Second Thyme Around (3 page)
The man who had spoken sprang into action and opened the door for her. ‘Capodimonte in jeans,’ he muttered as she went through it. ‘And look at those greens!’
‘Who is that lovely creature?’ said someone else, making Perdita glad of the cool of the cold store.
‘That’s Perdita, from Bonyhayes Salads,’ she heard Lucas answer.
‘I think we really must use her. She’d make a lovely contrast to Lucas. A sort of angel and devil thing.’
Perdita swung the door to, so she couldn’t overhear Lucas’s reply. It might be more devilish than she could cope with. She stayed in the cold store, stacking boxes as long as she could without risking hypothermia, taking in
what she’d heard. So Lucas wasn’t satisfied with morphing from a City slicker into a chef, he had to be on television as well. Well, he needn’t think she’d be impressed by tricks like that. When she emerged from the cold store, the kitchen was still full of people.
what she’d heard. So Lucas wasn’t satisfied with morphing from a City slicker into a chef, he had to be on television as well. Well, he needn’t think she’d be impressed by tricks like that. When she emerged from the cold store, the kitchen was still full of people.
And Lucas, his arms folded, was still scowling, but this time the scowl was directed at her. The man with the floppy hair was also looking at her, but he was smiling, extremely charmingly.
‘Perdita?’ He took hold of her hand. ‘I’m David Winter, and I think you may be the answer to our prayers.’
‘She probably lives in a council house,’ muttered Lucas.
‘Perdita? I may call you that? What sort of house do you live in?’
‘Oh, it’s a small cottage—’
‘Perfect! Is it picturesque?’
‘Well, I think it’s very pretty, but it’s not at all done up, or restored, or anything.’ She had a feeling these people thought all cottages were candidates for
Country Living
articles when hers was more like the ‘before’ picture of a major restoration project. ‘I don’t seem to get much time for decorating,’ she added, emphasising her point.
Country Living
articles when hers was more like the ‘before’ picture of a major restoration project. ‘I don’t seem to get much time for decorating,’ she added, emphasising her point.
‘Do you think we could go and see it?’ asked David. ‘We’re looking for a location, near here, to use for our cookery programme.’ He frowned, seeing that she needed more explanation. ‘It’s a pilot for a series where professional chefs cook in real kitchens …’
‘This is a real kitchen,’ snapped Lucas.
‘But it’s completely lacking in heart. I’m sorry, Lucas, but the viewers want a good location nowadays.’
‘I thought they wanted a half-decent chef.’
‘And I really don’t think my cottage would be suitable,’ said Perdita. ‘It’s tiny, not at all convenient, and the kitchen is …’ How to describe the dank, irregular space with little light and almost no working surface? ‘Primitive,
to put it politely. And minute – not big enough to boil an egg in.’
to put it politely. And minute – not big enough to boil an egg in.’
‘It sounds
perfect
! After all, most viewers have tiny kitchens; why are cookery programmes always set in ones the size of barns?’ The maker of several such programmes tossed this rhetorical question into the air.
perfect
! After all, most viewers have tiny kitchens; why are cookery programmes always set in ones the size of barns?’ The maker of several such programmes tossed this rhetorical question into the air.
‘Really,’ Perdita persisted valiantly, ‘my kitchen is
not
suitable.’
not
suitable.’
‘Couldn’t we just look at it?’ asked David Winter.
‘Of course, if that’s what it takes to convince you.’ Perdita suddenly felt as tired as everyone else looked. ‘But I promise you, you’ll be disappointed. It’s tiny, it’s dark and it smells of damp. But I’ll take you there if you insist.’
‘Don’t you usually visit your aunt at lunchtime?’ said Lucas.
Perdita wondered briefly how on earth he knew that and then realised that anyone could have told him. ‘Well, actually it’s her bridge afternoon, so I’m not going to today.’
‘I expect she’s got a lovely big kitchen,’ said Lucas, with enough despair in his voice to inspire reluctant sympathy even in Perdita.
‘I’m not having her involved in this,’ she snapped, to hide it. ‘And anyway, she’s not my aunt.’
‘So we can go and look at your kitchen.’ David Winter sounded pleased. ‘I’ve got such a good feeling about this.’
Perdita groaned. ‘Promise not to cry when you see how wrong you are?’
