Doubting Abbey (13 page)

After giving my arm an encouraging pat, Roxy left the room, muttering something about going to collect Charlie Chingo and the students.

‘So, um, which is your preferred way of making a salad dressing, Kathleen?’ I asked innocently, picking her brains at the very last minute. ‘Lemon juice, sugar, oil, mustard… Do you shake, whisk or stir before tossing?’

‘Och, I don’t bother with that Continental nonsense,’ she said. ‘Oily lettuce? Nae, you can’t beat a solid mayonnaise. If it’s good enough for the Queen Mother… At Applebridge Hall we still like a good old-fashioned salad cream.’ She stared at me. ‘Are you suffering a wee bit from nerves? How about a dram of something strong before the cameras roll?’

Tempting as that was… ‘No, Kathleen. I’m fine. Thank you for being so terribly supportive. I just hope I don’t drop my knife or cut my finger when I’m chopping the blue cheese or peeling those apples for baking.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me, Miss, but, as I’m sure you know, the Blue Cheese is to be crumbled and apples are baked in their skins.’

‘Of course. I was just speaking generally. Everyone knows that. Baked apples without their skins… Ha, ha, ha,’ I said in a bright voice, cheeks hot as she stared.

Kathleen smoothed down her floral apron. ‘I still remember the last time you visited, all those years ago when you were nine.’ She stepped forward and peered into my face. ‘The prettiest pine specks you had in those blue eyes.’

Now she mentioned it, Abbey’s eyes did have a greenish tint, just like Edward’s – it must be a Croxley thing.

‘You seem to have outgrown them.’ Her eyes crinkled. ‘Remember how your mother let you make cakes with me in the kitchen, whilst “the grown-ups” discussed business in the Parlour?’

‘Um, how could I forget?’ I thought back to the clips I’d seen of Delia baking. ‘Breaking the eggs and folding in flour, what fun fairy cakes are,’ I said with a grin.

Kathleen’s brow furrowed. ‘Nae, Miss—we made Scottish oatcakes, which don’t contain egg… Och, it was a long time ago.’ She stared again for a moment. ‘Will you be needing anything else?’

‘No. Thank you.’ Eek, please go away before I make any other mistakes.

Gaynor swanned in and skirted the room, black bob swinging side to side, the smell of fags clinging to her like a bezzie mate.

‘You won’t have a personal mic, Miss Croxley,’ she said. ‘The sound man will follow you around with a boom – that equipment is better for picking up cooking noises. Frying, sizzling… It all adds to the atmosphere of the show, darling.’

I glanced at my watch. Half past eight. Apparently Gaynor had just briefed the Reverend, professor and accountant, who were still having their make-up done in one of the guest bedrooms. Good. Time to read through the recipes once more, which I’d typed up, decorated with an apple motif and printed out.

Right. Brave face. Nigella and Delia hadn’t spent years training in professional kitchens before they found success. How difficult could it be? I’d always wanted to learn more about cooking and here I was – except, talk about being thrown in at the deep end, I was doing it first by actually teaching!

A hand touched my arm. Hmm, that expensive cologne—Nick must have crept in from behind. Roxy hissed something to the cameraman and I felt sure she muttered the word ‘Facebook’ – the online rumour-mill had clearly sprung to life. Without having to look, I knew the camera was now panned on me and Nick and a sound guy hovered nearby.

‘Just wanted to wish you luck,’ he said and squeezed my hand.

Aw, he was really getting into our role-play.

‘How thoughtful.’ I shook my hair back and licked my lips in what I hoped was a seductive move. Nick wore a polo shirt, open at the neck, and he gave a lopsided grin. I could see the attraction of staff to uptight nobility—especially unshaven, slightly reckless ones who smirked at authority. Let’s face it, Nick was a risk-taker who could lose his job over our pretend romance, yet still he agreed to play along. Me likey!

‘It’s kind of you to come, Nick,’ I said in a loud voice. ‘I, um, asked Kathleen to send you in so that I could thank you for picking such delicious apples. I’m sure they will contribute to the success of this morning’s session.’

‘Nothing but the best for you, Miss,’ he said in a husky voice. ‘I’m good at plucking anything that’s firm, round, fragrant…’

Nick winked and sauntered out of the room. Okay, so I cringed a little, but we hadn’t got time to be subtle.

