‘Well, I could certainly use those for the bread-and-butter pudding. Are you really sure the dairy will be able to supply us at such short notice?’

  ‘I’ll telephone them. I’ll speak to the baker, too. Once I tell them what it’s for, I’m sure they’ll try their best to supply us. The banquet is important to all the local community – has been for years. Everyone will help out if they know there’s a bit of an emergency. How much cream and how many eggs?

  ‘My recipe book is in my suitcase,’ said Meg, ‘but I could make a rough guess.’

  By the time Louise got back from her begging mission around the local farms and in the villages, Meg was a lot more familiar with her surroundings, not least because Ambrosine had given her a tour of all the many rooms adjoining the kitchen – cupboards, pantries, larders, stillrooms, as well as the servants’ quarters – which in times gone by were felt necessary to support a big house.

  She’d also been led into the walled garden which, although showing signs of recent neglect, was still full of vegetables, herbs and, potentially, soft fruit. And against the walls were apples, pears and plums. One wall could be warmed by a system of flues built into it. A fire would be lit in a little house at the end and the smoke going through made the wall what they called ‘hot’. This wall supported a number of peach trees, apricots and a large fig tree.

  ‘Are you a gardener yourself?’ Meg asked Ambrosine as they were walking back to the kitchen, Meg holding quite a large bunch of herbs.

  ‘Alas, no, my skills are a little more esoteric, but I love the house and want to keep its history known by the people who live in it. I’m writing a little booklet about it.’

  ‘What a good idea!’ said Meg, curious about Ambrosine’s esoteric skills and hoping one day she’d be told about them. ‘I’d love to read it when its finished.’

  ‘Ambrosine was brilliant,’ said Meg when Louise reappeared. ‘She’s shown me everything, told me everything, and has arranged for a supply of eggs, milk and cream to be delivered tomorrow morning, first thing. She telephoned the local bakery and they’re happy to supply bread for the bread-and-butter pudding.’

  Ambrosine, who was sitting at the kitchen table, nodded in agreement. ‘I knew they’d all be happy to help when they knew what was at stake.’

  ‘You certainly have been busy!’ said Louise, looking at the many signs of activity.

  ‘We changed the menu,’ said Ambrosine. ‘Except for the chicken. We’re still having that.’

  Seeing the chickens simmering in large pans on the stove, Louise said, ‘Isn’t it terribly dangerous to cook chickens when they’re still frozen?’

  ‘I’m fairly certain it’s fine as long as I take them out as soon as they’re cooked. And of course I’ll check they’re thoroughly done. You add half as much again to the cooking time.’

  Louise was still worried. ‘It would be so awful if we poisoned everyone. We could wipe out the great and the good of the whole community. It would be like the Black Death!’

  ‘It’ll be OK, Mum!’ Meg was laughing. ‘I waitressed for a woman who said she never had time to defrost the chicken and as long as you cook it fairly quickly and don’t leave it hanging around in warm stock – the same for any bird – it’ll be fine.’

  ‘We’re having hot soup to start, not that cold stuff that tastes like wallpaper paste,’ said Ambrosine. ‘Cold soup always seems wrong to me.’

  ‘There are some lovely vegetables in the kitchen garden, including lots of herbs. If it all goes to plan every bowl will have a pinch of herbs and a swirl of cream,’ said Meg, hoping her mother would approve of the menu changes.

  ‘Think how much nicer it will be to have soup made with our own produce instead of those dreadful packets full of goodness-knows-what that Geoff was so fond of.’ Ambrosine seemed very happy. ‘And my favourite: bread-and-butter pudding to finish.’

  ‘I think we’re going to be fine tomorrow, Mum.’ Meg took a breath. ‘So, how did your mission to get us some staff go?’

