Love on the Menu Page 7

  ‘You’ll find kettle and stuff next door.’

  ‘In case you’re interested, I’m getting on fine, thanks, Hal,’ said Zak. ‘I’m calling your new business Johnny No Name for the time being.’

  Hal knew he was in the wrong. ‘I’m sorry, Zak. I really must sort something soon.’

  ‘Why not ask those two downstairs?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Zillah has enough on her plate.’ Hal got his head down again. ‘Black, no sugar, please.’

  ‘She might be flattered to be asked,’ called Zak. ‘Why don’t I try?’

  Hal counted to ten. ‘I’d prefer to choose my own name,’ he said, keeping his tone neutral.

  There was a knock at the open door. Abi stood there, bearing a plate on which she’d placed two chocolate cupcakes. ‘We need these consumer-tested,’ she said. ‘Any volunteers?’

  ‘You bet,’ said Hal, smiling at her as he rose. ‘Zak’s making a drink. Have you time for one?’ Too late he remembered Zillah’s kitchen was cafetière heaven. He couldn’t compete with that.

  Abi consulted her watch. ‘That’d be great. I was going to make myself an instant in a mo.’

  So, the Fair Miss Frigidaire didn’t always insist upon freshly ground. Hal moved a chair forward. ‘Come and test drive my new furniture.’

  Zak put his head round the door. ‘I thought I heard the lovely Abi. Milk and sugar for you, darling? Luckily I’ve found three mugs though I’d have given up mine for you.’

  Abi chuckled. ‘Just a splash of milk, please.’ She sat down opposite Hal. ‘How do you put up with him?

  ‘Fortunately he doesn’t waste his charm offensive on me.’ Hal accepted a cup cake. ‘Mmm, this smells good.’ He bit into it. ‘It tastes good too. Dark. Rich. Not too sweet.’

  She beamed. ‘That’s exactly like men should be. Seriously, we’re trying out a no-refined sugar range.’

  ‘You’d never know you used a substitute. This is really good.’

  ‘There’s honey with ground almonds as well as cocoa powder. So, you like?’

  ‘I do. Maybe Zak should let me eat his. He needs to watch his waistline.’

  Zak brought in three mugs on a biscuit tin lid. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my waistline. I work out.’ He whipped the other cake out of Hal’s reach and bit into it. ‘Brilliant. Abi, are you single? I’m on the verge of proposing.’

  ‘On your bike, Mr Silver. I’m spoken for. Anyway, Zillah tells me you’re the kind of guy women should steer clear of.’

  Zak looked hurt. ‘She said that?’

  ‘She’s a fair judge,’ said Hal. Strangely, the morning had got better.

  Zak sat back down. ‘Aha, all the more reason to prove her wrong, then. Cheers.’ He picked up his mug. ‘Where is she, anyway? I’m disappointed she didn’t want to take a break too.’

  ‘Zillah’s gone out on business. This one’s a biggie, if she pulls it off.’

  ‘A wedding reception? My antennae are quivering.’

  ‘Yep. One of those fabulous Georgian villas with a garden to make mine seem like a window box.’

  ‘Wonder if they’ve booked any entertainment,’ mused Zak.

  Hal was trying not to show his overwhelming relief at hearing Zillah’s character assessment of Zak. It showed a level of shrewdness he found impressive. Until it occurred to him the lovely Mrs Robinson doubtless held an equally scathing opinion of him.

  As Zillah negotiated the traffic, she considered Abi’s comment about her lack of ruthlessness. Daniel had been so tender hearted; maybe it had rubbed off on her. She’d always thought he undervalued his talent. He’d come out of a stormy first marriage when she first met him, the whole business leaving him somewhat insolvent but not embittered. She smiled while she waited for the lights to change. He’d spoken about coming into the light when he fell in love with her. Light was one of the reasons he’d so loved the part of Cornwall where her parents had owned their hotel.

  On his first visit he’d arrived at the reception desk as she calculated a guest’s account. The front door was standing wide open and, not noticing him come in, she’d jumped when she heard a pleasant male voice seemingly out of nowhere.

  ‘You’re not too fond of computers, are you? I bet you prefer peering into rock pools to peering at a monitor.’

  She’d gazed into a pair of kindly eyes set in a tanned face and rose from her seat, something telling her this man was special. How right she had been.

