‘It’s OK, Laura,’ said Justin, eyeing her crossly. ‘I think my uncle was joking. Glad you enjoyed it!’

  ‘Well, in that case …’ She glanced around the table, making sure everyone was looking at her. ‘This might be the moment to tell everyone our plan?’ Laura was obviously excited at the prospect.

  ‘Erm …’ Justin began but Laura ignored him.

  ‘Now the hotel is doing so much better,’ she began, ‘and I think we all know why that is?’ She sent Justin an adoring look under her fluttering eyelashes. ‘We thought it’s time for us to leave Newton-cum-Hardy and take over the kitchen here. Just can still help Raoul if he needs it. It’s so handy the two hotels being so close to each other.’

  Meg stared at her, wondering what on earth she was saying.

  ‘Justin will do the all the main cooking and I will take over the dessert side of things. For those of you that don’t know …’

  Which was almost everyone, thought Meg.

  ‘… I’m a trained pastry chef. So I’ll do that and Meg – lovely Meg who we all value so much – will have a very special role making the cakes and scones and sandwiches and things for the afternoon teas.’

  ‘Lovely idea, Laura my dear,’ said Colin. ‘But have you given any thought to the cost? Nightingale Woods is scraping along the bottom on one chef. It could never afford to pay for three. Isn’t that right, Andrew?’

  ‘I’m afraid it is. Justin, have you costed any of this?’ asked Andrew.

  Justin looked at Laura as if unsure what to say.

  Meg couldn’t bear it. The thought of working alongside the man she loved and his glamorous, ‘trained pastry chef’ girlfriend was too painful. ‘It’s all right, everyone. I have a plan of my own. I won’t be available to make cakes for the hotel.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Laura.

  ‘I’m going to France. I’m going to work in a restaurant and learn my trade,’ she said.

  ‘As a waitress?’ suggested Colin. ‘Can you speak French?’

  ‘Not as a waitress. In the kitchen. It’s what’s called doing a stage,’ Meg explained.

  ‘What’s a stage?’ asked Laura. ‘I don’t understand.’ She was obviously a bit put out.

  ‘A stage is when a young chef, someone who wants to learn, works in a professional kitchen,’ Justin explained. ‘They’re not usually paid and they are worked to the bone.’ He paused. ‘That said, there’s no better way to learn, and if Meg has managed to persuade a chef to take her on, she should absolutely do it. She’s far too talented a chef to waste her skills making Victoria jam sponges,’ he finished.

  ‘Could you get a French chef to let you work in his kitchen?’ asked Andrew. ‘I thought the French were terribly conventional about things like that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that a restaurant kitchen is a suitable place for a lovely young girl like you,’ said Colin. ‘They’re terrible places. Isn’t that right, Justin?’

  ‘Meg is a talented and experienced chef. She has worked in professional kitchens before. This is a great opportunity for her. She should definitely take it,’ Justin said firmly.

  ‘But that means I’d have to make all the cakes!’ Meg heard Laura whisper to Justin.

  ‘Yes,’ said Meg. ‘And apart from making Victoria jam sponges, a fresh one every day, you’ll need to make a good Dundee cake, ginger cakes, coffee cakes, chocolate cakes, flapjacks, shortbread and, of course, scones.’ Meg smiled. ‘But for a professionally trained pastry chef, that will be – literally – a piece of cake!’

  Laura continued to address Justin from behind her hand but at a lower volume this time. ‘We didn’t do any of those things in Switzerland.’

  Meg got up. ‘Now, if everyone will excuse me, I’d better go and pack.’

  ‘When are you going, darling?’ asked Louise, anxious.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Meg. ‘It’s for the best.’

  She left the dining room with her head held high but once in her room she sat on the bed and stared into space. She felt utterly shocked and bereft. She was too upset to cry.

  A little later Louise came in. She was carrying two mugs of hot chocolate and a pile of broken, home-made biscuits. ‘Are you all right, darling?’

  She put her arms round her daughter and it was only then that Meg allowed herself to burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Sadly for Meg’s pride, she couldn’t disappear from Nightingale Woods just like that. She had to arrange her journey to France, apart from cooking until Justin took over. However much she yearned to leave the hotel and not face anyone the following morning, she found that she couldn’t let the hotel down.

