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‘Well, a little French birdie told me that Jean-Pierre and his brother Phillipe will be there, and I might just have happened to mention that I have a gorgeous single friend with a halo of sunshine-coloured curls who’s a whizz at knocking up a kaleidoscope of macarons, and who also just happens to be half-French too.’
‘Pippa! I can organise my own love life, thank you very much.’
‘Clearly not, as you haven’t had a date since you got back from St Lucia two months ago. I know you profess to be over Luke, but the only way to prove it is to start dating with a vengeance. Open your heart to the possibility that there is someone amazing out there just waiting to make you happy! And what better time to start than Christmas? All you have to do is trust your friendly neighbourhood Cupid and agree to a double-date with a certain chocolate-eyed Frenchman, with skin the colour of liquid caramel, and a penchant for dousing himself in an excessive amount of spicy cologne.’
‘Pippa—’
‘Look, Millie, just go to the Cotswolds, have fun at Claudia’s cookery school, and if nothing happens with Zach, you can zoom back here on Christmas Eve ready to enjoy the festive season sprinkled with a little Parisianamour!’
Chapter Two
With the tinkle ofFrosty the Snowmanstill ringing in her ears from the cab ride, Millie made her way across the concourse of Paddington Station. A curl of excitement, mingled with a generous dose of trepidation, wriggled through her chest as she contemplated what the week ahead would hold. Could she really be about to present a cookery course to eight enthusiastic foodies in the presence of the celebrity cookery book writer, Claudia Croft – in the kitchen of her fabulous manor house in the Cotswolds?
The previous night, she and Pippa had googled Stonelea Manor in Berryford and had been astonished at its picturesque splendour. Set against a Turneresque backdrop of rolling lawns and thick woodland, the Grade II listed building looked as if it had been dusted in a generous pinch of cinnamon. However, it wasn’t its architectural magnificence that had caused Millie to pause and drool, but the photographs of the kitchen. She recognised it immediately from Claudia’s cookery books and couldn’t believe that on Monday morning she would be standing behind the marble-topped workstation issuing instructions on how to craft the perfect meringue.
A sudden blast of arctic air walloped her in the face, whipping the breath from her lips and bringing her back to the present. Goose pimples rippled over every inch of her skin and her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Much worse were the curious glances she was attracting from her fellow travellers at the ridiculous attire she had chosen to wear to brave a British winter.
She dragged the sides of her flimsy cotton cardigan around her chest, cursing the fact that she had left all her winter clothes at her sister’s after the emergency evacuation from Luke’s flat in April and hadn’t had time to retrieve them. However, as she lived two storeys above the place where she worked, a down-filled jacket had not been high on her list of essentials, especially when there was such limited storage space.
Her thoughts scooted back to her sojourn at Claudia’s villa in St Lucia where she had been fortunate enough to spend some time lounging by the pool in a bikini, sipping strawberry margaritas to a backing track of reggae rhythms rippling through the sun-drenched air. Paradise! She had always been a sun worshipper – a fact she put down to being a July baby – which was the reason she had planned to spend the Christmas holidays with her mum in Provence, even if it had meant she would have to partner her at her weekly Salsa classes.
However, the wintery temperature was a small price to pay for the opportunity to spend quality time with an accomplished chef, so Millie grabbed the handle of her wheelie suitcase and stalked towards the flashing Departures board, relieved to see that her train to Berryford was already waiting at platform three. She hitched her canvas bag higher up her shoulder, surreptitiously tapping the contents to make sure her trusty scrap box of recipes that went everywhere with her was safely stowed, and went in search of her carriage.
She selected a window seat and slumped into the corner, rubbing her palms on her thighs and blowing on her fingers in an effort to warm up. The train left on time and almost immediately she felt a veil of lethargy descend. Houses flashed by, their dark facades dotted with rectangles of amber light, highlighting the silhouettes of families gathered around the television or computer screen. As the urban sprawl melted into fields, the rhythmic rocking encouraged her to close her eyes for a few seconds, allowing her to savour the solitude of being in transit.
She must have fallen asleep because when she peeled her eyes open and glanced out of the window a bolt of shock crashed into her chest. The scene beyond the glass came directly from a Hollywood producer’s demand for a typical English winter backdrop – and boy had those set designers delivered! A soft blanket of white had been tossed over the fields and rolling hills, obliterating the undulations. Huge, feather-like snowflakes fell languidly from the leaden sky, adding another layer to the wintry scene.