  Zillah dragged herself back to the present and slid into first gear. No more daydreaming and hopefully no road works to hold her up. She was cutting it fine and being punctual for a client meeting was important, especially when it was a new one.

  When she reached the gated entranceway, she opened her window to speak into the machine.

  ‘Hang on while I let down the drawbridge,’ answered a well-bred young, female voice.

  Zillah watched the wrought iron gates swoosh apart, allowing access to the grounds. She saw lawns like green velvet as the gravelled drive wound towards the imposing villa, its honey stone façade bare of creepers, as if unwilling to conceal any of its lovely features.

  ‘Wow,’ said Zillah aloud. ‘Even the Nancarrow house could fit inside this place and then some.’ She parked beneath a copper beech tree for luck. Daniel had once been commissioned to paint a beech grove and the glowing colours still lived on in her mind’s eye as well as on canvas.

  A man in charcoal pin stripe trousers and open neck lilac shirt was bearing down on her, wheeling a barrow. She got out of the van and greeted him. His hair was trimmed as beautifully as the lawns. Did even the gardeners dress to harmonise with the surroundings?

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, twinkling at her. ‘Are you the one who’s going to restore my wife’s equilibrium?’

  ‘‘Um, I’m from Mrs Robinson, here to see Mrs West.’

  ‘Mrs Robinson, that was the name Annie mentioned. Follow me, my dear.’

  Zillah was about to do so when she realised her ‘bible’ containing menus, references and publicity stills still lay on the passenger seat. She grabbed it and followed the man in the lilac shirt around the side of the house. He parked his barrow at the bottom of a gently sloping ramp, leading to a terrace overlooking not just one lawn, but two. Just like wedding cake tiers, thought Zillah. The lower lawn appeared to merge into farmland. The view was certainly good enough to eat.

  ‘Annie, your potential saviour’s here.’ Zillah’s guide held out his hand. ‘Forgetting my manners. I’m Richard West. Father of the bride, and very much appreciative of your coming to talk to my wife.’

  ‘I hope I can be of help.’ Zillah shook hands then turned towards the woman wheeling herself through patio doors on to the terrace.

  Annie West’s auburn hair was scooped into a bun and she wore a pale blue denim dress and purple crocs. Her fine-boned face showed she loved the sun and also cared about her skin, which displayed barely a wrinkle.

  ‘Here she is. My wife, Annie, who’s also the one from whom the bride inherits her beauty.’

  ‘What tosh, Richard! Hello, Mrs Robinson. I’m so relieved you could fit us in.’

  ‘Please call me Zillah.’

  ‘That’s a pretty name. Are you Cornish?’

  ‘Yes. I was born there and lived there for years.’

  ‘Lucky you. Shall we talk while I show you my garden?’

  ‘I’d love a closer inspection. Will you trust me to wheel you?’

  Richard West smiled at Zillah and drove his barrow round the back of the house once he’d seen the wheelchair safely down the ramp.

  ‘200 guests don’t faze you?’ Annie West waited for a reply.

  Zillah paused to sniff and admire massed pinks and lavender. Her hand-written notes dashed off after she received the initial telephone call stated this meant sit-down lunch for one hundred and evening finger buffet for two hundred.

  ‘I couldn’t do it minus my loyal team,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t dare waste your time if I wasn
’t certain we could help give your daughter a magical experience.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Annie. ‘Sounds like you’re a girl after my own heart. I’ve checked out your website of course. But you can talk me through some of the menus, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘My pleasure. I love talking food.’

  Annie pointed to an archway. ‘If you steer through there, we can enjoy the rose garden.’

  As Zillah followed instructions, Annie greeted a pretty girl dressed in navy blue shorts and sea green T-shirt. ‘This is Chloe. She’s my goddaughter and chief dead-header and we’ve forced her into slave labour. She needs drinking money for college in the autumn.’

  ‘Tsk, tsk – naughty Godma,’ said Chloe. Zillah thought it was obvious they adored one another.

  The girl scrambled to her feet and held out her hand. ‘Hi. I checked out your website too. I’m a friend of Cara Nancarrow’s sister – Cara Maxwell now, I should say. She said your food was yummy beyond belief. Hope Godma gives you the gig.’