‘If we’re going, let’s go,’ said Lucas impatiently. ‘Even though it’ll be a complete waste of time. Janey, Greg, you know what you’ve got to get on with. I’ll come with you, Perdita. Now for God’s sake, let’s stop farting about.’
For a moment Perdita considered refusing to take him, but then decided that her van might be just what he needed to bring him down off his pedestal.
‘Now, listen to me, Lucas,’ said Perdita, when she’d
cleared the front seat of rubbish and Lucas had clambered in. ‘You will absolutely hate my kitchen. I’m not fond of it myself, and I don’t ever do any cooking, but it’s not my fault. It’s you who want to be on television, not me, so don’t blame me for any of this fiasco. OK?’ She switched on the ignition, and, reliably, the van failed to start. Lucas sat in silence while she tried another couple of times. ‘Now would you mind getting out and giving me a push? There’s a slope here. I can bump start it.’
cleared the front seat of rubbish and Lucas had clambered in. ‘You will absolutely hate my kitchen. I’m not fond of it myself, and I don’t ever do any cooking, but it’s not my fault. It’s you who want to be on television, not me, so don’t blame me for any of this fiasco. OK?’ She switched on the ignition, and, reliably, the van failed to start. Lucas sat in silence while she tried another couple of times. ‘Now would you mind getting out and giving me a push? There’s a slope here. I can bump start it.’
Without a word, Lucas got out.
Perdita disappeared into the coal shed and came out with a large key. As she did so she heard mutterings of ‘adorable’, ‘perfect’, and ‘don’t you just love those diamond panes?’ issuing from the carload of television people. Her heart sank. Her cottage, which did look gorgeous from the outside, had seduced them. She would never now convince them that it wasn’t their ideal location.
‘It’s a bit cramped in the hall,’ she said, opening the door and going in first. She led the way into the sitting room so that the half-dozen people could all get in through the front door.
The sitting room was the one place Perdita had made comfortable. There was a large wood-burning stove in the stone fireplace, and weak November sunshine shone in through the windows, catching a small collection of copper items, including a kettle, which stood around the fireside. It also highlighted the dust, which stirred and danced in the draught.
The floor was stripped, and the wide, pale boards ran diagonally across the room. The window embrasure was deep and stone, and what furniture there was reflected the period of the house.
‘But it’s charming!’ declared David Winter.
‘You haven’t seen the kitchen,’ said Perdita doggedly. ‘It isn’t charming, it’s unreconstructed!’
‘How did you come to live here?’ asked David, eager for details.
Perdita sighed. She didn’t really want Lucas knowing her life story since he left her, but she had nothing to be ashamed of. ‘It was adjoining the land I had for my salads. When it came on the market, I bought it.’ She saw Lucas’s eyebrow shoot up, desperate to ask, ‘What with?’ ‘I have a mortgage,’ she added for his benefit, ‘like everybody else.’
‘I see. And it was unrestored?’ David Winter went on.
‘It was pretty much as it is now. I had the stove put in, and it does the hot water and a couple of radiators. But as I said, I don’t have much time for decorating.’
She knew most women would have been waxing the floors, sponging and stencilling the walls and covering the chairs with petit point, but all her creative energy went into her garden. Home for her was where she flopped for a couple of hours before falling into the bath and into bed.
‘So let’s see the kitchen,’ said Lucas glumly.
The kitchen was a later addition. It was a lean-to at the back of the house and was small and badly arranged. It seemed to make no concession to cooking at all, though the sharp-eyed would have spotted a cooker under a washing-up bowl of sprouting pea seeds, and a fridge behind a bag of compost and a fork. The room was full of trays of soil, sprouting seeds and tottering heaps of flowerpots waiting to be washed. The sink was stacked with unwashed saucepans and grubby plant labels. The only thing obviously used for its purpose was the microwave, which took up most of the work surface.
‘I did warn you,’ she said as her guests stood openmouthed in the doorway. There wasn’t room for more than Perdita and Lucas in the kitchen at the same time. ‘Now, I could probably manage to make you all a cup of instant coffee before you go home. So your journey wasn’t completely wasted.’ No one seemed to notice the irony in her voice.
‘But it’s ideal! Just needs tidying up a bit!’ said David. ‘Look at that lovely deep windowsill! And the beam!’
