We both agree that raspberrymillefeuilleswould beamazing. Anita hasn’t made a lot of puff pastry from scratch but I assure herthat I have and it’s well worth it when you see and taste the result: wafer-thinslices of crisp, buttery pastry, layered together with silky crème patisserieand fresh raspberries.
‘And what about a classic Frenchcroquembouche?’ Isuggest.
‘Oh, yes. Choux buns filled with vanilla pastry cream and piledinto a tower?’
‘And drizzled with caramel, of course.’
Anita swoons. ‘That would makesuchan impressivecentrepiece. And what about macarons? We have to make those, don’t we?’
‘Oh, definitely.’
‘I mean, what’s not to love about melt-in-the-mouthmeringues, sandwiched together with a silky vanilla cream.’
I nod eagerly. ‘Some could be filled with vanilla cream and otherswith chocolate ganache.’
‘Perfect. Chocolate should take a starring role, don’t youthink?’ smiles Anita. ‘People justlovechocolate.’
‘I agree. And I’ve got an absolutely gorgeous recipe for amulti-layeredentremet, with a chocolate and peanut crunch base,followed by a layer of dark chocolate sponge, then a layer of sour cherrycompote, all encased in a peanut butter and chocolate mousse, and a layer ofshiny tempered dark chocolate.’
‘Oh, Lottie, I’m drooling.’ Anita laughs. ‘That soundsamazing. Add it to the list immediately.’
‘Okay.’ I grin at her and pick up my pen. ‘Added!’
We arrange to bake the selection we’ve chosen the followingmorning, just as a trial so that Ellie and the other girls can do a taste-test.I promise to email the recipes straight over to Anita as soon as I get back tothe house.
She smiles enthusiastically as we part. ‘I’ll make sure wehave all the ingredients for our trial bake tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m looking forward to it.’ I give her a thumbs-up. ‘I wasfeeling a bit down this morning but this has really cheered me up.’
‘Me, too. See you tomorrow, Lottie!’
I drive back to Sycamore House, thinking it might be goodfor me to be away from the house in the morning when Rich and Liam are going tobe knocking down that wall. There’s going to be dust everywhere.
And baking with Anita is sure to give my spirits a verywelcome lift...
*****
Later, after a supper of eggs on toast and home-made whitechocolate and raspberry cheesecake (the raspberries are delicious), I decide Ican’t put it off any longer.
My heart is beating faster as I climb the stairs to fetch theblue book from Dylan’s room.
If it really is a desk diary, there’s a slim chance it couldgive me a clue about where Dylan is... where exactly he wentwhen he left. But I’m probably building up my hopes for nothing. It might noteven be a diary at all.
But when I remove the clock and pick it up, my heart gives ahuge lurch in my chest.
It’s a desk diary for the current year!
Does that mean Dylan’s actually been back here, at SycamoreHouse, since he went off in April last year to go travelling?
I open the book and flick swiftly through it, hunting forclues. But to my bitter disappointment, the pages are all blank. Dylan hasn’tused it at all.
I shake my head wearily, my heart sinking at the dreadfulanti-climax. But was I really expecting to solve the mystery of where he’s goneby looking in a diary? It might not even beDylan’sdiary. It couldbelong to the stranger whose clothes and trainers I found in the bedrooms.
With a despondent sigh, I trail back downstairs and sinkdown on the sofa.
Talk about clutching at straws! Expecting to find mybrother through the pages of a blank book!
I’m about to cast the diary aside when I decide to haveanother flick through. And this time, I spot something that makes me sit upstraight.