  Annie mock-glowered at Chloe, who promptly plonked a kiss on her cheek before checking her watch. ‘I’ll leave a pot of coffee in the sitting-room, shall I?’ she asked. ‘I’ve just remembered Lurch wants me to pick raspberries for lunch.’

  ‘Lurch is Chloe’s nickname for my husband,’ explained Annie. ‘Our wheelbarrow steers like a deranged supermarket trolley. First time she saw Richard pushing it she came up with the name.’

  Zillah chuckled. ‘Chloe’s lovely. Does he have a nickname for her too?’

  ‘Not repeatable, until you get to know us better, anyway.’ She winked at Zillah. ‘Now, let’s think September.’

  ‘Inside your marquee it’ll still be summer,’ said Zillah. ‘But you might want to choose something sustaining. My menu B features organic sausages for the main course.’

  ‘I adore bangers and mash,’ said Annie. ‘Excellent blotting paper for bubbly.’

  ‘Good. I’ve taken the liberty of bagging a couple of portions and bringing them with me. You could try them for supper if you like. The gravy contains a magic ingredient.’

  ‘They may not survive ‘til supper,’ said Annie. ‘Now, I have to tell you my daughter’s marrying an Indian Science professor. He’s delightful and we couldn’t be more pleased with our prospective son-in-law. What we’d like is to combine some of the cuisine of Goa with traditional British. Is that going to be a problem?’

  ‘Not at all. But would you require this theme for the lunch as well as the evening buffet?’

  ‘I think stay with traditional for the lunch. There’ll be some old fogies coming out of the woodwork. How about having a hint of Asian somewhere in the lunch then mainly go with Indian food for the evening buffet?’

  Zillah nodded. ‘I’ve left my folder on the terrace. I’ll suggest a couple of starters on the sit-down menu that’d combine well with the bangers and mash. As for buffet food, I already have an Asian cuisine selection you might like to glance through.’

  Annie West felt in her pocket and frowned. ‘What a pain, I must have left my reading glasses in the sitting room.’

  ‘Shall I fetch them?’

  ‘Tell you what – why don’t we head back and drink our coffee on the terrace? If you go through the French doors, my specs should be on the table in front of the big red settee. They’re inside a purple suede thingy.’

  Zillah pushed the chair back towards the house, negotiating the ramp with ease. She left Mrs West to pour the coffee and walked inside a sitting room so vast the gigantic red leather settee looked perfectly at home. She found the specs immediately and bent to pick them up. As she straightened, her eye was caught by the spectacular sunset painted in acrylics and hanging above the massive wood-burning stove, unlit of course on such a warm day. Hot tears stung her eyes. Was this some kind of omen?

  Daniel’s and her favourite cove, the one not far from her parents’ former hotel, shimmered before her. This had been the first painting to receive a red Sold sticker when his work was exhibited in London only months before his death. Zillah was torn. One part of her wanted to kiss the painting. Touch the frame Daniel’s fingers had touched. The other wanted to go straight back to Mrs West and blurt out her delight at being confronted by a piece of her late husband’s work.

  But this would lead to sympathy. Questions. Some people wanted to know how many of his paintings remained in Zillah’s possession. Would she ever mount another exhibition? Daniel worked hard to gain the success he’d achieved but he never hit what people might call the big time. Nor had he wanted all that malarkey as he’d called the trappings of celebrity.

  Most of all, Zillah didn’t want Mrs West to assume she was a rich widow, keeping herself occupied by catering for a few functions now and then. Like Daniel, she’d no wish to become a celebrity. But she hungered for business success and needed all the bookings she could get. Zillah drank in the apricot and violet sky above an indigo ocean and allowed herself two very deep breaths. She mustn’t dwell upon the past, even though she wished she could walk into that painting and find Daniel waiting for her. She turned, clutching the purple suede thingy, and went back to Annie West.

  *

  ‘Sounds like you went down well,’ said Abi as she and Zillah lunched later.

  ‘Mrs West promised to ring as soon as she’d made up her mind. Hopefully she’ll ask round her contacts to see if they know us.’ Zillah remembered the link between Mrs West’s goddaughter and the Nancarrow clan. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting another caterer’s being interviewed this afternoon. Which gives me a chance to research some recipes and email my Bath meets Goa ideas to her.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Abi.

