Page 51 of Christmas Wishes at Pudding Hall
‘Is that face because of the tea or me?’ he asked.
‘Both.’
Marc smiled. ‘Why are you so upset about this, Christa?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I feel like I should have been more honest with you.’ She sighed and slowed her breathing down. ‘I think I was embarrassed to ask, like I was some chugger, leeching off the largesse of my boss.’
‘What? What the hell is a chugger?’ he asked.
‘A charity mugger. Like those people who harass you in the street about famine somewhere or other while shaking a tin at you.’
Marc laughed. ‘No, I don’t think it’s the same.’
Christa rubbed her temples and then looked at him.
‘I’m a hypocrite,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because I was glib about your success and your wealth, yet I used it to help others without being totally honest with you. I turned up with meals for the people and didn’t tell anyone they were made with your goods. I took the credit and didn’t mention once that it’s your food I’m using to feed people.’
Marc shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter where it comes from though, and it doesn’t matter who “owns” it, as long as it gets to the people who need it.’
They were quiet for a moment and then Marc spoke again. ‘So, do you make a habit of being a food-driven Robin Hood?’
She thought for a moment, wondering how much she should tell him and then decided she had nothing to lose, not since he had caught her red-handed.
‘I have always tried to help people the way I know how. Which is with food. I did it when I had the restaurant in a casual way, feeding people out of the back door of the kitchen.’
Marc leaned in, listening.
‘And it made me happy to feed people – you know, with good nourishing food.’
‘Okay.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘We help with what we have, I get it.’
‘Then I came here and I finally had the time to help, really help. I had some time at night. So I did. I met this lovely old man at the market who made the fudge. He told me about the charity so I called, and next thing you know, I’m making vegetable soup and breadsticks and pasta and little delicious lemon cakes that are actually really healthy. They were very popular.’
She saw Marc smile at her and she smiled back.
‘You know I spent time in soup kitchens and refuges as a kid. The food was a lifesaver when Dad wasn’t well but the food was mostly donated or cooked for quantity not quality because that’s all they could afford. I wanted to make people food that would help them from the inside.’
Marc was nodding. ‘And you want to do that once you finish at Pudding Hall?’
She thought for a moment. For most of her adult life she had been overlooked, with Simon taking the credit for talent, but now her future was so clear, she could feel it.
‘I do, I want to help people. I want to open a place here and make it low cost or no cost for people to come and get food. I want to give cooking lessons to people who haven’t been taught how to shop and how to make meals that nourish and are affordable. I want people to be able to volunteer and chat and provide support for mums and dads and children. I want it to be the place where anyone can come and they will be fed, respected and supported.’
She finished her speech and then took a sip of her tea and was reminded it tasted like hot dirt water.
Marc sat back in his chair. ‘And you want me to fund it?’ he asked.
She looked at him and frowned.
‘Not at all. I didn’t ask. You asked me what I wanted to do and that is it. It was the first time I’ve actually been able to clarify it for myself but that’s it; that’s what I want to create. It might not happen soon – it might take ten or twenty years – but I will work towards it and hope it will happen. And meanwhile I will keep cooking for those who pay well and save what I can.’
Marc’s face was unreadable.
‘I’m not asking for your help at all, Marc. I am really sorry about the food. I will pay it back. I will replace the ham hock and quails tomorrow.’
