Page 81 of A Recipe for Love
‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted something we could do in the time.’ Bella pulled an apologetic face. ‘But we couldn’t do it in the time.’
Maybe the whole cookery lesson thing was a terrible idea. Teachers were organised, orderly people. Bella wasn’t a teacher. Miss Smith might be a teacher, but in Bella’s mind that name called up one of those very young nervous teachers who only lasted one term before getting eaten alive by the sorts of bottom sets Bella had spent her school days in. Mrs Lowbridge could be a teacher. Mrs Lowbridge sounded positively tweedy and responsible. Lady Lowbridge was something else – both entirely unteacherly and entirely un-Bella.
Flinty leaned over and patted her arm. ‘That’s the point of a practice though isn’t it? And look – we’ve all got little pasta wotnots. I think you did well.’
The rest of the Ladies’ Group nodded in agreement.
‘So you’ve got lots to think about for your proper trial day,’ Nina said. ‘Have you worked out what you’re teaching them yet?’
Bella had barely slept for thinking about it. Ideas had been whirring around her head, and she’d spent half the night with her phone in hand, notes app open, jotting down anything and everything that came into her mind. By six a.m., when she’d abandoned the pretence of trying to sleep altogether, she had at least the outline of a plan for the day.
‘OK. The basic idea isThe Perfect Stress-Free Dinner.’ She pulled out her phone and opened her menu notes. She had so many ideas, but really everything was going to come down to oven space. There was the big range in the main kitchen, and there were also two smaller electric ovens in the two prep kitchens, which Flinty informed her were originally the castle bakery and scullery. She’d made a note ofbakeryon her ever-expanding list of things that might one day bring income into the estate.
That meant that she could cook eight big dishes at a time, but only eight, so if, for example, everyone made a lasagne then nothing else they made could go in the oven at the same time. Although if the idea was that they were making food to take home for dinner then maybe the lasagne didn’t have to be cooked. They could bake her demonstration one for people to taste and they could take their own home with instructions to bake in their own oven. She didn’t know why she was fixated on the idea of eight lasagnes. Lasagne wasn’t even on her shortlist of things to make.
She tapped into her ideas list and noted:Cuisine theme meals – Italian, Indian, etc.
‘I was going to do all the teaching before lunch and then have them cook after, but I don’t think that’ll work, will it?’ If the Ladies’ Group couldn’t retain four simple steps, there was no way her much less kitchen-confident group on Saturday would retain the steps for three different recipes. ‘I think I need to break it down into shorter steps and demos and give them written instructions as well.’
‘Sounds sensible,’ Nina said. ‘I love the idea that they get a full meal to take home though. That’s great for a full-day session.’
‘If you’re doing handouts you should have a logo,’ Anna chipped in.
Netty nodded silently.
Bella shook her head. ‘The trial is in three days. I’ll think about stuff like that if it goes well and we decide to definitely go for it.’
‘You should have feedback forms though,’ Flinty said. ‘That’s the point isn’t it? You might think it’s all gone marvellously, but you need to know what the punters make of it.’
‘Do I have to give Veronica one?’
‘Veronica’s coming?’ Anna’s tone was half-aghast, half-fascinated.
‘And Darcy as well.’ Bella was still trying to put Veronica’s attendance to the back of her mind. ‘I think Darcy’s quite keen and Veronica didn’t want to be seen as less supportive.’
‘Or she didn’t want to miss out,’ Anna suggested.
‘Or she’s genuinely trying to help with something that might be good for all of Lowbridge,’ Flinty added.
Bella could see the scepticism on Anna’s face, but she nodded anyway. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’
Chapter Twelve
The Foresters was quieter than normal for a Friday night and Ravi was already at the bar when Adam walked in, two pints standing in front of him. They grabbed a table in the corner, out of line of sight from the big TV – because Adam was famously incapable of concentrating on anything anybody said to him while there was a football match between two teams he had no interest in being played anywhere in his peripheral vision.
‘I’m really sorry about your dad.’
Adam nodded. ‘Thanks.’ He shrugged. He still wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say when people expressed their sympathy. Claiming to be fine felt like he was disregarding his father’s life and death, but nobody wanted to actually hear about how awful everything had turned, did they? All he really wanted to do was change the subject. ‘Tell me about your lot.’
Ravi grinned and, as Adam knew he would, pulled out his phone for a rundown of the most recent photos of the twins. Ila and Asha toddling along the beach not more than a hundred yards from where Adam and Ravi were sitting now. Ila and Asha clinging to Sam’s hands. Ila and Asha balanced one on each of Ravi’s knees. Ila and Asha beaming for the camera with Ravi, Sam and their bio-mum Linzi.
‘They’ve started nursery,’ Ravi added. ‘Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself.’
‘What’s he working on?’
‘Oh, ghostwriting for whatserface. Big tell-all autobiography thing.’
‘Which whatserface?’