  ‘Well, Susan, who is – was – our main woman, took a lot of persuading to come back. She was so offended by Geoff’s awful behaviour. But her daughter, Cherry, was there, and she was keen to serve at the lunch at least. Once they were on board, Susan telephoned her many local relations and people all agreed, although I’m not sure many of them will stay after the banquet. But it’s such a long-standing tradition and, I gather, fun to serve at, we’ve probably got enough people. Some are coming this evening to set up the room.’ She frowned. ‘I suppose I should check to see if we’ve got anyone booked for dinner tonight.’

  Meg’s heart lurched uncomfortably. ‘If we have, they’ll have to have omelettes.’

  ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ said Ambrosine, ‘the hotel never takes dinner bookings the night before the banquet. Anyone staying has to have something cold.’ She smiled, and Meg suddenly thought what a beauty she must have been when young.

  ‘Now everything is settled,’ said Ambrosine, ‘I’ll pop upstairs and take off my hat.’

  ‘I do hope I’m able to “pop upstairs”, or indeed anywhere, when I’m her age,’ said Louise. ‘She’s obviously had a wonderful time helping you.’

  ‘At first I thought she might be a bit time-consuming but not a bit of it. She knows so much about the house, the garden, the hotel in its early days. She’s writing a history. And better than that, she found a cupboard with some very useful ingredients in it, including a slightly rusting tin of tomato purée.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her looking so happy and stimulated since I got here,’ said Louise. She sighed. ‘Oh, darling, what would I have done without you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum, but like Ambrosine, I am hugely enjoying myself. I love solving a crisis and it’s all going so well. Between us we can do anything!’

  Chapter Four

  Meg got up before dawn the following day. Apart from a lot of other preparations the previous evening, she had wanted to make sure that the chickens were all properly cooked and set to cool so had stayed up late to do that. Now she wanted to get the meat off the bones and start turning it into coronation chicken.

  She was wearing her chef’s whites and trousers. Yesterday she’d spent all day in the dress she’d travelled in but this morning she wanted to feel professional. She’d set up a deboning station on one of the tables at the edge of the room. She knew the big kitchen table would be in frequent use and there was a window she could look out of if she needed a break from chicken bones.

  She was suddenly aware of a loud engine noise and out of the corner of her eye spotted a huge motorbike with a black-clad rider go past. It must be the milk and cream delivery, she realised. She was glad that it had all appeared so early. Time was rushing on, and she had a lot to do in order to be ready.

  ‘Can you just put it on the table,’ she said, turning round.

  The tall, black-clad figure didn’t have a couple of small milk churns with him. He was wearing a helmet and goggles and even without being able to see him properly, she could tell he was angry.

  ‘Where the hell is Geoff?’ he said, removing his headgear, revealing dark blond hair and steely grey eyes. He was in his early thirties. ‘And who the hell are you?’

  ‘Geoff left,’ said Meg, bristling like an angry cat. ‘And I’m Meg Sanderson.’

  ‘And why are you here?’ the man demanded.

  Meg took a breath to answer but hesitated. If she just said she was Louise’s daughter, would he know who Louise was? And her mother would certainly have mentioned it if she’d known such a large, spiky man was due to appear.

  ‘Well?’ He was impatient as well as hostile.

  ‘I’m Louise’s daughter,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I came to help out with the lunch today.’

  ‘Well, you can go now. I’m here. And who the hell is Louise?’

  Meg stood her ground. ‘You haven’t told me who you are.’

  ‘Me? I’m Justin Nightingale.’

  Meg went cold. This must be Andrew’s son, the one her mother hadn’t met, the one who had the say-so on who worked here and who didn’t. But she mustn’t show fear: bullies loved that. ‘And you arrived this morning because?’

  He widened his eyes in disbelief at her question. ‘Because of the lunch! You do know about the lunch? And where is Geoff?’

  ‘I told you. Geoff walked out. I’ve stepped into the breach!’ Meg wondered if perhaps this was a bit melodramatic. It was a lunch, not a life-saving operation.

  ‘Why did Geoff leave? Were you here at the time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And were you the reason he left?’