Right, enough acting up for the camera – must focus now on the job ahead. The pork stew took one hour to bake, so would be prepared first…

Chatter interrupted my thoughts. I looked up as Roxy came into the kitchens, followed by Charlie Chingo and the three Cluedo suspects…
students
, I mean: a man in a black cassock with a warm smile, a smart woman in high shoes and emo guy – the professor—in dark trousers, a loose shirt and glasses hanging around his pale neck.

The students and I did what Lady C would call ‘exchanging pleasantries’, which I was getting good at now – particularly concerning the weather. While today was sunny, the air was fresher, so not too hot for baking, we all agreed. Boring, I know – but a great topic if the only thing you had in common with people was that you breathed and pee’d.

Then I quizzed them about their cooking experience…

‘Isn’t puff pastry a challenge?’ said the Reverend. ‘I finally gave it a go last week.’

‘How do you stop your soufflés sinking?’ asked Miss Diamond.

‘It took me years to master hollandaise sauce,’ muttered the professor.

Yikes! It became clear that they saw the Academy as a place they could perfect their already pretty good know-how. If Applebridge Hall won the show, the Croxleys would need to hire a proper chef. Mind you, if today was a success and a pizza waitress could blag her way through the job, maybe not.

The clock hands turned to nine and I stood to attention behind my work-station. Like a soldier from the trenches, I faced the enemy head-on. Okay, so it was a bit insulting to compare my situation to a battlefield, but here I was, amongst people whose language and culture was as alien to me as that of the Zulus or Spartans.

My stomach twisted. Gaynor said there would be no stopping and starting; she reckoned viewers wanted to see things as they really were, not lots of takes edited together to look immaculate.

‘Three, two, one, let’s roll,’ said Gaynor and nodded at Charlie, who’d been standing next to me, practising his intro.

‘Hello there, folks!’ he said and gave the camera a cheesy grin ‘Thanks for joining us on
Million Dollar Mansion: the Final
. Today’s the big day – the opening of Applebridge Food Academy. Watch Miss Croxley attempt to whisk, beat and knead her way to the prize money.’ He smiled at me. ‘Chat with the Chingo, Abbey! How are you feeling?’

‘Um, awfully excited,’ I said. ‘This is a day I shall never forget. It makes me incredibly proud to be heading up the business that might save my family’s estate.’

‘I believe there is an apple theme to today’s show? That rocks! How spot on, to use homegrown produce, what with the recession.’

‘Precisely. Plus, the, um. Croxleys’ apples are some of the tastiest in England. I’m confident they will make every one of today’s dishes a winner.’

Each student waited by their work-station wearing a white apron with an apple motif in the top right corner. Hands perspiring, I discreetly wiped them on the back of my linen trousers. Edward slipped into the room from the back kitchen. Gaynor smiled at him and put a finger to her lips. He folded his arms – no thumbs-up for me, no mouthing ‘Best of British’. I was on my own. Oh God— pass the smelling salts!

Charlie beamed. ‘I hereby declare the Applebridge Food Academy officially open.’ He patted me on the back. ‘Spatulas at the ready!’

‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,’ I stuttered. ‘Reverend White, Miss Diamond, Professor Parker, it is my great pleasure to welcome you here as my first students.’ I picked up a glass of water and sipped. What if I accidentally swore or insulted a student and, under pressure, came over all Gordon Ramsay? Please, God, don’t let me inadvertently call them Reverend Willy, Professor Piss and Miss Dickhead.

‘As you’ve heard, students, Applebridge Hall’s orchards produce splendid fruit,’ I instead said. ‘For our starter, we shall prepare Apple and English Blue Cheese Salad, with Pork and Apple Stew to follow. Mouthwatering Baked Apples with Ginger and Honey complete our menu. Please study the handouts in front of you.’

Air in…air out…in…out… Croxley women… Strong… Glass half-full… Stiff upper lip.

‘We shall start the stew first, as it takes the longest to bake,’ I said in strangulated tones.

The students crowded around my work-station as I arranged my ingredients. Roxy caught my eye and swished her finger side to side across her face in the shape of a semi-circle. She had a point. I probably looked mega terrified—must smile.

‘First of all,’ I said, battling the waver in my voice, ‘chop up the onion, press the garlic, cube the meat and fry that in the flour.’ Hands trembling, I measured out the herbs and poured out the red wine, thinking perhaps Kathleen was right about taking a wee dram. However, every few seconds I glanced at my recipe to check the procedures—so far, so good. My stomach relaxed a little as I finally sent the students back to their places and then paraded around the room, hands clasped behind my back, Prince Charles style.

‘Jolly good.’ I smiled at Miss Dick – Miss
Diamond
, as she pressed her garlic.

