‘Look!’ Louise slowed and then stopped the car and indicated a vista visible through a farm gate. ‘There’s the hotel, Nightingale Woods. Isn’t it beautiful?’

  It was. A perfect specimen of a Georgian house sat in extensive gardens. Everything was symmetrical, three rows of windows with dormers in the roof. There were chimney stacks at both ends. Behind the building was woodland and in front a valley with a river at the bottom. It had a magical quality, and could have been in a painting by an old master, it was so pleasing to the eye.

  ‘It’s gorgeous. I can see why you fell in love with it.’

  ‘I know. Even in a very small black and white photograph it looked heavenly. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to work there. I was so happy before Geoff started throwing his weight around, sacking people and being so unpleasant.’

  ‘That is such a shame. It’s a really beautiful building in a heavenly spot.’

  ‘I know. But, sadly, we’re not nearly as busy as we ought to be.’

  ‘Why on earth not? Surely people must absolutely love staying there.’

  ‘They do, if they come, but there’s another, newer hotel not far away that has more to offer – at least on paper.’

  ‘What sort of things? What could this gem be lacking?’

  Louise laughed at Meg’s indignation. ‘We don’t have enough bathrooms, for one thing, and the other hotel has a swimming pool. I think it may even be heated. Younger people definitely want those things.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Meg, wondering if perhaps there could be changes made so this hotel, in this little patch of heaven, could attract younger visitors too.

  ‘Come and see Nightingale Woods close up,’ said Louise. ‘I want to make Ambrosine’s sandwiches while Geoff is on his break. Her colonel doesn’t always feed her and I think she should keep her strength up with all the walking she does.’ She started the car.

  Meg couldn’t help feeling excited as they drove to the beautiful house on the hill, but at the same time she wondered what on earth she was getting into.

  Chapter Two

  Once Meg had been shown the flat over the garages where her mother lived – two bedrooms, a sitting room, a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette, Louise said, ‘Right. If you don’t need or want to unpack or anything, I’ll show you around the hotel.’

  As Meg followed her, she realised just how much of her mother’s heart was committed to Nightingale Woods.

  It wasn’t very different from the large, rambling, fairly grand family home it had been, although there were a few obvious differences. The black and white tiled hall contained a reception desk, for example, as well as a couple of small sofas, some chairs and a stand filled with leaflets about local places of interest.

  ‘This is the hall, obviously,’ said Louise, ‘and that’s the morning room, where guests go after breakfast if they’re not going out. The sun streams in.’ She paused as she and Meg inspected the room from the doorway.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Meg, and she meant it, but she couldn’t overlook the rather faded air it had about it.

  ‘But it definitely needs to be redecorated,’ Louise said, who obviously felt the same.

  Although they agreed about this, Meg could tell her mother felt invested in the house and would take any criticism personally. She decided not to offer any opinions unless asked.

  The ladies’ drawing room, another of the many reception rooms, was at the side of the house and had a big bay window looking out on to the garden. The furniture was antique and beautiful and looked as if it had always been here. But the sofas and chairs were quite shabby and possibly no longer comfortable, the curtains were faded and the rugs were threadbare in places. There was a grand piano near the window, covered with silver framed photographs.

  ‘Does the piano work?’ asked Meg.

  ‘Oh yes. It was tuned the other day, by a blind tuner. It’s really quite good, apparently, although not by a famous maker.’

  ‘I bet the new hotel doesn’t have a room with a grand piano in it,’ said Meg.

  Louise rolled her eyes. ‘It’s probably got a Hammond organ that rises out of the floor! Now come and see the main drawing room. It’s about the same as this really. Old-fashioned, really quite shabby but somehow elegant,’ she said. ‘Let me show you.’

  ‘It’s really lovely!’ said Meg when they got there. This room looked out from the front of the house and the river could be seen glinting at the bottom of the valley. ‘I love the wallpaper. It’s like a mural, birds and flowers climbing up the walls. Faded, but all the more beautiful because of it.’