  Andrew came into the kitchen early, while Meg was planning what to cook for dinner and lunch, should anyone be in. Breakfasts were simple and could easily be managed by Susan and Cherry, especially as Louise was back looking after the office side of things, so Cherry could be in the kitchen.

  ‘Meg,’ he said, ‘Louise tells me you really do want to leave to go to France.’ He paused. ‘Is there anything I can do to change your mind? You’ve done so much for Nightingale Woods – I really don’t want you to go.’

  Meg was very touched and realised she felt tearful again, although she thought she’d wept all the tears in the world the previous night. ‘Justin is a brilliant chef. It’ll be fine. And Laura – I’m sure her desserts will be amazing.’

  Andrew frowned. ‘Laura – hmm. Do you know how close she and Justin are?’

  Meg took a breath. ‘They’re practically engaged. Laura told me.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Andrew after a few moments. ‘So perhaps it is best for everyone if you do go.’

  ‘I’m going for the sake of my career!’ Meg insisted. ‘No other reason.’

  Andrew smiled and shook his head. ‘That may be why you’re going, of course, but I wonder if that’s the only reason that Justin was so keen for you to go to France.’

  Meg longed to ask him what he meant but didn’t feel she knew him well enough.

  It was extremely hard telling Susan, Cherry and the others that she was leaving Nightingale Woods. They’d been through so much together and were such a good team.

  ‘So that little madam is going to be in here making fancy desserts, is she?’ said Susan, her mouth in a hard line and her eyes narrowed. ‘And how will the guests feel about that, I’d like to know!’

  ‘They may like it a lot,’ said Meg, trying to placate her. ‘She’s professionally trained, so—’

  ‘Professionally trained she may be,’ said Susan, still bristling with indignation, ‘but she doesn’t know how to treat people, not like you do, Meggy.’

  Susan didn’t often call Meg by her pet name and she realised Susan was really upset. ‘I’m so sorry, but I can’t stay. Laura would only have let me bake cakes and make scones and learning to cook in France will be very good experience.’

  ‘Then perhaps when you’ve done that, you can come back to Nightingale Woods!’ said Susan, cheered by this thought.

  Meg smiled and shook her head. As long as Justin was there, she would never be able to come back to Nightingale Woods and the thought made her desperately sad.

  Later, when Meg had escaped with a cup of tea to her favourite spot in the garden, Ambrosine found her. She was also holding a mug of something and sat down next to Meg.

  ‘So, darling, you’re leaving us, I gather,’ Ambrosine said.

  Meg gave a long sigh. ‘I really don’t want to, but I don’t have any alternative. Justin is going to cook and Laura is going to do desserts. She’s professionally trained and they are practically engaged, and so there wouldn’t be room in the kitchen for both of us.’

  ‘Louise told me Laura wanted you to stay and make cakes.’

  Meg made a dismissive noise. ‘That’s all I’m capable of, it seems.’

  ‘It’s possible that Laura doesn’t feel confident making them,’ Ambrosine suggested.

  ‘I still can’t stay! And working in a French restaurant will be amazingly good for my cooking.’ She paused as a flash of anxiety about what she was about to undertake hit her. ‘Although it will be very difficult.’

  ‘You’re very good at “difficult”, if I may say so,’ said Ambrosine. ‘But Nightingale Woods is going to miss you.’

  ‘Not nearly as much as I’m going to miss Nightingale Woods, Ambrosine! I’ve loved being here so much. And yes, some of it has been difficult, but so rewarding! It’s been a privilege to work in such a beautiful place, with such wonderful people around me.’ Meg gave Ambrosine a shy smile. ‘Like you.’

  Ambrosine laughed. ‘Silly girl! And remember, what’s for you won’t go by you, so cheer up!’

  Meg managed a laugh in reply. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Later that day she rang Alexandra and told her about her rapid need to vacate Nightingale Woods.

  Alexandra was reassuringly quick on the uptake and didn’t need details of Meg’s feelings.