‘That’s not a beam, it’s a railway sleeper,’ said Perdita, perturbed that David was not put off. ‘It was just stuck in to stop the house falling down.’
‘Presumably all beams were just “stuck in to stop the house falling down”, unless you’re in a pub, of course,’ Lucas retorted acidly.
Perdita turned on him. ‘Do you really want to cook in this kitchen?’ she demanded.
‘Do you two know each other?’ asked David.
‘Of course,’ said Perdita quickly. ‘I deliver veg to Grantly House.’
‘I know, but there seems to be some sort of – chemistry – between you.’
‘If you mean a hearty dislike, you’ve got it about right,’ said Lucas.
‘Hmm.’ David stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘You know, people are beginning to get tired of perfect-everytime cookery programmes. A little frisson …’ He stopped talking and narrowed his eyes as some creative and ground-breaking idea occurred to him.
It made Perdita nervous. ‘Honestly, this kitchen is not at all suitable. You must see that.’
‘That’s a Belfast sink under all those pans,’ said someone.
‘That’s not a Belfast sink!’ protested Perdita. ‘It was in here when I came!’
David Winter sighed in ecstasy. ‘Original – perfect!’
Perdita began to panic. ‘Listen, this kitchen is too small for one person. It would be quite impossible to do a television programme in here. Lucas would hate it, wouldn’t you, Lucas? And he’s your star!’
‘Actually,’ said the annoying individual who had spotted the sink, ‘we could all be out in the passage and still get good shots. If it was cleared up, it would be perfect.’
‘Well, it’s not going to be cleared up! This is my home and where I work, and I’m not going to tart it all up for you lot!’ Perdita wanted to cry.
‘Temper, temper,’ said Lucas. ‘You did offer to show us the place. You can’t be pissed off now because they like it.’
She turned on Lucas. ‘Are you really telling me that you would be willing to do a cookery programme in a kitchen where there’s barely space to boil a kettle? And that’s when it isn’t full of cameramen, and sound people and God knows who else rushing about?’
‘If it wasn’t full of junk there’d be plenty of room,’ said Lucas.
Perdita stopped wanting to cry and started wanting to kill Lucas, slowly and painfully and, preferably, with several thousand viewers looking on.
‘And you’ll be in it too. You can tell us all about the wonderful things you grow,’ said David Winter, as if offering her a treat.
‘I don’t want to be on television. I have a job,’ said Perdita crossly.
‘We will pay to use your cottage as a location,’ David went on.
‘And you do need a new van,’ said Lucas.
David frowned, not wanting to give anyone the impression they’d pay huge amounts. ‘Possibly not quite enough for that, but it’d be marvellous publicity for your business,’ he added.
Perdita took a deep breath. ‘I don’t need any more business, and I don’t suppose you’d start filming for ages. I will have bought a new van without your contribution by then.’
‘Actually, we want to start pretty much right away. The programme’s due to go out in the spring.’
Eventually, everyone except Lucas found their way out of the cottage and drove off. Lucas stayed on.
‘Haven’t you got unspeakably expensive gourmet meals to prepare?’ Perdita demanded when she realised he hadn’t left with the others.
He shook his head. ‘We’re not open for lunch this week.’
‘What about prepping up?’
‘I’ve left that to Greg and Janey. We’ll see what sort of a cock-up they make of it.’
‘What makes you think they’ll cock it up?’
Lucas sighed. ‘Experience.’
‘You are such a bastard. I don’t know why anyone would want to work for someone like you.’
‘Because they need money and experience.’
‘The money’s crap, for a start.’
‘Actually, it’s slightly better than most people on their level get paid. They do have to earn it, of course. But there’s nothing unfair about that.’
Perdita didn’t reply, silently renewing her vow to find Janey something better than working for Lucas.
‘I suppose you want me to drive you back,’ she said, wanting, quite badly, to make him walk in his black and white checked trousers, chef’s jacket and working boots.
‘Actually I want to see what you’re doing here.’ He sensed her resistance. ‘Unless you’re ashamed of it, of course.’
Perdita was intensely proud of her market garden, and part of her wanted the opportunity to show Lucas how well she had done after he had left her, but she couldn’t possibly give in to such an arrogant demand. ‘Of course I’m not ashamed of it, but just because we were once married, that doesn’t give you the right to demand to see it.’
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