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Instead of handing her a sheet of paper containing hand-written instructions, Claudia pointed to a framed picture on the wall that Millie hadn’t noticed before. She strode over to take a closer look.
‘Gran wrote it on the back of a Christmas card that my grandfather gave her when they were courting in the nineteen forties,’ explained Claudia, her eyes sparkling under the glare of the overhead lights. ‘The party in the village hall after the tree-lighting ceremony has become a sort of village tradition, where everyone contributes something from their own family’s recipe book, or they make the decorations or the spiced punch, or help with the music, or give people taxi rides home afterwards. It’s become a real community thing – this year the children from the local primary school are coming to sing a few carols. It was after one of these nights, ten years ago, that Tim had the idea of opening a cookery school at the manor, and the rest, as they say, is history.’
When the gingerbread was safely in the oven and producing intoxicating aromas of spicy ginger and warm sticky treacle, Claudia and Millie set to work preparing the orange marmalade for the roulades and the brandy-flavoured buttercream for the muffins. They took a short break for lunch before resuming with the sweet mince samosas, which Millie’s loved, and the savoury cupcakes.
‘Wow, these eggs are really fresh! Look at the colour of the yolks!’
‘I get them from Jim Garitty’s farm. I try to source local produce for all the cookery school’s menus as much as possible, as well as using the local services. That’s why we run the annual competition to find four family recipes to feature on each one of the courses on theFestive Feastitinerary, with Gran’s gingerbread taking the fifth spot as one of the sweet canapés. It’s the perfect way to keep the old recipes alive. In the new year, Tim and I collate them into a booklet to sell for charity. We now have forty recipes, and I was hoping to pull in a few favours at my publishers and have a book published, but I’m not sure that’s going to happen now.’
‘Claudia, why—’
Claudia had just slid the last tray of the egg and smoked salmon savouries into the oven when there was tinkle on the doorbell, once again preventing Millie from asking the question that had been swirling around her brain.
‘Ah, that’ll be Leo and Gina, and their friends Mike and Marianne. Would you mind decorating the gingerbread slices with those edible holly leaves whilst I show them up to their rooms?’
‘No problem,’ smiled Millie, resigned to the fact that the mystery of the school’s impending closure would continue for a while longer. Maybe she could corner Tim and ask him about it.
Claudia reached over to give Millie’s forearm a quick squeeze. ‘Thank you, Millie… for everything.’ And then she dashed from the kitchen to greet her guests.
Millie took a moment to survey the kitchen for the first time that day and what she saw didn’t surprise her in the least. The area that Claudia had been working in was as pristine as when they had started; tidy worktops, utensils washed, dried, and returned to their respective homes, the ingredients they had finished with returned to their respective shelves in the larder. Whereas, despite her strenuous efforts to corral her clutter demons, Millie’s side of the kitchen looked like a scene from the Cotswolds Culinary Catastrophe. Although, in order not to douse herself in too much despondency, she had to admit that she had seen far worse, and she resolved to thank Pippa for her contribution to her progress as it was obviously producing results – albeit with a long, long way to go.
She gathered everything together, loaded the industrial-sized dishwasher and slammed the door shut. She inhaled the enticing aroma of cooling gingerbread and set about decorating the squares with tiny sugar paste holly leaves and red berries and arranging everything on huge silver platters to transport to the village hall in good time for the switching-on of the lights.
The old Millie would have left the remaining crockery and cutlery in the sink, but the new improved Millie located a pair of Marigolds, filled a bowl with soapy water, and set to washing down the benches and buffing up the silver coffee machine that had been splashed with brandy buttercream and a splodge of something green and gooey she didn’t recognise. She didn’t pause until every last spatula was resting contentedly in its allocated spot.
An image of a suitably impressed Zach floated across her mind, with Millie centre-stage as she presented the kitchen to him like a showroom sales assistant keen to earn that month’s bonus. A spasm of electricity shot through her chest and headed southwards when she remembered that she would be seeing him in a couple of hours in Berryford.
Chapter Five
‘Tim, if we don’t leave now we’ll miss the show!’ sighed Claudia as she watched her husband slot yet another screwdriver into the already jam-packed rucksack he had insisted on bringing with him to the tree-lighting ceremony “just in case”.
‘It always pays to be prepared, darling,’ Tim replied, his forehead creased in thought. ‘Remember last year when George Stanton blew up the kettle and everyone was forced to drink mulled wine and Christmas punch instead of tea and coffee? The whole evening descended into an absolutely riot!’
‘And it was the best Christmas party the village has ever had!’ Claudia laughed, leaning forward to deposit a kiss on Tim’s cheek before linking his arm and steering him towards the front door. ‘Come on.’
‘Do you think I should take a spare roll of gaffer tape?’
‘No!’
‘What do you think, Millie? Isn’t it better to be over-prepared than risk the regret of a forgotten gadget?’
‘Erm, I’m not sure,’ she hedged, uncertain how to answer such a loaded question. It was the first time she’d met Tim and she liked him on the spot, her heart flooding with empathy for her fellow clutter-collector, especially when she saw the pleading expression scrawled across his handsome face. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’ll take that as a yes then!’
And before anyone could stop him, he’d cantered off back to his workshop to collect even more essential tools, leaving the two women rolling their eyes and giggling on the doorstep until he reappeared, stooped under the weight of his over-laden rucksack like a DIY-obsessed Father Christmas.
It was clear to Millie that Tim belonged to the eccentric part of the people spectrum. Dressed in a hand-knitted sweater, incongruously depicting only the rear end of a reindeer, he was as far from Millie’s image of a high-flying City architect as it was possible to get. However, his silver eyes held a sharp intelligence that reflected an avid interest in everything around him and he exuded energy, almost as if he was getting ready to embark on a sprint. His hair, more salt than pepper, was thick and luxuriant and cut into a trendy style by the local French hairdresser, and the fine lines around his mouth spoke of regular laughter.
Time spent with Tim Croft would be the highlight of anyone’s day.
He insisted on driving them to Berryford in his Range Rover which made short work of the snow-covered roads. Thankfully, the temperature had climbed during the day to hover just above freezing. The covering of snow remained, but rivulets of water were trickling in the gutters and the absence of a breeze made the night air much more appealing.
As soon as Claudia emerged from the passenger seat, she was mobbed by friends and neighbours and dragged off to inspect the Christmas tree and pronounce her delight at the villagers’ foodie offerings. Tim shrugged his shoulders in familiar resignation, relieved her of her platters of gingerbread and accompanied Millie into the village hall where he too was summonsed for his opinion on the generator that was being used to power the lights.
Left alone, Millie experienced a spasm of awkwardness, but it didn’t last long. No one was allowed to feel like an outsider in Berryford, especially during the festivities. She set down the platter of dark chocolate roulades on an old wallpaper table alongside the most elegantly dressed Christmas cake she had ever seen. A Calypso-style version ofJingle Bellsblared out from a pair of huge loudspeakers on the stage at the far end of the room next to an eclectically decorated silver tinsel tree. The whole room smelled of cloves, cinnamon, and happy times, with just the faintest hint of bleach, and was clearly a beacon of light in the heart of the village.
‘Hi, Millie. Looks like you and Claudia have been busy today. There’s enough food here to feed a whole battalion of Christmas elves!’ declared Zach as he carefully lowered a keg of beer from his shoulder on to the makeshift bar that was crammed with a kaleidoscope of spirits ranging from the standard whisky and gin to the more exotic like the thick green liquor that Millie thought must be Crème de Menthe – something she had last seen in her French grandmother’s drinks cabinet when she was a child!