  ‘You’re prejudiced but thank you. How’s your morning been?’

  Abi paused, celery stick in hand. ‘I made at least a ton of marzipan. Oh, and the boys upstairs gave the chocolate cupcakes the thumbs up. I thought they might provide some useful comments.’

  ‘Hmm, Mr Christmas certainly has a sweet tooth. I can’t imagine Zak being partial to cakes, even sugar free. There’s not an ounce of fat on him.’

  ‘Is that right? Abi spoke primly. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ She ignored Zillah, about to choke on a mouthful of tuna and tomato. ‘They both sampled and both enjoyed.’

  ‘They weren’t just being polite?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I had a quick coffee with them before Hal booted Zak back to the computer. He walked me down the stairs though and thanked me very nicely for their elevenses. He’s such a gentleman.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Zillah pursed her lips, put down her fork. ‘Sparkling mineral?’

  ‘Thanks,’ Abi watched her employer head for the fridge.

  Zillah hadn’t missed the puzzled expression on her assistant’s face and had a fair idea what Abi was thinking. It would be along the lines of what a shame it was that Zillah couldn’t seem to warm to Hal. Because he was such a lovely guy as well as a gentleman, why would Zillah go out for lunch with a playboy like Zak Silver, when Hal Christmas was far more her type? From her 22-years-old viewpoint, she would reckon Zillah needed someone to help her learn to love again and sooner rather than later. She shouldn’t be wasting her time with Mr Bojangles, fun though Zak might be.

  Zillah completed her email to her prospective client around six pm. It was a relief to send it winging off and check whether anything interesting had arrived via her website. The only messages were two lonely hearts ones, from Zak.

  I’m stuck here. Hal’s on a conference call. May I call to congratulate you on your cupcake recipe?

  Hey, aren’t you speaking to me? Your van’s still here. You can’t hide from me…

  Zillah answered the second message, saying she was shutting up shop. Two minutes later, Zak knocked on her door.

  ‘You work too hard,’ he said. ‘I’m getting a lift back with himself so I can’t offer to whisk you off to the pub. Just wanted to say hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ said Zillah.

  He beamed. ‘Actually, I wondered if you could spa
re a minute so I can pick your brain.’

  ‘Take a seat. Whether my brain can cope with whatever you need to know is another matter.’

  ‘You’re the hearts and flowers expert. Had you thought of asking Hal to promote your business on his website which, since I am currently constructing it, is destined to be tip top, state of the art, and so alluring, there’ll be hit after hit upon it?’

  ‘And your point is?’ Zillah regarded him gravely, tapping a tooth with a crystal-topped pencil.

  ‘My point is it’ll mean more business for you. And you do the same for him. Promote the link to his new site as soon as it’s up and running.’ He folded his arms. ‘To tell you the truth, Zillah, I’m hoping to pick up some wedding singer bookings.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘How are you on Panis Angelicus?’

  Zak lifted his chin. ‘Just because I’ve been working in Vegas doesn’t mean I don’t do serious. I thought you’d visited my website.’

  ‘I have. I’m teasing. You have a fabulous voice and Abi thinks so too. We both love your album.’

  His face cleared. ‘Sorry. It’s been a busy day upstairs with God.’

  ‘Zak, listen to me. I’m not that keen on getting into bed with Hal Christmas.’ She stopped, aghast at what she’d just said but Zak didn’t pick up on it. ‘Our businesses could, I suppose, complement each other but I find couples often want a disco for the evening party and have their own ideas as to what’s hot.’

  ‘Or cool?’

  ‘Yes. Whatever. I’m sorry but since I began trading, no one has ever asked me to recommend someone to sing as part of the church ceremony or during the reception.’

  Zak nodded. ‘I understand. But surely you can see the benefit of marketing your own business via someone else’s website. Hal has some good contacts.’

  ‘Not in the Bath area, I fancy.’

  ‘Give him time and I guarantee he’ll surprise you.’

  Zillah didn’t want to be surprised. ‘Okay, I’ll think about it. Anything for a peaceful life.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Zak, relaxing. ‘I’d better go upstairs and hover. Hal has so much on his mind at the moment he’s quite likely to buzz off home without me.’