  ‘I’m so glad you feel the same as I do,’ said Louise. ‘It just needs a lick of paint, and new curtains and cushions. It wouldn’t take a lot of money. I’d make the curtains myself or even repair them. The carpets are ancient but genuine Persian so it doesn’t matter if they’re old.’

  ‘It has a lovely light,’ said Meg. ‘It’s like being in a picture from a book of fairy tales.’

  Louise nodded. ‘I know what you mean. But it’s the dining room that makes us popular for weddings and larger events. Come and see.’

  This room had been extended at some time in its history, the extension reaching out into the garden at the back of the house. It was far larger than the other rooms but light and welcoming and its decor was less tired.

  ‘Andrew told me that one of the brides who married into the family brought money with her and she was insistent on having a room where they could have dances.’

  ‘It looks as if it’s been redecorated quite recently,’ said Meg, admiring the beautifully painted cornices, pilasters and the huge ceiling rose from whence hung a huge chandelier.

  ‘Yes. Andrew said he had to get out quite a large loan to do it as it needed a fair bit of repair as well as just decoration. But it’s the room that earns the money.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘I wonder why no one has started to get it ready for the banquet. It takes a little while to get all the tables and chairs into place.’

  ‘When is it?’ asked Meg.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s tomorrow.’

  ‘Yikes!’ said Meg. ‘That’s very soon!’

  ‘Let me show you the kitchen,’ Louise said. ‘Geoff is bound to be there prepping for the meal. I was so excited about you coming, I didn’t ask him how things were going this morning.’

  Meg sensed her mother appreciated having her there as moral support.

  A stocky man in grubby chef’s whites was talking loudly into a telephone. On the table was a box full of frozen chickens.

  Meg looked around. It was a kitchen that had hardly changed, she reckoned, since it had been the engine room of the house, cooking for the family for generations. There was a large professional oven and one or two other more modern appliances but basically it was the same. A large wooden table, the surface ridged with decades of scrubbing, took up the middle of the room. A vast dresser covered nearly the whole of one wall, full of every kind of crockery, plate, dish, jug or jelly mould one could imagine. Two enormous sinks were located under the window and near these were huge plate racks. An old range, currently out of use, filled a fireplace big enough to roast an ox. It was a lovely room, Meg decided, but needed organising.

  ‘Fuck off!’ said Geoff and slammed down the receiver.

  Meg instantly looked at her mother in shock. While Meg was quite accustomed to hearing such language in professional kitchens, she was horrified that her mother should have been subjected to it. Louise caught her gaze, equally embarrassed.

  ‘Geoff?’ said Louise tentatively. ‘This is my daughter, Meg, who’s come to stay for a little while.’

  ‘Bastard agency has let me down,’ said Geoff, ignoring Meg. ‘You’ll have to go and see if you can round up a few waitresses from the local yokels.’

  Louise gasped. ‘Oh my goodness, that’s terrible news! I knew it was a bad idea to sack them all.’

  ‘Well, if you know everything, go and sort it out! Get them back!’ said Geoff, directing his anger at her.

  ‘I can’t expect them to just come back at a moment’s notice after the way they were treated,’ Louise replied.

  ‘You know what?’ Geoff shot back. ‘I don’t care. I don’t have to stay around and deal with this fiasco. I’m off.’ He pushed past both women and left the room.

  ‘Do you think he’s been drinking?’ said Louise, white with shock and visibly shaking.

  ‘Going by the smell of his breath as he went past, yes,’ said Meg. ‘Do you think he’s just gone to get a bit of a break? Or has he actually left?’

  Louise put her hands on the big old table to steady herself. ‘I don’t know. I can’t believe he’s just walked out! It’s so irresponsible. But I wouldn’t put it past him. How on earth are we going to cope with the lunch tomorrow without him?’

  Meg didn’t hesitate. ‘You go and see if the staff – the local ones you told me about – will come back. We’ll need them even if Geoff hasn’t left for good. If you explain what’s happened, they may well take pity on you. We’ll be so nice to the people who come, maybe the others will follow.’