  ‘Of course not! I was just here by chance.’ It wasn’t quite by chance. Her mother had been worried and invited her. She took a breath. ‘He’d ordered most of the food for the banquet and all of the staff from an outside caterer. Not the chicken, he had bought frozen chickens for the main course. But everything else. And they let him down. So he walked out. I think he was drunk.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you why he was drinking, but I know he was drunk because he smelt of alcohol when he pushed past me and there was an empty bottle of brandy in the rubbish.’ Ambrosine had found that, but Meg felt mentioning her would only complicate matters.

  Justin Nightingale didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘He hasn’t done that before as far as I know.’

  ‘He’s a friend of yours then?’

  ‘I know him. I’ve worked with him. He’s a half-decent chef.’

  ‘Just not keen on his job,’ said Meg.

  ‘How would you know?’ Justin demanded.

  ‘He wouldn’t have ordered in half the meal from outside caterers if he was interested in cooking.’

  ‘He probably didn’t have staff he could rely on.’ Justin was trying to imply this was somehow Meg’s fault, she realised.

  ‘That’s because he’d sacked them all.’

  ‘But not you, apparently? And what’s your job? You’re wearing whites but you’re not a chef, obviously.’

  ‘Why obviously?’

  ‘Geoff isn’t a chef who’d tolerate a woman in his kitchen.’

  Meg opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t think of a suitably outraged reply.

  ‘I’m not either,’ he went on. ‘So thanks for your help.’ He gave her a patronising smile. ‘I’m sure the waiting staff will be glad to have you.’

  Meg took a deep breath. ‘I have not got up at five in the morning to be dismissed by a man I’ve never seen before.’

  ‘Why did you get up so early?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m taking the meat off chickens so I can make coronation chicken for the lunch!’

  ‘Coronation chicken? Dry and boring.’

  ‘Your precious Geoff chose the menu! And besides, coronation chicken isn’t dry the way I make it,’ said Meg.

  ‘How do you make it?’ He seemed distracted from his tirade for a minute.

  ‘It’s a Rosemary Hume recipe. You simmer it in wine and stock. Keeps it moist.’

  He seemed interested. ‘And it works?’

  ‘Yes. Ah! Here’s the man from the dairy.’

  A young man with a shock of dark hair and rosy cheeks came in with a small churn. ‘Here’s the cream. I’ll get the milk and extra eggs now,’ he said.

  ‘What do you want all that cream for?’

  ‘Bread-and-butter pudding.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very suitable.’

  ‘Everyone will love it and it’s better than chocolate mousse made from a packet.’

  ‘You decided to put on bread-and-butter pudding?’

  Meg nodded, losing confidence but hoping it didn’t show. ‘We changed the menu.’

  ‘Who are you to change the menu?’ Their couple of moments’ truce was over. Justin was being overbearing again.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Louise said, having appeared silently on bare feet. Her voice had a certain authority, which was spoilt by the fact she was wearing a very pretty dressing gown with a ruffle round the neck and down the front. She looked more like a film star than a woman in charge of a small hotel.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ said Justin, more confused than angry.

  ‘I’m Louise Sanderson. I’m the manager here.’

  ‘Since when did this hotel need a manager?’

  ‘Presumably since before I was offered the job. Now you know who I am, would you mind telling me who you are?’ Louise hadn’t worked in schools without picking up some of the authority of a schoolteacher. Meg felt proud of her.

  ‘Justin Nightingale.’

  ‘Oh.’ Meg saw this was a shock for her mother. ‘Andrew told me about you,’ Louise went on, sounding very calm. Although her mother was perfectly polite, something about her manner told Meg that some of the things she’d heard about him were not good.

  ‘On the other hand, my father told me nothing whatever about you.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Meg. ‘But the hotel is hosting a lunch for fifty people in a few hours. I need to get on.’

  Justin turned towards her. ‘I said, I’m here now. You can go. I won’t need you.’

  ‘But if you didn’t know Geoff had left, why did you come?’

  Meg caught a flicker of something, possibly a concession that Geoff wasn’t the efficient and experienced chef he’d implied he was. ‘It’s an important event for the hotel. I thought extra hands were needed,’ he said haughtily.

