The Way to a Woman's Heart (29 page)

Ella groaned. ‘Go and find her then!’

‘Go and find who?’ Poll, still looking woebegone, asked
listlessly as she appeared in the doorway and looked over Ash’s shoulder. ‘Onyx is upstairs with Roy and Trixie is –’

‘You!’ Ella almost shouted, jabbing a finger at the Jiffy bag. ‘We want to know why you didn’t tell us about that, er, this!’

‘Oh, that.’ Poll stared at the package in Ash’s hand. ‘I was waiting for the right moment. When we were all together. So I could break the news to everyone at the same time. It’s a no, I’m afraid. Everyone got one today.’

Ella felt suddenly sick. They hadn’t made it. It was like a punch in the stomach. She really hadn’t expected to feel like this.

‘But you haven’t even opened it,’ Ash said, frowning. ‘So, how do you know?’

‘The postman told me about all the others, they were all the same, so there was no point in opening it. I expect there’s a Gabby and Tom cook book in there.’ Poll swallowed. ‘It upset me a lot, and I didn’t want to cry in front of George, so I thought I’d leave it until he was in bed.’

So that’s why Poll had been so miserable this evening, Ella thought. And with good reason. Damn…

‘Open it anyway.’ Ash pushed it towards Poll. ‘They might tell us who has been chosen.’

Ella snorted. ‘How masochistic is that? I don’t want to know, and I certainly don’t want a stupid Gabby and Tom cook book.’

Poll fumbled with the envelope, eventually giving up on the ‘tear along the dotted line’ instruction and ripping it open.

A Gabby and Tom cook book tumbled to the floor.

‘Told you,’ Poll said miserably, staring down at it. ‘And loads of bumph, no doubt telling us how great the show is.’ She scanned the first of the many typewritten pages. ‘Yes… yes… as I thought – and a lot of stuff about congratulations and how they’ll be in touch next week, how we should be prepared for the twenty-fourth and…’

Ella and Ash stared at one another, then back at Poll.

‘What did you just say?’

Poll, who was now very pale, swallowed. Her voice shook. ‘Um, I think I might have got it wrong – again. Er, it isn’t a no…’ She let the pages flutter to the floor and burst into tears. ‘It isn’t a no…’

Oh my God.

Ash gave a huge whoop of joy and swept Ella off her feet and swung her round and round.

Dizzily, she clung to him, laughing.

‘What the heck’s going on in here?’ Billy stood in the kitchen doorway. ‘Poll? Why are you crying, and what the heck are those two doing?’

‘Er…’ Poll sniffed. ‘I’m crying because I’m happy – and they –’ she looked at Ella and Ash, still clutched together and jigging up and down ‘– are, um, celebrating. And we –’ she beamed at Billy ‘– are all going to be on the telly!’

As the June days grew ever hotter, life at Hideaway Farm became even more manic.

Within hours of the Jiffy bag being opened, everyone in every village for miles around knew they’d been picked for
Dewberrys’ Dinners
. The phone never stopped ringing. Tarnia Snepps was apparently incandescent with rage and eye-bulging jealousy and demanding a recount.

None of them could set foot in Hazy Hassocks or Fiddlesticks or Bagley-cum-Russet or Lovers Knot without being pounced on and warmly congratulated or deeply commiserated with, depending on the viewpoint.

Patsy’s Pantry had become a temporary no-go area because, owing to the verbal ferocity of the rival factions, there was a real fear that the heightened emotions, coupled with the soaring temperatures, might lead to one or more of the elderly regulars having a seizure.

And at home, the farmhouse kitchen was in constant use.
Sweating, they rehearsed and rehearsed, and prepared over and over again, pared down timings, and planned where they would stand and work and move and still not get in each other’s way, with military precision.

Tension was high, excitement was tangible, nerves were at breaking point. When they laughed it was verging on hysteria, and the frequent tears were blamed on the heatwave – never, never on
Dewberrys’ Dinners
.

