But once she was lying there, her confusion did not wane. And then another, more worrying, thought crept in. This confusion, it felt familiar. She pulled herself up to sitting.
‘It feels like Toby,’ she murmured.
Surely,surely, she hadn’t been stupid enough to do it again, fall for a man who denied her her own thoughts and feelings, then used the ensuing confusion to control her? But as quickly as the thought had come, it disappeared. No, Léo wasn’t like that, she knew it deep inside. He was just trying to stop her worrying, when he was right – there was nothing to worry about. She lay down again. If Sindhu started throwing her weight around, she would stand her ground, be whoshewanted to be. And she would enjoy Léo’s support while she did it. Thus comforted, she drifted off to sleep.
The following day Juliet woke feeling more positive. She made coffee and toast and ate it alone in her apartment, watching the morning news on TV and listening to the sounds of the cookery school being opened up. She knew that there was a private class in there later – a man keen to impress his new boyfriend with his culinary skills – so Léo and Sylvia would be busy preparing that. They had agreed to get together at ten to compare notes so far for the recipe book, which gave Juliet a luxurious length of time to get her papers and example photos together and do the preparation sketches for one of the drawings she was going to propose they used.
Downstairs, Léo checked again that he had everything he needed. He liked the client who was coming that afternoon, Michael, and because of this, and the fact he had booked a block of six lessons, wanted to make the session perfect. They were making a mushroom and truffle soup, with garlic and thyme focaccia, and were going to forage for the mushrooms in FeyWood, which he felt was a nice touch. They would also cut the thyme from the herb garden and use home-grown garlic.
‘I think the private individual lessons were a good idea,’ said Sylvia, selecting the knives that would be most suitable for the work. ‘I’ve had another enquiry from someone who wants to nail some pretty basic baking skills, so I’ve asked her to come along tomorrow. And we’ve got a hen party booked in for a few weeks’ time – a celebrity bride, no less.’
‘That’s great,’ replied Léo. ‘Will there be any opportunity for publicity?’
‘I’m going to find a tactful way of asking her, but judging by her Instagram, we’re bound to merit a few photos and a namecheck out there to her followers, even if there isn’t a magazine deal.’
‘Probably better. How many followers does she have?’
Sylvia picked up her phone and tapped a few times.
‘Here she is. Oh wow, three hundred and fifty thousand followers. That’s crazy!’
Léo shrugged.
‘That’s celebrity. What is she famous for?’
‘She was a model, then she did a reality show, locked in a house with other people and they had to matchmake each other. She’s marrying the man she met when she was there.’
For a moment, Léo was taken aback. This was just what Veronique had done, but he couldn’t bear to discuss that with Sylvia, not now. He nodded calmly, hoping his emotions didn’t show on his face as they so often did.
‘Well, hopefully it will be good for us. Right, I think that’s everything. Juliet will be down any minute to do the book, so I’ll put the coffee on.’
‘Marvellous. I’ve got some rather scrummy-looking lemon puffs I was trying out, so we can road test those as well.’
Juliet appeared a few minutes later, and they all sat down at the kitchen island with their drinks and biscuits.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ asked Léo.
‘Better, thanks.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was probably worrying about nothing. Now I just want to get stuck into this book – and these lemon puffs! Aunt Sylvia, they look amazing.’
Léo sipped his coffee as she and Sylvia pored over the photos and drawings that Juliet had prepared. They were for the ‘Drinks and Desserts’ section of the book, which was more her domain than his, so he had the opportunity to sit back and watch, thinking how much she had changed – or maybe, rather, how much of herself she had revealed to him – since that first meeting in the aftermath of her birthday party. And he knew he was falling in love with this complicated, intriguing, talented woman. A ringing phone broke into his reverie.
‘Oh, that’s mine,’ said Juliet. ‘Where is it?’
‘Over here,’ said Léo, picking it up. ‘Oh, it is Toby.’
‘Ohno. Would you mind answering it, Léo? He’ll just ring and ring if nobody does, and I don’t want to speak to him ever again. I’d block the number, but he’ll find another way to get through. At least this way I know it’s him.’
‘Mais oui.’ He answered the call as he left the kitchen and went to sit in the little boot room. ‘Hello, this is Juliet’s phone?’
‘Got you working as her PA now, has she?’ came the sneering tones on the other end of the line. ‘Put Lettie on, would you?’
‘I must say, we greatly enjoyed our lunch at Cornucopia. Have you managed to get a table there yet?’ Léo knew he was deliberately antagonising the man, but he couldn’t help himself. Toby’s superior and bored tone was surely designed to bring out the worst in people?
‘No, the cognoscenti have already decided it’s rather passé, all those corn sheafs. So I didn’t even bother trying. Now putLettie on, will you? Nice as it is toparlerwith you, it’s her I want to speak to.’
‘I’m afraid Juliet does not wish to speak to you.’
‘Don’t give me that nonsense. She says she doesn’t, but it’s just her way of thinking she’s punishing me. If you don’t put her on now, she’ll only call me back later, so you might as well save time.’