  ‘Don’t worry. David is in London selling his brocante to the English. I’ll get in touch and ask him to ring you. You can travel here with him. He’s got a big old Peugeot now and it’ll be fun.’ She paused. ‘It’s going to be so lovely to have you here. I can’t wait!’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Meg didn’t relax until they were well on their way to Provence, in David’s enormous Peugeot 403 estate.

  ‘The last time I was in France, headed south, I was on the train going to Alexandra’s wedding!’ she said. ‘I was a bit nervous about making her wedding cake.’

  ‘And you did that amazing croquembouche, which turned out wonderfully, as I recall,’ said David. ‘What a day that was!’

  As Meg thought back to that golden day, full of friends, food and French glamour, she felt tears gather in her throat. With her being in love with Justin, and Justin being promised to Laura, if not yet officially engaged, she doubted she would ever have a wedding day like that.

  ‘Are you all right, chook?’ David asked, shooting her a quick glance.

  ‘I’m fine! I just got a bit of dust in my eyes. And I’m worried that I haven’t brought enough clothes.’ Too late she remembered the rule that if you are going to lie, it’s better to just stick to one untruth, or it looks suspicious.

  David, who obviously saw straight through her attempt to pretend she wasn’t having a moment of sadness, patted her knee.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that. Alexandra will take you to the market and get you all kitted out.’

  ‘I’ve got my working gear, which is the most important thing,’ said Meg. She looked out of the window. ‘It’s lovely to be back in France. It’s so different from Dorset.’ She gave a shuddering sigh.

  ‘You’re tired,’ David said. ‘Why don’t you shut your eyes and get some sleep?’

  Meg felt she would never sleep but shutting her eyes would mean she didn’t have to make conversation. Although David was a relaxing presence, he did worry about her; hiding her broken heart was an effort. No doubt it would all come out when she got to Alexandra’s, but for now, she wanted to appear as if everything was fine.

  She did doze a bit and was ready for lunch when David pulled up in front of a small restaurant in a little market town.

  ‘This place is always very good,’ said David. ‘Do you feel a bit better now?’

  ‘I do, actually,’ said Meg. ‘Quite a lot better.’

  When they were established at a table with their plat du jour on its way, she said, ‘I feel bad that you’re doing all the driving, David. I should take a turn.’

  He brushed her offer aside. ‘I’ve done the journey many times since moving to France,’ he said. ‘The car knows its way without me. I just switch her on and point her in the right direction. There’s a spot where I get an hour’s nap, and on I go.’

  Meg laughed. ‘You love living in France, don’t you?’

  ‘I certainly do!’ He broke off a piece of bread and ate it before going on. ‘Are you thinking you might stay over here, too?’

  She shrugged. ‘If I survive my stage and get a job, I could. The world is my oyster, after all.’

  ‘Such a shame they’re not in season. You’ve put the idea into my head now.’

  Meg was genuinely amused. She gave David a playful tap on the wrist. ‘Oh, David!’ she said.

  ‘I know!’ he said. ‘Now tuck in. This is our last meal until Provence.’

  At last, the big old car was headed down the drive towards the chateau. Meg could see Alexandra standing in the open doorway. Next to her was a large dog and two cats as well as a couple of teenagers. Meg remembered them all from Alexandra’s wedding and was thrilled to think she’d be with them in a matter of moments.

  ‘Welcome!’ Alexandra said when the car had pulled up in front of the chateau and Meg had got out. She swept Meg into her arms. ‘We are all so thrilled to have you here! Stéphie is just decorating the table outside. Let me show you the bathroom and then we’ll go and have a drink in the garden.’

  The table in the garden was beautiful. Meg couldn’t imagine that the set designers of A Midsummer Night’s Dream could possibly create anything as lovely. Stéphie had threaded jasmine, roses and honeysuckle together and woven the garland round the dishes, jugs, glasses and carafes that covered most of the surface. The fragrance was heady.

