Over and over again, he took the basics of pastry, eggs, milk and cheese and trialled different types, quantities and even temperatures of these, before adding fillings and flavours thatwould work both in taste and texture. Some were successful: the brie, mushroom and thyme, with minced dates sprinkled through, had been divine; the ill-fated attempt at ‘freshness’ with too many wet ingredients, including cucumber, less so, and he had still to perfect a vegan version. But the calmness and amount of time available to him at Feywood were perfect for working up new recipe ideas, and despite the mess he had left behind him in France, he felt himself soothed by the opportunity to immerse himself in his creations.
As the big sink filled with water and bubbles, he ruminated on what Sylvia had said. He had graciously agreed to her asking Juliet to work with them, although what a cartoonist had to offer, he did not know. But privately he was unhappy about the idea. If she did come back to her childhood home, she would be bound to make life uncomfortable, with her surly face and entitled ways. He already felt so ravaged by the press and the public – not to mention his own guilt – over Veronique, that he had been hoping for a quiet retreat, not a battle every day. God knew he didn’t need another heartless woman in his life – however attractive. No, Léo preferred a homebody, someone who would not chew him up and spit him out – again. But as he dried the dishes, he remembered the word Sylvia had used to describe Juliet –vulnerable. Although his first thought was that this could not be further from the truth, he recalled the young woman’s tired, wary eyes and tightly controlled emotions and wondered briefly – generously, he thought – if there could be something more going on behind that brittle exterior.
SIX
Juliet enjoyed the short walk home from the pub, hazy from the wine and bolstered by this new information about Léo.Of coursehe was a love rat. She might have guessed – all that twinkling and then the judgemental face in the meeting – that he was a hypocrite as well. The first to find her lacking when he was the one with the grubby secret. And what of her other predicament? Although she had been rallied by talking to her sisters, she was no less confused. What would a return to Feywood mean for her? Maybe she could find a way to stay in London while still sending money home, lodge with a friend maybe? But that didn’t feel right either. It was as if she had been offered an opportunity for change, something she knew she wanted and needed, but the opportunity came with its own dangers and fears. She sighed deeply as she turned into the drive and picked her way back across the cattle grid. Perhaps more thinking time would help.
Avoiding the house, Juliet skirted around the back and walked across the lawn, pausing briefly to decide which route to take. For a moment, she looked towards the woods, always tempting in their cool, dark greenness, but they were not what she needed today. If she went into the wood, it would confuse her already fuddled senses and beckon her home with thepromise of days spent lying on a pillow of moss, gazing into the tangled branches and letting her mind wander for hours, like a teenager. No. It was clarity she needed, and space, and the practicality of the kitchen garden was the place that would offer that. It was worryingly close to the cookery school, but she was prepared to take the risk of bumping into Léo and wouldn’t hang around if she did. She walked determinedly over that way, and once through the wrought-iron gate, headed to her favourite spot, a bench in a cool corner next to a small greenhouse. The beds there were growing no-nonsense produce, spinach and radishes, and she found this grounding, rather than being swayed by the woods or the scented rose garden. She pulled out her phone and switched it off, without even looking at the pull-down menu with its array of notifications.Silence. Peace.
But fifteen minutes later, Juliet had achieved nothing and was beginning to feel frustrated. As she had sat there on the sun-warmed bench, with no distractions other than the odd blackbird pecking away, she had expected the clouds in her mind to part and some sort of revelation to make itself known, but her brain had, she felt, let her down. All it had done was ponder irrelevant and unhelpful things, such as whydidthe Prime Minister wear that tie last week, whatwashe thinking? And although this, in turn, gave her an idea for a sketch, it got her no closer to making a decision about her future. When she tried to force her mind towards returning to Feywood, she felt suffused with panic and indecision, and switched to comforting thoughts of work. Maybe a list of pros and cons? But even they were slippery and nebulous. There was no particular advantage to being in London for work, not with all the technology available these days. When she thought about her social life, all that came to mind was the sour taste of a hangover, coupled with the gripping fear of having done or said something excruciating after one too many Old Fashioneds. Conversely, the thought ofFeywood, with its shabby beauty and cocooning peace made her think of her mother, and old resentments surged to the surface.
‘This is hopeless,’ she said aloud, standing up and about to march out of the garden, when her aunt walked through the gateway, dressed in loose clothing and carrying several garden implements. She waved when she saw Juliet.
‘Hello, darling, I didn’t expect to see you in here. How are you feeling?’
