When she got down to the root of her feelings she concluded it was Laura Wilde she found so irritating. She’d behaved as if she owned Justin, and Meg had felt almost blamed for his predicament.

  She sighed deeply; she was put out because Laura was a very bossy woman. Bossy women could be irritating. That was it. No need to feel weird about it. It was all fine!

  Meg found her mother in the kitchen when she got there. ‘Oh, are you back already?’ Louise said. ‘But you’re covered in mud! What happened?’

  ‘I found Justin and his bike in a ditch on my way to May Hill.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘It’s rather a long story. I’d better go and get changed before I tell you about it.’

  ‘But he’s all right, isn’t he?’ Louise sounded worried.

  ‘Oh yes. He’s going to be fine. He may have broken his ankle or something, but nothing life-threatening.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that!’ said Louise. ‘I’d better tell Andrew. I never have trusted motorbikes.’

  And I don’t trust the men who ride them, Meg thought.

  Once she was back in the flat, she realised she felt quite shaky, as if she’d been in the accident as well as Justin.

  She got as clean as she could under the little shower, which gave out tepid water in a feeble trickle. Though there were probably streaks of mud in places she couldn’t see, she put on her cleanest dress and sandals. Then she went back to the kitchen. It was where she felt happiest.

  Her mother seemed a bit out of sorts, as if she’d had bad news since Meg had told her about Justin’s accident.

  ‘How did breakfast go?’ Meg asked her now.

  ‘Perfectly fine. It couldn’t go wrong, really.’

  ‘So what’s up, Mum?’

  Louise instantly pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Andrew’s going back first thing tomorrow. He should go today, really, but I persuaded him—’

  Meg heard the crack in her mother’s voice and realised she was near tears.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Meg put the kettle on. While a cup of tea wasn’t the cure-all everyone expected it to be, it might help a bit. ‘Where’s Andrew now?

  Her mother sniffed bravely. ‘He’s in the office, going through the safe, looking for the deeds to the hotel. He says the safe is absolutely full of old papers that people have stuffed in there over the years.’

  ‘Why don’t I do a tray of coffee and you can take it in, and help him look?’

  ‘I could do that.’ Louise lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t realise how much I’d mind him going back. He’s been away for a while now and I’ve been fine. It’s just …’

  ‘What?’ asked Meg gently.

  ‘I didn’t know quite how he felt about me before. And of course, after last night …’

  Meg stiffened, willing her mother not to say any more. But Louise took a breath as if she was about to carry on.

  Meg interrupted quickly. ‘Look, I can do everything here. You go into the office now, so you can spend as much time together as possible. I’ll bring the coffee.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. That would be so kind.’

  Louise cleared her throat, wiped her nose on her handkerchief and then went to the small mirror and adjusted her hair. ‘I’d better put some lipstick on.’

  ‘I’ll sort out the drinks.’

  A couple of days after Andrew had left for France, the telephone rang and as Meg happened to be passing the office, she answered it. It was Justin.

  ‘Is that Meg?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?’

  She tensed. The hotel had been a bit busier lately and she didn’t want to be bothered with sorting out Justin’s bike or whatever it was he wanted. Couldn’t Laura do things like that for him? ‘Ask away.’

  He cleared his throat and Meg suddenly got the impression he was nervous. ‘I need your help.’

  ‘That’s usually the case when you want to ask someone a favour.’

  ‘You know I’ve sprained my ankle?’

  This was better than if he’d broken it, Meg thought. ‘I did find you in a ditch so I knew something was wrong. What is that to do with me?’

  ‘Of course, well … it means I can’t cook.’ He sounded embarrassed, thought Meg. Possibly sensing Meg might give another sharp reply, he hurried on. ‘I’ve had to put my pastry chef in the main kitchen which means I have no one to make desserts.’

  Meg’s interest was piqued. ‘Bad luck,’ she said, sounding disinterested.

  ‘I would like you to supply desserts for the trolley. A few tarts, mousses, trifle, pâtisserie …’

  ‘How are you going to manage the crêpes Suzette?’