  David was already holding a glass of wine next to a very handsome man whom she recognised as Maxime; she’d met him at Alexandra’s wedding. Meg was inclined to be a bit shy of Antoine and Maxime, both glamorous Frenchmen who seemed very sophisticated to her. But she soon relaxed under the influence of food and wine and kindness.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?’ asked Alexandra a little later. ‘You wouldn’t like some cheese?’

  ‘I can’t wait to try all the cheeses when I’m not so full or so tired,’ she said.

  Alexandra got up from the table. ‘Come on, let’s get you up to bed. You’re not starting at the restaurant tomorrow, are you?’

  ‘No, I certainly hope not. I think I start on Monday?’ Meg looked across at Antoine, who nodded.

  ‘So, you’ve got the weekend to relax,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘Yes,’ said Antoine. ‘And after tonight, we must speak to Meg in French all the time, so she gets used to it. Pierre – he’s the chef – agreed this would be a good idea.’

  ‘Luckily a lot of the language of the kitchen is in French, so I’ll know those things,’ said Meg.

  ‘No need to be anxious,’ said David. ‘As I’ve said before, many times, you’re going to be fine.’

  Somehow this heartfelt assurance didn’t make Meg feel very much better.

  Antoine had found a little car for Meg to use so she could get herself to and from the restaurant, and the next morning, she and Alexandra did a trial run to the small market town and identified somewhere she could park.

  ‘It’s an easy journey and there won’t be much traffic at seven in the morning,’ said Alexandra.

  ‘Yes. It’s so kind of Antoine to get me a car. I’ll have to sort out an international driving licence.’

  ‘Antoine will help you with that.’

  ‘And it’s so kind of you to make sure I have plenty of whites and trousers. And neckerchiefs. I never wore them in London. I never worked anywhere that bothered with them.’

  ‘The chef, Pierre, is very traditional, I gather. But don’t worry, he has strict instructions not to make you cry.’ Alexandra paused. ‘How long will be you working in the restaurant, do you know?’

  ‘I suppose until Pierre either gets fed up with me or takes me on as part of the team. We’ll have to see.’ Meg smiled bravely, but she knew come Monday, she’d be shaking in her chef’s shoes.

  Although it was only 7 a.m. there were a few people buying bread for breakfast in the little town the next morning and the café on the corner was sending out wonderful coffee smells. Meg was almost tempted to have one before starting her day but Alexandra had got up very early to make her coffee already; she didn’t really need more.

  She knocked on the side door of the restaurant, as instructed, and after an anxious few moments, it was opened. Pierre, the chef-patron, was there to greet her in a torrent of French Meg couldn’t understand. She picked up a few words including jolie meaning pretty and très très jeune which she knew meant very young.

  Let’s hope it means they’ll make allowances for me, she thought, following Pierre down a narrow passage to the kitchen.

  Strangely, the kitchen made her feel at home immediately. She’d been in lots of restaurant kitchens and they were all different but also the same. There always seemed to be a very tall young man with spots and a prominent Adam’s apple whom everyone was rude to but who didn’t seem to mind. There was always an older man who was obviously much respected, and there was always a chef.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen was currently calm but everyone looked at her as she came in and started commenting. She was glad she couldn’t understand much French but was relieved that Mme Wilson had insisted on using French culinary terms: she should be able to recognise those, even if they were spoken in a strong Provençal accent.

  What was worrying her most was her lack of her own knives. It had been explained to Pierre and he had agreed to lend her a set, but it made her look unprofessional, she felt. While she had worked in professional kitchens it had always been as part of a team who had been brought in to make desserts for a special event. She’d never been a permanent member of staff.

  Still, during her weekend at the chateau she had sharpened all Alexandra’s knives so that she could sever a tomato in two with one long stroke. She had also done a lot of chopping, dicing, and slicing very, very thinly. It had been supposed to distract her from thoughts of Nightingale Woods but she couldn’t help wondering how everyone was getting on without her. They were probably managing brilliantly.

  Now, Pierre put her in front of a chopping board and said in English, ‘Wait here. I will fetch your knives.’

  There was a fair amount of staring and commenting while Pierre was gone but Meg looked straight ahead, wishing she wasn’t blushing, glad she didn’t know quite how rude they were being about her.