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Aware that Gina and Marianne were gaping in surprise at her unexpected exit, Millie dashed out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs when she bumped into Tim on the landing, his face paler than she had seen, his dark pewter eyes creased in concern.
‘Tim? Is everything okay?’
‘Actually, I was just coming to see you. I’m sorry but Claudia has spent most of the night in the bathroom. Looks like she’s come down with a winter vomiting bug. She’s upset but I’ve insisted that she rests, and she’s just fallen asleep. Could you handle the tutorial by yourself today? I’m available if you need any help.’
‘Oh, poor Claudia. Do you think you should call the doctor?’
‘I suggested the very same thing, but she’s adamant that it’s a twenty-four-hour virus and she’ll be as right as rain when she’s slept it off. Of course, like all these things, it couldn’t have come at a worst time, what with Rupert and Sven on their way down from London, but best laid plans and all that. I told Claudie that I’m more than capable of performing the required estate agent duties. Ihavebeen an architect for the last twenty-five years!’
Tim ran his fingers through his thick hair causing it to appear even more bouffant that usual. He pinned a determined smile on his face and met Millie’s eyes.
‘Alright, lead the way, Chef! I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a sous chef for the day. Claudia has consistently refused to indulge me – she’s seen my workshop and thinks I’ll trash her kitchen, which is an opinion I have to say I find rather insulting, even if it is based on fact.’
‘Tim, it’s no problem if you would rather stay with Claudia. I can manage – in fact, I’ve already done all the preparation, it’s just a matter of the presentation and the eating.’
‘Even better – they are the best bits. Come on!’
Tim strode into the kitchen like a silver-haired Marco Pierre White, strapped on one of Claudia’s signature aprons and stood at the presentation workbench like a professor behind a lectern eyeing his students over his spectacles.
‘Hello, everyone. I’m afraid Claudia is feeling a little under the weather this morning, so I’m delighted to inform you that Millie has agreed to take on the starring role today, ably supported by Yours Truly. Take it away, Millie!’
Trying hard not to giggle at Tim’s rather show-biz introduction, Millie launched into delivering the fourthFestive Feastcourse of the week, grateful that brunch was one of the easiest meals to guide their guests through. Once the Stollen muffins were safely baking in the oven and the aroma of ground almonds and melting marzipan filled the air, the group set about making the Brioche French toast.
‘Ah, if there is one fragrance that screams Christmas it’s cinnamon,’ sighed Gina, licking her fingertips and rolling her eyes in exaggerated ecstasy.
‘And cloves,’ said Marianne, whose hair sported a sprinkling of the edible glitter she had used to finish off her blueberry-cream tea bread that had been baked in a Bundt tin and drizzled with a generous helping of lemon icing.
‘Or a hot rum toddy,’ added Mike, who had made an early start on the brandy that Millie had brought from the library to add to the sweet mincemeat.
Tim proved to be an entertaining and hilarious co-presenter and laughter reverberated around the room from the off. He looked like he’d stepped into the shoes of an inept inventor, cooking up madcap experiments, and causing even more culinary chaos than Millie was used to, which was certainly saying something.
Millie had intended the champagne for the Buck’s Fizz to be opened when they sat down to eat, but Gina had other ideas and before long she and Marianne were giggling and teasing Tim about showcasing his wacky contraptions on Dragon’s Den. They encouraged even more outrageous shenanigans involving a sieve and a large commercial bag of flour that turned his hair and most of the workbench into a snow-topped scene, intersperse with dots of custard-yellow sauce and sliced boiled egg.
Leo was the only member of the group sober enough, and sensible enough, to complete his brunch to any reasonable standard, but he played his part in the comedy show by displaying his skills as an accomplished impersonator of a selection of famous TV chefs, observing their various quirks perfectly. By the time they sat down at the table, they were all ravenous and every morsel was devoured swiftly with lip-smacking appreciation.
‘So, come on Tim, why don’t you show me this workshop of yours,’ urged Mike, pushing back his chair and making his way towards the boot room door. ‘Are you really working on a solar-powered ride-on lawn mower?’
‘I am…’
Millie rolled her eyes as the three men disappeared into the courtyard. Standing at the kitchen window, she followed their progress across the cobbles, smiling as Tim unlocked the huge padlock and wrenched the door of his workshop open with an exaggerated flourish. Gina and Marianne excused themselves to get ready for their afternoon “treat” and Millie was able at last to survey the kitchen through fresh eyes.
It was like another episode from the Cotswold Culinary Catastrophe.
Detritus was strewn across every available surface: bags of flour, slices of French toast, empty egg cartons, coffee beans, escaped pistachios, a dusting of ground ginger. Cutlery drawers had been opened and baking trays balanced on them, saucepans and measuring jugs piled high in the sinks.
She knew Zach had christened her Messy Millie, but Tim really did take the accolade of the Most Untidy Cook she had encountered in her career to date. She opened the door of the pantry, probably her favourite room in the house – a miniature bazaar of culinary preparations that sent ripples of supreme joy through her veins whenever she entered its hallowed space. She could spend hours, no weeks, in there and still crave an extra few minutes, but now wasn’t the time. She had to hide everything away before Rupert arrived with his guest.
Millie sighed and reached for her Marigolds, determined to scrub, wipe and polish until the kitchen shone, but before she could splosh a generous splash of disinfectant into her bucket she heard the front door open and an unfamiliar voice call out for Claudia. Her stomach performed a swift pirouette of panic because the enquiry held a distinct Australian twang.
God! Rupert had arrived early!
She could only pray that Sven wasn’t following in his wake. Sadly, her guardian angel had clocked off duty because when she turned round there were two, well-groomed men hovering in the doorway, clearly reluctant to set foot into the chaotic kitchen for fear of getting their immaculate attire dirty. The smaller guy with trendy tortoiseshell glasses, sandy-coloured hair and a dimple in the middle of his clean-shaven chin, was the first to speak whilst his friend looked on like a gobsmacked goldfish.
‘Oh my God! What happened in here? It looks like a flour bomb’s exploded. Where’s Claudia?’
Millie fleetingly considered running across the courtyard to alert Tim, but her manners forced her to walk towards Rupert, her hand outstretched.
‘Hello, you must be Claudia’s cousin, Rupert. I’m Amelia Harper – Claudia engaged me to help her present theFestive Feastcookery course this week.’
