There was a silence as Rousseau continued serving his porridge. Léo tried to catch Juliet’s eye to smile again. He felt proud of her for speaking so calmly and honestly, but she stared down miserably into her food and didn’t look at him. Rousseau sat down and poured some coffee.
‘Darling Juliet.’
Every eye at the table swivelled to look at him.
‘My darling girl, I understand.’
Juliet looked up sharply.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You’ve spoken truthfully, and I see how you have grown since you left Feywood. I did so worry that coming back was not the right thing for you, even though it was essential. But now I see that the changes that have been made do not only hold true in London, away from us. Well done, my dear.’
Léo could see Juliet’s eyes brimming with tears and, remembering the distress that crying in front of him had brought her the previous evening, he knew that this was the moment to shift the attention away from her and give her a chance to compose herself.
‘I wonder,’ he said, addressing Rousseau, ‘if you might allow me to collate some of your marvellous breakfast ideas for a section in the new recipe book I am planning? In fact, anyone here who has a special recipe or idea could share it with me. This cookbook is going to be a love letter to Feywood and to you all, for the welcome you have shown me.’
Immediately there was a hubbub as Martha and Frankie started chattering about favourite childhood dishes that could be included, and Rousseau agreed willingly to having his breakfast ideas documented. Léo saw Juliet take a moment to dab her eyesand breathe deeply before she turned to him and smiled again, a more natural, relaxed smile this time.
‘Thank you, Léo. I think I might have a few ideas too.’
‘But your aunt said you couldn’t boil an egg?’ He grinned at her.
‘Oh no, she’s right, I can’t, but I can mix a wicked cocktail. Wouldn’t your recipe book benefit from a few of those?’
‘Now that really is abon idée. Play to your strengths, I like it.’
Everybody laughed and the rest of breakfast was spent in relaxed chatter as they all made their suggestions for the book, received gratefully by Léo – but most of which, he thought privately, would never make it to the pages. Particularly Frankie’s revolting-sounding suggestion of cold baked beans mixed with Marmite and cheese. Hardlyhaute cuisine.
A short while after breakfast, Sylvia, Léo and Juliet assembled in the cookery school kitchen.
‘Juliet, darling, we do appreciate your offer to do the artwork for our website and other literature for free, but we really feel we should pay you.’ Sylvia looked uncomfortable, and once again Léo was so pleased that he had gone into business with someone who had such integrity.
‘I knew you’d say that,’ said Juliet, with something of her previous sternness, which was already melting away, returning. ‘I am perfectly happy to do it for free, but I understand that you find that hard to accept, so I would like to offer you a deal.’
Léo wondered if the softer-seeming Juliet had been nothing more than a fleeting image: maybe now they would see the tough city girl reappear. A ‘deal’ sounded ominous, and expensive. Juliet continued.
‘I am exploring photography with various subjects, but one thing I have been short of is people. In return for my drawings,may I have access to you both preparing and cooking the food, and even to the food itself? I don’t know how good my pictures will be, I think I have a lot to learn, but you would be welcome to use them if you wanted to. It’s the experience I need, it would be invaluable to me.’
So, not a monetary request, but a generous offer, tied up in terms that he and Sylvia could happily accept. Léo reminded himself for at least the third time that morning that he wasnotgoing to let himself feel attracted to this beautiful, difficult, surprising girl, butmon dieu, she was making it hard for him. He shook himself and beamed at Sylvia, who was looking at him questioningly.
‘I think that sounds like a very good exchange,merciJuliet for your offer. Don’t you agree, Sylvia?’
‘You’re a clever girl, Juliet, thank you, we’d love to take you up on it.’
‘Good. Like I said, don’t expect Annie Leibovitz, but I might get good enough to make something of it, with practice.’
‘Are you thinking of moving away from the cartoons, then, and into photography? I must say, my darling, I think it would be an easier path. I know you’ve fought to get where you are, but don’t you want to, well…relax and enjoy life a bit?’
A look came across Juliet’s face that took Léo straight back to when he had first met her. Her lips tightened into a mutinous line and her brow creased like a cross child’s. He was annoyed to realise that, whereas previously he had found this expression off-putting, it was beginning to seem endearing. He wanted to poke or tickle her to snap her out of it, but that probably wouldn’t go down so well.
When she spoke, her voice was edgy, the warmth and humour of before dissipated.
‘I’m not making any decisions. I know you all think that my London life was some kind of bear pit, but I enjoyed it andI’m enjoying the success. It’s hard work, yes, particularly for a woman, but I can do it.’
‘Oh dear, I’m not suggesting for a moment that you can’t.’ Sylvia looked worried. ‘I’m really not trying to tell you what to do, darling, I just want the best for you.’
Juliet’s face relaxed a fraction.