A glance at her watch told Millie it was almost three o’clock. Dusk was beginning to tickle the horizon with a crimson-purple hue, and the whole vista looked Christmas-card perfect, especially when a lone church spire punctured the swathe of snow reminding her of childhood Christmases when her father was still around. However, it was one thing to appreciate the scenic charm of the landscape from the comfort and warmth of a train seat, quite another to have to actually set foot in the loathsome white stuff.
A shiver cascaded down her spine as she did a mental inventory of the clothes she had stuffed into her suitcase. Feeling she should make an effort to look the part when standing at Claudia’s side, she had packed her favourite Hobbs tops and a lovely crimson silk dress she planned to debut at the celebration party on the last day of the week-long course. Even if she wore every last stitch, she’d still freeze to death on her trek from the train station to the car Claudia had said she was sending to collect her. Her heart sank to her toes as the train pressed further into the Oxfordshire countryside and the gentle drift of snowflakes morphed into a blizzard. Visibility from the already opaque train window was nil.
At the nearest station to Berryford, an obliging commuter helped her to lift her luggage down from the train to the platform and she smarted at the amusement in his eyes.
‘I’d put a coat on if I were you, love.’
Millie glared at him for stating the obvious before bestowing him with one of the typically Gallic shrugs she and her sister Jen had inherited from their mother. Unlike Jen, who had embraced all things English when their family had relocated to her father’s hometown from Provence, Millie still struggled with the resurgence of her French roots whenever she was stressed, angry or had overindulged on Prosecco. She had no problem whatsoever with that; she loved the trace of French in her accent that reminded her of the sunshine-filled childhood she had enjoyed in the south of France, where the necessity of owning a winter coat was non-existent.
She made her way towards the waiting room, dragging her wheelie suitcase in her wake, and lunged through the door, where, to her delight and tear-inducing relief, the central heating was on full blast. She slumped down into a seat to recover her breath and for the first time wished Claudia had decided to run herFestive Feastcookery course in her St Lucian villa high up in the hills above Soufrière, overlooking the spectacular sight of the twin Pitons, the emerald pyramids of rock poking out of the Caribbean Sea like the spines of a sleeping dinosaur.
She sprung the lock on her suitcase and grabbed another cardigan, shivering like a baby kitten and cursing her lack of forward planning. A few seconds later, her vivid stream of weather-themed invectives was interrupted by a buzz from her pocket, and she fumbled with frozen fingers to answer her call.
‘Hey, Millie! Welcome to Gloucestershire! Where are you?’
Millie rolled her eyes, but the sound of Zach’s voice was like nectar to her ears. ‘I’m sitting in the waiting room trying to get some feeling back into my hands.’
‘Stay there. I’ll come and get you.’
A splurge of warmth that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature spread through Millie’s chest as she replayed an image of Zach in his figure-hugging black tee-shirt and denim shorts as they explored the exotic sights of St Lucia together. Despite her denials to Pippa, she couldn’t ignore the fact that a large part of the attraction of spending the week in Berryford was so that she would be able to spend time with Zach again. Just being in his presence made her nerve endings zing, yet she struggled to describe the relationship niche into which they had fallen.
Was it friendship, companionship, or something altogether more complicated? She was leaning more towards the third option and maybe spending this week together in more mundane surroundings would help her to figure it out.
A flurry of snowflakes danced in the air as an elderly couple stumbled through the waiting room door, clad in sensible fleeces, waterproof cagoules and robust walking boots with thick woollen socks turned over at the ankle. They glanced in her direction, ready to exchange a cheery seasonal greeting before performing a comedic double-take at her unsuitable attire. She gifted them a confident smile and they quickly averted their eyes.
Who in their right mind would willingly come to a place like this in the middle of a snowstorm the last week before Christmas?Millie wondered. Wasn’t there an over-heated cathedral of consumerism to meander through in search of that perfect gift for Aunt Marge? In fact, if she had known she would be battling through a snow-filled Armageddon, she too might have thought twice about accepting Claudia’s offer.
Within minutes, the door burst open again and her heart performed a delicious somersault of pleasure at the sight in front of her. Even with a woolly hat pulled down over his ears and a stylish Dr Who-style scarf wound artfully around the collar of his black denim jacket, Zach Barker was eye-poppingly handsome and her body’s instant reaction to his arrival told her everything she needed to know.
Unfortunately, from the look on his face, he was clearly not thinking the same. Millie watched him run his eyes over her skimpy attire and saw his lips twitch into that familiar smirk, causing the cute dimples to appear like brackets in his cheeks, and his dark eyes to sparkle with mischief.