And there were umpteen calls, texts and emails from the programme makers. They could have recited the rules and regulations in their sleep. Poll’s solicitor had guided them through filling in the myriad forms covering risk assessment and public liability and health insurance and various other disclaimers. And somewhere in there, Ella had also quietly signed her long-overdue contract, making her an official member of staff at Hideaway.

She and Poll had hugged each other and held a muted celebration – and promised themselves that
when it was all over
, they’d do it again, in style.

The internet communications – insisted upon in the copious instructions from
Dewberrys’ Dinners –
had been a temporary stumbling block as Poll didn’t own a computer and Ella had left hers in London.

‘Use my laptop,’ Ash had said, grinning at Ella. ‘I’ll delete anything incriminating.’

Poll, totally innocent of all things web-based, had been amazed that Ash’s computer would allow Ella to use her log-in and email address.

‘How clever!’ Poll had exclaimed when she’d read the first
email message from
Dewberrys’ Dinners
. ‘How on earth does that work? Can one of you explain?’

Ash and Ella had exchanged glances and neither had been brave enough to try.

‘It’s just like magic,’ Trixie had said. ‘Exactly like my fairy friends.’

Everyone else had managed to say nothing at all, but Poll had enthusiastically – and rather worryingly – agreed.

‘I still can’t believe that Gabby and Tom haven’t been in touch, though,’ Poll said now, in a break from their afternoon’s rehearsals, when they were all sitting in the garden eating yet another version of their first planned menu. ‘And I’m getting heartily sick of this food.’

‘Me too,’ Ella agreed. ‘Although it does still all taste amazing. It improves each time we cook it. And my guess is that Gabby and Tom are way too important to do very much more than turn up on the day. That’s why they have minions.’

‘I suppose so,’ Poll agreed. ‘But I would love to talk to Gabby before she gets here next Wednesday. Woman to woman.’

Doubting that the imperious Gabby had ever talked, woman to woman or any other way, to any of her victims – er, contestants – Ella just smiled non-committally and tried to quell the mounting butterflies.

Next Wednesday… Dear God… Today was Friday – only four more days to go…

Was she the only one rapidly becoming paralysed with terror? She looked round the shimmering, baking garden. It seemed she was.

Poll looked serene; George, slathered in suncream and practically invisible under a huge baseball cap, quarried happily beneath the table in the increasingly rock-hard ground with his convoy of lorries; Billy and Ash were in deep discussions about improving their joint starter; and Trixie, under the shade of the willow trees with several prone dogs and cats, studied another of her collection of books and scribbled never-ending notes.

No one dared to ask her about them. Ella was pretty sure they involved fairy spells and witchcraft.

Trixie, presumably because she knew she wouldn’t be on screen, had been the least frazzled of the Hideaway residents by the news. Ella secretly hoped it wasn’t because she was planning her very own contribution by asking the fairies to conjure up Midsummer spells.

Onyx, wearing the smallest bikini Ella had ever seen, lay luxuriating in the full glare of the sun. ‘Don’t laugh.’ She raised her huge Ray-Bans. ‘I know you think I’m tanned enough already, but, believe me, I change colour in the sun like everyone else. Pass me the oil, Ella, there’s a love.’

Life, previously odd at Hideaway, had turned upside down.

And through it all, Ella remembered how it had felt to be held in Ash’s arms.

Stupid, she told herself now as she pondered on whether adding additional spices to her Athole pudding would be a mistake. He asked you out and you said no. There won’t be a second offer. And he’s made it very clear how he feels about you. He and Onyx are one of those together-forever couples
and you’ll never be more than a friend. A friend, more to the point, that he feels sorry for because you’re separated from your boyfriend and leading such a sad existence…

And Mark, when she’d phoned him to tell him about being chosen to be on
Dewberrys’ Dinners
, had been less than impressed. He’d laughed and told her she was mad, and that he wouldn’t watch it because Jez from the sales office had tickets for a really hot concert and he thought it was probably on the same night.