  ‘There aren’t actually that many of them,’ said Louise. ‘Three permanent and a couple of extras for big occasions. But you’re right. If I throw myself on their mercy and tell them Geoff has gone, they might relent. They won’t want to miss doing the lunch as it’s so important to everyone.’

  ‘Then go!’ Meg gave her mother a friendly push. ‘But tell me the menu first. I’d better start dealing with these frozen chickens.’

  Louise gave her daughter a sudden hug. ‘I know I should be really upset about Geoff leaving, but in fact I just feel relief! He’s made everyone’s lives so miserable and difficult. But now you’re here, and I don’t need to worry any more.’

  ‘Off you go, Mum,’ said Meg, again. She wasn’t quite as insouciant as her mother about the departing chef; she knew that she would have to take his place, and cooking for fifty with no notice to speak of wasn’t going to be easy. ‘But before you rush off, tell me what am I supposed to be cooking?’

  ‘Oh, coronation chicken!’ said Louise and fled.

  Chapter Three

  Meg really wanted to get changed out of the clothes she’d travelled down from London in but she remembered that her mother had locked the flat door and put the key in her pocket. Her means of getting in was currently travelling the country lanes with her mother, who was going door to door, begging for people willing to be waiting staff.

  She found an apron to put on over her ‘rather short’ dress and set about sorting through the fridge. She could do this while thinking about the menu. She’d found a large quantity of slightly stale bread – there wasn’t any fresher – and was inspecting it when Ambrosine came into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ she said. ‘I suggested to your mother that I came and gave you a hand. She said it was an excellent idea.’

  Meg smiled. It was a sweet thought, but she did wonder what a woman in her seventies could do to help.

  ‘I know you’re wondering what I can do,’ Ambrosine went on, ‘but I can give you useful information. For a start, I know that your mother hides the egg mayonnaise – if she’s had time to make some – behind the packets of margarine in the refrigerator.’

  Meg put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh! Mum was going to make you sandwiches in case you hadn’t had lunch. We both forgot all about it. I could easily make you some now.’ She retrieved the bowl of egg mayonnaise. ‘Do we know if we’re expecting anyone for tea? It’s too soon to make sandwiches but I could get a batch of scones on.’

  ‘I don’t think there are any guests booked in for tea. Local people have stopped coming recently. Tea and a selection of biscuits from a tin aren’t very appealing.’

  Meg was shocked. No wonder people didn’t bother to come if that’s all that was on offer. ‘How many sandwiches would you like? And how many fillings? I think I saw some cheddar in the fridge and there may be a cucumber or a tomato to go with it?’

  ‘Just one round of egg is all I require. I still find eggs rather a treat, after rationing in the war.’

  As Ambrosine showed no signs of leaving the kitchen, even after the sandwich was made, Meg suggested she took a seat and put the sandwich on a plate for her. ‘Then I can go on asking you things without feeling guilty about making you tired.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Ambrosine and pulled out a chair at the big table.

  ‘Do you know anything about the lunch?’ Meg asked.

  ‘The locals tend to call it the banquet because to begin with it was a dinner.’

  ‘My mother told me that it was originally for the tenants to celebrate the squire’s birthday.’

  ‘That’s right. Now it’s for the great and good of the neighbourhood. People look forward to coming all year. People see friends they don’t see at other times, which makes it especially important.’ Ambrosine paused and looked down at her plate for a second. ‘This year is the first year that the colonel and I haven’t been invited. The chef said we took up too much space in the dining room. And he’s got a point. It’s a lovely event but always a little cramped.’

  ‘Well, I’m inviting you!’ said Meg. ‘If the chef could uninvite you, I can invite you. Now, I’ve got a menu here: vichyssoise, coronation chicken and chocolate mousse.’

  ‘Not sure who chose that,’ said Ambrosine. ‘Cold soup isn’t very popular with country folk, and chocolate mousse can be very indigestible.’

  ‘What about the chicken? Do you like curry-flavoured mayonnaise with rice?’

  ‘I do, as long as it’s not too hot a curry. Although chicken can be a bit dry, can’t it?’