‘Brown that pork a tad more,’ I said to Reverend White.

‘Excellent chopping skills.’ Encouragingly, I nodded at emo-guy.

‘And into the oven for one hour,’ I eventually announced to them all.

This was all too easy – maybe I could become a great chef like Abbey, after all!

‘Shouldn’t you have added the apple?’ asked Miss Diamond.

Urgh – I’d spoken too soon. My cheeks flamed. ‘Um, of course – but Applebridge’s variety is not the hardest and we don’t want them to lose their texture by being over-cooked. Add them halfway through.’ Wow – quick thinking or what!

Next, I showed them the salad, which was easy-peasy, apart from the dressing, which I’d leave until the last minute – mainly because I still hadn’t decided whether to shake, whisk or stir.

‘Finally, the baked apples – with ginger and honey, an old family favourite.’ I glanced up. Edward had gone. Hopefully, that meant I was doing a good job.

‘I’ve been making baked apples since I was a child,’ muttered Miss Diamond and shook her head.

‘That may well be but, in my opinion, this is an underrated dish,’ I said. ‘It takes great skill to cook it just so, um, the flesh melts in the mouth. In fact it was once served to me as a dessert when I visited the German royals.’

Emo-guy’s brow furrowed. Crap. Of course. I bet Germany didn’t have a monarchy.

‘That’s what they call their most talented pop family,’ I said with a smile. ‘Franz, um, Strudel and his wife. They’re a bit like the Osbournes. We were working on a charity project together. He knows my brother.’

Great recovery! Although it concerned me how lies tripped off my tongue. As a child, Dad warned me that, sooner or later, porkies always tripped people up.

My demonstration finally over, I chilled as they made their desserts. Not a bad morning, all in all—apart from me nicking my finger on the peeler and taking ages to chop the onion. Top chefs always took their time, I’d explained, warming to my theme— apparently it was a little-known secret that the frantic slicing you saw on TV bruised vegetables and ruined the flavour.

Inwardly I chuckled, waiting for the onslaught I’d probably get from real-life chefs on Twitter. Yet it would all be good publicity and who could argue with me when these dishes turned out fab? Humming quietly after a quick interview update with Charlie on everyone’s progress, I took my stew out of the oven.

Except that ‘fab’ wasn’t exactly the word that escaped my lips. Instead I almost mumbled a different F-word. The gravy and meat had totally dried out. All the students’ stews were the same. Urgh! Why had I ordered them not to bother leaving the pots’ lids on? Ah, yes – it was cos know-it-all Miss Diamond disagreed, which made me even more determined to stick to my guns.

As for the baked apples, I paid the price again for thinking I knew better. The recipe had suggested a moderate heat for twenty minutes. But apples are as hard as tennis balls, aren’t they, so I’d tweaked the recipe, changing the oven temperature to the highest possible. The result? Forget tennis – these were black snooker balls.

Thank God for the Apple and Blue Cheese salad that at least looked half-decent. We all picked up forks.

‘As any good chef knows,’ I said, ‘it’s not presentation but flavour that’s king.’ Perhaps there was a tiny chance that, despite appearances, the menu would taste amaaazin’.

We all dug into our salads. I coughed. My throat itched. Suddenly, it burst into flames. Miss Diamond gasped and grabbed her glass of water. The two men spluttered.

Eyes watering, I re-checked the recipe. One tablespoon of dried mustard in the vinaigrette? Even easy-going Reverend White had questioned that. Okay, so I’d upped it from one teaspoon, but I’d never seen mustard power before – it was weaker than the readymade stuff you buy in jars, right? Or, rather, wrong.

‘This lesson is a joke, Miss Croxley,’ muttered Miss Diamond. ‘No offence to Lord Croxley, but I’ve paid good money for this and my ten-year-old niece cooks better than this.’

‘Perhaps the stew will be better,’ said Reverend White, as tears pricked my eyes. Cautiously, I took a mouthful. It parched the mouth and the apple cubes felt as hard as dice.

Miss Diamond pulled off her apron. ‘I’m not even going to try that ridiculous-looking dessert. Call yourself a chef?’

Emo-guy nodded. ‘Sorry, Miss Croxley. You must be having an off day.’

‘If you just let me explain,’ I said, willing tears not to fall. ‘It’s these new ovens… Perhaps I should have checked the equipment.’

Reverend White shook his head and tutted. ‘Honesty is a virtue, young lady, unlike pointing the finger at innocent people – or objects.’