‘Clothes,’ Ash said suddenly. ‘We’ve done everything else a million times but we haven’t done clothes. And –’ he grinned at Onyx ‘– you’re excluded from this conversation seeing as you wear so few.’

Onyx giggled. Ella didn’t.

‘I was thinking,’ Ash continued, ‘that we should all look the same – oh, I don’t mean a uniform exactly, but similar outfits. That way we’ll look like a team and hopefully stick in the viewers’ minds.’

Ella stared at him. Due to her sunglasses, this was easy. She’d been doing it a lot all afternoon. The viewers, she thought, would never forget him, whatever he was wearing. Oh, God, but he was gorgeous.

Ash nodded. ‘I was thinking, if we all wear pale-blue tops and black bottoms.’

George clearly found this smuttily funny and chuckled loudly, sending up dust clouds from under the table.

‘Careful, sweetheart.’ Waving her hands, Poll blew the dust away. ‘Oh, yes… clever you, Ash. A great idea. You boys can wear black trousers and pale-blue shirts, and I’ve got a
lovely long floaty black skirt and a super blue peasant top. What about you, Ella?’

‘Er, yes, I’ve got some black linen trousers and a pale blue T-shirt.’

‘Great.’ Ash stood up. ‘Is that OK with everyone?’

They all nodded.

He held out his hand to Onyx. ‘Come on then, Miss Sunworshipper. Grab what few clothes you’ve got and I’ll give you a lift back to Winterbrook. There’s no way on earth you’re travelling in my ice-cream van looking like that. You’ll cause a pile-up.’

Ella pulled a face then berated herself for being childish.

‘Such a shame you’ve got to go back to work,’ Poll said. ‘Mind you, if you’re on commission, this weather must be great for you.’

‘Certainly can’t complain,’ Ash agreed. ‘But I’ll have to dash now. I’m due outside Winterbrook Ladies College at end of school. One of my best spots – and not just for ogling the sixth-form girls before any of you say anything.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Onyx, holding Ash’s hand, stood up effortlessly in one easy motion. ‘Although I’m sure they don’t just queue up at your van for a Bazooma.’

‘Probably exactly what they’re queuing up for,’ Billy chuckled throatily.

Poll and Ella shot him joint disapproving looks – although, Ella thought, for entirely different reasons.

Onyx, her glorious body glistening with oil, slithered against Ash as she hopped on one leg to pull on her shorts. Ella dragged her eyes away. It was too erotic for words.

Oh, stop torturing yourself, she told herself crossly. Just bloody stop it.

She scrambled quickly to her feet. ‘It’s too hot out here. I’m going to go indoors and type up our recipes and the final menu layout and email them to the programme. They want it before close of business today – so, is everyone OK with what we’ve got?’

They all nodded.

‘And we’re all agreed on Gabby’s Secret Ingredient?’

They all nodded again.

Poll looked up. ‘I thought we could leave both things we’ve agreed on. A prominent punnet of fresh herbs in the fridge, and a small plastic box of frozen crystallised fruits in the freezer. I know it’s a bit belt and braces, but that way Gabby can pick either of those, and they’ll garnish any of the courses nicely without spoiling either the taste or the presentation.’

‘Good thinking,’ Ella said. ‘And no one wants to make any last-minute changes, do they? Because this is our absolutely last chance to alter things. Once this is sent, we’re committed to it.’

Poll flapped her hands. ‘Don’t say that, Ella. It all sounds so final.’

‘That’s because it is. Once the weekend is over, we’ll be watching the first two southern heats, one on Monday, the next on Tuesday – and then on Wednesday, it’ll be us…
Us
. On live telly. Cooking. Our menu. The menu the Dewberrys need this afternoon. So, anything you want to alter will have to be now – or not at all.’