  ‘It can. But I know a way of cooking it which keeps it much more moist and I think if I’m careful I could get it going before it’s defrosted. I’ve no idea how Geoff thought that he was going to get it all done in time.’

  ‘He was expecting the food to be brought ready-made from the agency. Cherry, one of the girls, who I really hope will come back when your mother asks her to, told me she heard him ordering it. He was negotiating a very cheap price for what was going to be a very substandard meal.’ Ambrosine raised an eyebrow. While enormously friendly, she had an aristocratic air about her, Meg thought.

  ‘Even the chicken?’

  ‘I suspect he had that in the freezer,’ said Ambrosine. ‘He was a great lover of the freezer and the packet. The vichyssoise was coming out of a packet. And the mousse.’

  Meg shuddered.

  ‘I know!’ said Ambrosine. ‘Absolutely frightful! He was doing the hotel no good at all, you know. Andrew – lovely man; his father was an old friend of mine – isn’t very interested in food. Some people aren’t, you know.’

  ‘How can you run a hotel if you’re not interested in food?’ said Meg.

  ‘You employ people who are interested,’ said Ambrosine. ‘So,’ she said brightly. ‘Now that dreadful man has left, what are we going to have for lunch tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll have to stick to the menu we have, I think,’ said Meg. ‘Someone will have chosen it and be upset if they don’t get it.’

  ‘Never in life, my dear!’ said Ambrosine. ‘They won’t remember, and if it’s delicious, they won’t mind anyway!’

  Meg exhaled. ‘I’m limited by my ingredients. I won’t have time to go shopping.’

  Ambrosine waved a hand. ‘You have a garden full of vegetables.’

  ‘Have I? I had no idea. My tour of the hotel didn’t get as far as the garden. That’s really useful.’

  ‘Geoff got rid of the gardener but not very long ago and the vegetables will still be there.’

  ‘So we could have vegetable soup?’

  ‘Excellent idea!’

  ‘Followed by the chicken. What would we like instead of the packet mousse?

  ‘Almost anything would be an improvement.’

  Meg thought of the stale bread she’d taken out of the fridge. ‘I wonder …’

  ‘You look as if you’ve had an idea.’

  ‘It is a bit unusual for a formal event but what about bread-and-butter pudding?’

  ‘I can’t imagine anything nicer!’ said Ambrosine.

  ‘We would need an awful lot of bread, dried fruit, milk and cream, which might be difficult at short notice.’

  ‘If you telephoned them now, you could order the bread from the local bakery. They’d sell you today’s leftover loaves very cheaply.’

  ‘But there might not be any leftover loaves!’ protested Meg. ‘Don’t they have a good idea exactly how many they need to bake?’

  ‘You can but ask, my dear,’ said Ambrosine, who was obviously enjoying herself.

  ‘What about the dried fruit, cream, milk and eggs?’ said Meg.

  ‘There’ll be dried fruit left over from Christmas in that cupboard,’ she indicated which one. ‘It will be very dry though.’

  ‘I’ll soak it in brandy,’ said Meg. ‘What about the dairy products and eggs?’

  ‘There’s a very nice farm near here that always used to supply the house with all those things after we stopped having a home farm. I’m sure we could get everything we would need from them.’

  ‘You seem to have all the answers, Ambrosine,’ said Meg.

  ‘I’ve lived here for over fifteen years. It has its advantages.’

  ‘Then maybe you can answer another question. It’s going to be quite hard to make bread-and-butter pudding look nice on a plate and we’d need some large dishes to serve things in.’

  ‘Come with me,’ said Ambrosine. ‘I know where all the crockery is kept.’

  Meg followed the old lady down a passage into a storeroom.

  ‘Voilà!’ said Ambrosine, indicating a small room, probably originally used to store meat, or game. There were shelves from wall to ceiling stacked with every sort of dish and tin.

  ‘How do you know where everything is kept?’ asked Meg, looking at the shelves with wonder. ‘There’s so much here!’

  Ambrosine didn’t answer this, pointing to the top shelves. ‘Look, there are some pie dishes and there are the roasting tins from when we did Christmas lunch for everyone who worked for us at Nightingale’s.’