  ‘So why are you sending those hands – well, mine – away?’ asked Meg, acutely disappointed to be dismissed when she’d done so much of the work already.

  He looked at her coldly. ‘I won’t have women working in my kitchen.’

  Meg was ready to explode with anger but she forced herself to stay in control. She knew that many other chefs refused to work with women. ‘Don’t you think that idea is rather old-fashioned?’

  ‘Cooking is a serious business. It’s not to do with fashion. It’s hard work and tradition, learning skills, practising them in tough conditions.’

  ‘And you think women can’t do that?’ Meg sensed her mother wanted to intervene, but she really didn’t want her to.

  Justin took a breath. ‘Look, I don’t want to be rude, but this lunch is very important to my father’s hotel, to the community, to people in the area. It cannot be left to chance and people who dress up as chefs and think that gives them qualifications!’

  ‘I don’t want to be rude either,’ said Meg. ‘At least I do, but I’m making a real effort not to be. My mother knew that Geoff was a disaster. He sacked the staff, people who’ve worked here for years, several generations of the same family. And he tried to get the whole meal catered and served by an agency, who pulled out at the last moment, possibly because Geoff didn’t offer them enough to cover their costs. Which is why my mother asked me to come down and help out.’

  ‘Why did she – you’ – he turned to Louise – ‘think it would be useful to bring – what did you say your name was?’

  ‘Meg.’

  ‘Meg, who is obviously about seventeen years old? This lunch is a big event!’

  Meg opened her mouth to defend herself but not quickly enough. Louise jumped in.

  ‘Firstly, I know Meg looks very young, but she is twenty-two. Secondly, she’s been working in kitchens for years now.’ This was an exaggeration but Meg didn’t correct her. ‘She has a lot of experience and is very talented. Why else would a French chef, Michelin-starred, accept her as an apprentice?’ Louise let this sink in. ‘And your father left the hotel in my hands and I have done what I consider best for it!’

  Meg broke in. ‘And I have worked extremely hard sorting out this bloody lunch. I am not going to just walk away because you can’t cope with the thought of working with a woman!’

  Meg heard her voice crack and cleared her throat loudly. She was not going to cry. She was not someone who did that. At least, not in her professional life. In the time that she’d been working in kitchens she’d come across some very unpleasant individuals. None of them had ever reduced her to tears. It was the thought of the lunch being taken away from her that made her feel like crying now.

  No one spoke for long minutes, the silence broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock.

  ‘OK, you can help,’ said Justin, as if offering a great concession. ‘But you must do as you’re told and not get in my way.’

  The desire to cry vanished. ‘I can help? And not get in your way? Very generous of you! Feel free to overlook all the work I’ve done already. If you were starting from scratch now, you’d never get the lunch served on time.’

  Meg could see Justin was about to respond when Louise stepped in. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job up until now, Meggy, but Justin’s here now. I think we can leave everything up to him.’

  Meg wished her mother hadn’t called her ‘Meggy’ as it made her sound so childlike. ‘Everything? Doesn’t he need any help at all?’ She glared at him.

  He glared right back.

  ‘Darling,’ said Louise after a moment’s very tense silence, ‘the main thing is the lunch being a success. Justin is obviously an experienced, professional chef—’

  ‘The only thing that’s obvious,’ said Meg, ‘is that he’s a man and I’m a woman. That doesn’t make him any better than me!’

  Meg heard her voice crack again and walked out of the kitchen. If she started to cry now, no male chef would ever respect a female chef again. She had to get her emotions under control. She walked down the corridor and out into the kitchen garden. She stopped in front of an overgrown rosemary bush and took deep breaths, wishing she didn’t suddenly feel so tired. She folded her arms and closed her eyes.

  She was aware of someone coming up behind her. ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’m not going to let you down by making a fuss. I’m probably just very short of sleep. But for that man to swoop in on his motorbike and take over is just so frustrating. Why anyone should assume he’s better than me just because he’s a man is beyond me!’