  ‘I’ve taken it off the menu. Can you help?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because it would be a challenge and you can’t resist a challenge.’ Meg could tell he was smiling, confident he’d found her weak spot.

  Annoying as his amusement might be, she wasn’t going to turn the challenge down. ‘The hotel has to gain from it in some way,’ she said.

  ‘I’d pay you, of course, and promise to send anyone we can’t accommodate your way. We’re often fully booked.’ Justin paused. ‘I would be deeply in your debt, and when you move on, I’ll give you a reference.’

  ‘How will I get the desserts to you?’

  ‘Someone will collect them,’ he said. ‘Keep a note of everything you spend, plus your time.’ He took a breath and his voice softened. ‘I won’t let you lose by it, Meg.’

  Something suspiciously like tears rose up in her throat. It couldn’t really be tears, she reasoned, but something about his deep voice, saying her name, using words that were kind, caused a moment of emotion.

  ‘OK, tell me exactly: what do you need and when do you want them by?’ she asked, hoping her voice sounded normal.

  ‘I’d like half a dozen large desserts and as many individual desserts as you can manage. The day after tomorrow would be good.’

  ‘I’ll need dishes. Ramekins, things like that.’

  ‘I’ll get some to you,’ he said and rang off.

  Meg had always enjoyed making puddings, pastries and desserts. She enjoyed the delicate precision required and was good at piping. Now, she went into the kitchen and started a batch of pastry. Although she tried hard not to, she couldn’t help feeling enormously flattered by this request. Justin was the head chef in a prestigious hotel and had a reputation to keep up. He might not have been personally responsible for the desserts, but it was up to him to make sure they were of the required standard. And he’d chosen her to produce them. He might not have had a huge choice of people who could do it, she realised, but she was confident he wouldn’t have asked her if he didn’t think she could produce food of a very high standard.

  She was making crème pâtissière when her mother came in. ‘Oh, that looks nice,’ said Louise, observing the rows of pastry cases. ‘Have we had another booking?’

  ‘It’s not for us,’ said Meg, blushing and hoping her mother wouldn’t notice. ‘Justin rang to say he needs me to make desserts for their sweet trolley. He’s paying, of course, and he says he’ll put guests our way when they’re full.’ She took a breath. ‘I thought as he was Andrew’s son, I should be helpful.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Louise, but she sounded surprised.

  ‘He can’t cook because he’s sprained his ankle so his pastry chef has taken over in the main kitchen,’ she explained. ‘I think we should charge quite a lot for the desserts. We’re quite busy, after all. By the way, what did Andrew say about turning the singles into private bathrooms?’

  Louise looked caught out. ‘I completely forgot to ask him,’ she admitted. ‘It was so lovely to see him—’

  ‘I understand,’ Meg said hastily. ‘Perhaps we could get on with the work and you could ask him next time he rings? He’s unlikely to say no to you.’ She smiled, pleased that the attention wasn’t on her just at that moment.

  ‘Yes, all right.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be very expensive. Bob would do it. Susan was saying that now he’s started doing plumbing, he’s really enjoying it.’

  ‘Hasn’t he got enough to do with the kitchen garden?’

  ‘He’s got a nephew doing that, apparently. One of Susan’s sister’s lads who needed a job.’

  Louise laughed. ‘People might say this hotel is run entirely on people who are related to other members of staff. Mostly Susan.’

  ‘Well, it is! And that includes me!’ said Meg, giving her mother a sideways hug.

  Justin appeared in the early afternoon. He limped into the kitchen with a huge box.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Susan, who was decanting home-made jam into glass bowls.

  ‘It’s everything you could ever need for making desserts, little cakes, tarts, anything you can think of,’ said Justin, depositing the box on a side table.

  ‘Oh!’ said Meg, longing to stop icing tiny eclairs and investigate the box.

  ‘What are you doing, Susan?’ said Justin. ‘Is that clotted cream? Where did you get that?’

  Susan nodded proudly. ‘I made it myself, overnight on the range, just as my mother did.’