Juliet sat down again abruptly on the bench as Sylvia came over. On seeing her niece’s demeanour, she let the tools fall to the ground with a clatter, sat down and put her arm around her. Initially, Juliet’s body stiffened, as it always did at unexpected human touch, but then she softened and leant against her aunt.
‘I’m sorry that meeting was such a shock to you. I’m not sure Rousseau handled it as well as he might have done, but he is terribly worried about Feywood and wanted everyone to understand the gravity of the situation. It ended up looking as if it was all on you, but it’s really not like that. We all have to buck our ideas up, him included, and stop hoping that the leaking roof and crumbling bricks will magically disappear while we enjoy cocktails on the terrace.’
‘I know, I do understand, and I want to do my bit. I love Feywood as much as everyone else, and I’m happy to help, but I just don’t know what to do, where to go…’
She trailed off and stared miserably at the spinach. Sylvia squeezed her shoulders.
‘There’s a bigger decision here, isn’t there, darling? You’re on the brink of a change, a deep change, and you don’t know whether to step along its path or stay on your own.’
How could her aunt be so wise, see through her like that? She nodded.
‘I…I can’t see what to do, Aunt Sylvia. I’ve always been so sure before, but now I feel paralysed. London has given me somuch, but I know that it is depleting me, too, and I don’t know how long I can keep going there the way I am. I do feel that I would like to take a new direction with my work, but I’m doing so well, and I’m frightened of throwing that away. And coming back here…’
She trailed off into silence.
‘Oh, Juliet, the mistake you’re making – if you don’t mind my saying – is that you are taking all of this far too seriously.’
Juliet looked up sharply.
‘Too seriously? But thisisserious, this is my life – I can’t just act on a whim.’
‘Dearest Juliet, you are not going to do anything of the sort. I’m not telling you to throw anything away, it’s more that – oh, you’re so young!’
‘I’m thirty. Thirty!’
‘Yes, thirty, and thatisvery young. Don’t make a decision that cuts off any choices; there’s no need for that. Why don’t you look at it as trying out a new path, nothing more? You can always retrace your steps if you need to. I know you are talking about serious things – your life, your career – but in a way the decision you make today is no more final than trying out a new hair colour.’
‘Mum always said…’ she whispered. ‘Mum always said that I was flighty, that I couldn’t stick to anything. And now you’re telling me that doesn’t matter?’
‘I don’t think you’re remotely flighty, nor that you have ever been. Your mother was terrified of life, then terrified of death. She loved you deeply, Juliet, and wanted to see you safe and secure. She didn’t understand that you needed to find your calling in a different way from your sisters, to whom their life path showed up naturally and easily. You’re a more complex character, and I think she mishandled you. Don’t shy away fromopportunity because you think that otherwise you’re fulfilling some declaration about yourself that your mother made.’
Juliet didn’t reply. She felt shocked in both senses of the word – deeply surprised, but also energised by Sylvia’s words. This wasn’t how she had seen her mother at all, but she knew that Sylvia’s judgement was sound, and she was worth listening to. She had always felt guilty for loving her more.
‘Darling Juliet, come and look at the space above the cookery school, come and see if you could feel yourself living there. It wouldn’t have to be forever. Think of it in a temporary way. Come on.’
The two women stood up and walked through the kitchen garden towards the school. It was housed in what had been the stables, and Sylvia had achieved a remarkably sensitive restoration and repurposing of the seventeenth-century building. From the outside, it had barely changed, other than the addition of some period-style windows. Inside, the original herringbone brick floors remained untouched, and the stone walls had merely been whitewashed, which gave freshness but retained the rustic charm. Two of the original five loosebox partitions remained in place: one sectioned off a storeroom-larder and the other housed a scrubbed wooden table, around which the students could sit to share the meals they had created. The rest of the space had a state-of-the-art kitchen with a large island. Pans and large bunches of drying herbs hung from ceiling racks and tack hooks. A door at the side led to the tack room, which had been converted into a loo and cloakroom for bags and coats. It was the first time that Juliet had seen it, and not only was she impressed, she was relieved that Léo was nowhere to be seen.
‘Aunt Sylvia, it looks amazing. Better than I could ever have imagined. When do you get your first students?’
‘We open for business in a couple of weeks, and we’re fully booked until the autumn. I can’t believe how many people want to come.’
‘I can. Anyone would want to come and enjoy this wonderful place – and your tuition. You’ve been writing for magazines for years, so everyone knows who you are, and how brilliant your recipes are.’
