice the tray of roasted vegetables on the work surface, and realise Ella musthave removed them from the oven in my absence. They smell delicious, but I’ve got other things on my mind. Given Ella’s comments, I would have expected Kennedy and Vivian to leave, but they don’t. Instead, they stand, staring at us both… or at me, to be precise. It’s an unnerving experience and one that’s making me more than a little uncomfortable. I feel like a prize exhibit.

“Was there anything else?” Ella’s voice is surprisingly harsh and as she speaks, she moves a little closer, like she wants to protect me. That thought almost makes me smile. Except I’m being careful not to show any emotions right now. It seems important to remain impassive… like I don’t care. Not for Ella’s benefit, but for the sake of the two predators in the room.

“We’re just interested in how things are going.” Kennedy glares at her.

“I’ve already said, everything is fine… but it won’t be, if you don’t let us get on.” She’s really gunning for Kennedy, and I wonder if she’s actively trying to get fired. I hope not… and not because the show would suffer, but because I’d miss her. Now I come to think about it, I’d miss her more than I would have thought possible, considering I’ve only known her for a little over twenty-four hours.

Vivian looks almost as surprised by Ella’s tone as I am, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she looks at Kennedy with a smug expression on her face, probably expecting our mutual boss to come back with some kind of put-down.

After what seems like an eternity, Kennedy lets out a sigh and nods her head. “We’ll leave you in peace, then.”

Even Ella seems surprised by that, and frowns. That obviously wasn’t the response she expected. Vivian didn’t either, and her face gives away her shock, although she follows Kennedy from the room without a word.

I wait until the door has closed behind them and turn to Ella. “Do you hate this job so much you want to get fired?”

“Not especially. But I’m done with being spoken down to.” She shrugs her shoulders and looks up at me. I can tell she’s itching to ask why I let Kennedy walk all over me just now, but I’m not in the mood for talking about it, especially as she’s just shown herself to be so much more daring than me.

Instead, I pick up the bunch of green leaves Vivian had hold of earlier. “Are these called something different in England? Because I’ve never heard of cilantro before.”

She takes them from me, picking off a leaf and holding it out to me between her thumb and forefinger. Rather than taking it, I grab her hand, keeping it steady and then dip my head, nibbling at the leaf, my lips caressing her skin until she releases it. She gasps, holding her breath, her eyes wide and fiery, and fixed on mine as I chew, and suddenly recognise the flavour.

“Oh… it’s what they put on curries.”

“Yes.” She blinks, letting out that breath. “It’s called coriander.”

“Didn’t we put some of that into the roasted vegetables?”

“Yes, but that was the seeds, ground to a powder.”

“I see, and you call the leaves cilantro?”

“We do.”

“Is that just to be difficult?”

“Something like that.” She puts the coriander leaves down again, and turns back to me. “Shall we get back to the potatoes?”

I pull my t-shirt back on, gazing down at the black one, which is lying on the countertop in the men’s room, alongside the red apron. I refuse to think too hard about having to wear them. Instead, I’m just going to accept it for what it is: a costume. After all, there are too many other things to thinkabout, and having made it to the end of the day, I’m too tired to care about Kennedy’s desire to dress me up like a clown.

Gavin didn’t bring the script along until half an hour ago, so I’ve barely had a chance to even glance at it. He was very apologetic about running so late, and while that meant I couldn’t make a start on learning my lines, Ella and I have used the afternoon wisely. I’ve gone over a few of the things she’s taught me, making sure I’ve understood them properly, and we’ve practiced certain techniques, so I look more like a chef who knows his way around a kitchen, and less like an actor who’s playing a part. She’s also shown me how to plate up both of the meals, because – like putting things into the ovens – that’s something I’m going to have to manage without her. I hadn’t realised how much precision went into doing that, but Ella drew me diagrams, showing which parts of the meal went where, so I couldn’t forget. I got to taste everything, too, and although I liked the lamb with the roasted vegetables, the French-inspired version, with crispy roast potatoes and Provençal green beans was out of this world. They contained more garlic than should be legal, but I loved them.

Ella and I left the studio together, but the last I saw of her she was talking to Ruby and Vivian as she walked towards the lifts, while I had to come and change before leaving the building. There was no way I was going to ride on the bus in that ridiculous t-shirt. Now I feel more like myself, though, I head home, trying not to think about how much work we’ve still got to do… and how little time there is left.

Instead, I use the bus ride to go through the script, and then continue with it in earnest once I’ve ordered a pizza.

I can’t be late to bed, though, so once I’ve eaten, I take a shower and go upstairs. Not surprisingly, I’m asleep within moments of my head hitting the pillow.

I’m in a TV studio, although it’s not the one Ella and I have been working in for the last couple of days. This one is set up for a chat show, and I’m waiting, while Aria White, the darling of daytime television, introduces me.

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