  Justin seemed disappointed it didn’t come from a shop, but then went on: ‘I need to have a look in the safe. My father rang to say he doesn’t think the deeds of the house are in the bundle he took back.’

  ‘My mother is in the office,’ said Meg, starting to unpack the box. Why did Andrew ask Justin about the deeds? Why not ask her mother, who was on the spot? She and Andrew seemed to speak on the phone often enough.

  Justin back came into the kitchen a few minutes later. As he wasn’t holding anything, Meg assumed he hadn’t found the deeds either. ‘Would it be possible for you to drive me back to the hotel? Louise says it’s all right for you to take the car.’

  ‘You go on, Meg,’ said Susan before Meg could save herself. ‘I can manage the teas. If not, I’ll ask Cherry to come up. She’s got nothing better to do. And Louise is always happy to lend a hand.’

  Deprived of her excuse to say no, Meg took off her apron and washed her hands. ‘Come on then.’

  As they walked slowly to the car, Justin limping quite badly, Meg realised she was about to be trapped in a car with someone she didn’t like and didn’t know what to say to. Fifteen minutes of awkwardness stretched ahead of her.

  Soon after they’d set off, Justin said, ‘I’m not used to being driven by a woman.’

  Meg was tempted to say that she wasn’t used to driving grumpy chefs with sprained ankles around the lanes of Dorset but decided it was more dignified to stay silent. The silence lasted a few moments but then she had to speak.

  ‘It’s all right. You probably don’t need to hold on to the handbrake like that. I have passed my driving test.’

  Justin didn’t let go.

  ‘And I learnt to drive in London, which is a lot more challenging than these charming country lanes.’

  Justin put his hand back in his lap. ‘Sorry.’

  This apology surprised her.

  ‘I expect you’re wondering why my father sent me to find the deeds when he could have asked your mother,’ he said at last.

  ‘A bit. After all, you’re injured, even if you did need to bring me the bowls and things. And if you’re not cooking, you must have extra responsibilities to make sure the kitchen is up to standard.’ Meg was pleased with this. It made her sound as if she really understood from personal experience how large, busy hotel kitchens worked.

  Justin nodded. ‘That’s true. But it wasn’t my father who asked me to look. I said it was, for convenience sake, but it was my uncle Colin, his brother.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Meg, surprised.

  ‘Although he’s not an executor of my grandfather’s will, he wants to see the deeds of the hotel too, and it appears my father may not have brought the right ones with him back to France.’

  Meg glanced across at Justin as she pulled up at a crossroads. The route involved a maze of little lanes criss-crossing each other and she needed to concentrate. Although she’d made the journey a few times, she had been distracted by what Justin had been saying. Now she wanted to remember the way herself and not have to ask Justin for directions.

  ‘The thing is, there’s conflict between Dad and Uncle Colin,’ Justin went on. ‘Dad loves the hotel and wants to keep it. Uncle Colin wants to sell.’

  ‘Who was it left to?’

  ‘To both of them, I think.’

  ‘So if Andrew wants to keep Nightingale Woods, he might have to buy his brother’s half?’

  ‘I don’t know the details of the will, and I don’t know how things have been left, but that’s quite probable.’ Justin paused. ‘It’s unlikely the hotel will earn enough to support any sort of loan from a bank so I doubt my father could raise enough money to pay off my uncle.’

  Meg felt a sudden gulp emerging and coughed. She was glad of another crossroads she had to stop at. She realised she’d lost track of where she needed to go. ‘Which way here?’

  Justin frowned, implying she should know. ‘Straight on.’

  ‘I was distracted.’

  He didn’t need to ask why. ‘I know you feel very fond of Nightingale Woods. It has a lot of charm, but it isn’t really a going concern, is it?’ he said.

  ‘It can be made one,’ said Meg firmly.

  Justin sighed. ‘It doesn’t have enough guest rooms currently. More would need to be done up. It’s very old-fashioned and it doesn’t provide what people want any more.’

  Meg didn’t reply. The first two things could be changed, but the last would take money, quite a lot of it. She thought of Alexandra, how in France she had turned all sorts of different buildings into accommodation. Surely there’d be scope for that at Nightingale Woods?

  Chapter Fourteen

  A couple of days later, Meg returned to the hotel at Newton-cum-Hardy, this time with the back of the car full of desserts. When he heard they were ready, Justin offered to come and collect them but Meg wanted to make sure everything arrived in as good a condition as possible. Besides, if she went to his hotel, she could leave when she wanted. If Justin came to Nightingale Woods, she was stuck with him until he chose to go.

  She pulled up to the service area and opened the double doors at the back of the Mini Traveller. All the desserts were in wicker baskets and cardboard boxes, often with greaseproof paper as extra protection. A brief glance told her there had been no disasters.

  Just as she was about to go to the kitchen to find people to help her unload, Justin arrived, with a couple of young men. He peered in. ‘They look good,’ he said.

  ‘No need to sound surprised,’ said Meg, secretly pleased. ‘You asked me to do them because I’m good.’

  ‘I just didn’t realise you were quite as skilled as that,’ he said with a smile.

  Meg leant into the back of the Mini: ostensibly to retrieve some fruit tarts; in fact to hide her blushes.

  ‘Would you like to come in and have a look round the kitchens?’ Justin asked. ‘Have a cup of coffee?’

  Meg hesitated. She’d have loved that, but somehow it seemed disloyal to her too-small, too-old-fashioned place of work.

  ‘Go on,’ Justin said. ‘It’ll be good for you to see a proper professional kitchen in action.’

  ‘I’ve seen plenty of professional kitchens, thank you,’ she said stiffly, hoping she hadn’t done herself out of the tour.

  ‘Well, have a look at this one too. It would be handy for you to know how we do things in case you ever get offered a job working here.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t approve of women in kitchens,’ she said, delighted to be able to catch him out.

  ‘If you were offered a job, I wouldn’t be here,’ he said, ‘and some of these younger chefs aren’t so old-fashioned.’

  ‘Old-fashioned,’ she murmured. ‘Yes.’

  He laughed and opened the door to the hotel. ‘If you think about where you work, you are in no position to mock anything for being old-fashioned.’

  ‘It’s one thing working in an old house that hasn’t been changed much from when it was a family home and another having outdated ideas. It’s quite easy to change the decor. Apparently, it’s harder to change a mind.’ She gave herself a mental cheer.

  Justin wasn’t impressed. ‘My mind is fine as it is, thank you. Now, here’s the beating heart of the hotel.’

  It was hard not to envy this kitchen, with its sleek, purpose-built spaces, full of the best ovens, gadgets and equipment. She particularly coveted the cold kitchen, separate from the hot kitchen, where cold dishes, very often desserts, could be created in a chilled environment so gelatine wouldn’t melt, and cream would hold its shape. Just the size of the mixer, capable of beating dozens of egg whites into a cloud of potential meringue, made her realise how much her wrist and arm ached when she beat eggs with her balloon whisk.

  By the time the tour was over she was determined to buy a professional mixer, even if she had to use her own money. She could take it with her when she left Nightingale Woods. She might also see if she could convert one of the many larders and still rooms into a separate space for making desserts.

  The tour over, they went together to the back door. ‘Here’s some money for the desserts,’ said Justin. ‘I know we didn’t talk about how much you were charging for your labour, but I think this is fair.’

  He handed Meg an envelope which seemed to be stuffed with notes. She took it without looking at it, let alone counting it.

  ‘Aren’t you going to check how much I’ve given you?’ said Justin.

  Meg wanted to lie, to be able to say something that wouldn’t reveal her ignorance about what her work was worth, but she knew she wouldn’t get away with it even if she tried.

  ‘I don’t know how much I should be paid for making them. I’m just hoping you’re not cheating me or the hotel.’

  ‘That’s very honest of you, Meg. And I promise you I’m not doing you out of anything. I’ve paid the going rate.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll need you to make some more desserts when these are gone. That’s OK, isn’t it?’