The top third of her hair was dyed brown, a change from her more usual blond, and that was another trick she’d learnt. Always go from lighter to darker to avoid having to keep bleaching – and damaging – the hair. The lower half was a warm graduation of deep green, dark emerald, juniper, and rich forest. It only remained for her to apply the highlights later.
Another glance at the clock showed 7.25 which gave her twenty minutes before washing the hair out. Time for an early coffee.
As expected, when Pierre walked into the kitchen, Cook was already at the Aga removing a tray of bread rolls from the hottest oven. Also, as expected, the percolator was already on and filling the warm country kitchen with the aroma of fresh coffee.
“You’re down early.” She placed the hot bread rolls on a rack to cool.
“You’re one to talk.” Pierre grinned as she selected a large mug from the open shelf that ran the length of the back wall. It mostly had Denton Regency crockery, but since Pierre’s arrival it had also acquired a selection of large mugs with silly slogans. Her current favourite was a 500ml black barrel with the words,Coffee makes a good book better. “Why is the sink already full of washing up?” she asked as she added a little cream to her coffee.
“I’m making a basket of sandwiches for Laura to take with her to work. Poor love.”
Calling people ‘poor love’ was Cook’s way of showing affection. Many members of the house had been recipients of the ‘poor love’ name over the two years Pierre had been here. Cook usually accompanied the name with a special food. Just like making sandwiches for Laura to take with her to work as a special show of affection after the disaster that was yesterday.
“What are you making her?”
“Goat cheese and tomatoes. Cheddar and pickle, Stilton and salad. Laura likes her cheese.”
And that was another thing about Cook, a talent for knowing almost instinctively what everyone in the house loved to eat.
“I really thought she was going to be sent packing yesterday,” Cook continued.
“She was, but I told her to wait until Lord M calmed down.”
“Calmed down? Climbed down from the high heavens, you mean. I’ve never seen him in such a rage.”
Lord Du Montfort was usually a great boss, but he also had a temper, and yesterday had been quite an explosion. “I think it’s understandable that he’s worried about his only son’s wedding. And Millie is almost a daughter to him, so he wants the wedding to go without a hitch.”
“It would go with a far fewer hitches if he stopped shouting.” Cook found a long sharp knife and a slab of smoked pork belly and started slicing it into thin bacon strips. “We all love Millie and George, and we all want their wedding to go like jingle bells, but Millie hired Laura to make her wedding dress, so why can’t he let her get on with it instead of interfering? And that goes double-true for Nicole.”
The wedding planner had been at Du Montfort Hall for ten weeks, hired by Lord M as a gift to Millie even though Millie didn’t care for fuss or ceremony. Of course, the wedding was a huge affair which needed a lot of organising, but Lord M couldn’t let Nicole do the job for which he’d hired her. He summoned her to his study almost every day to go over tiny details and make sure everything was going to be perfect.
“Have you noticed,” Cook said. “Nicole’s been looking more like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far.”
“Not helped by the tension between her and Laura.” Pierre pulled a chair and turned it around before straddling it.
Cook had finished with the packed lunch and went back to the Aga to give the simmering porridge pot a stir before adding a little more milk. “They’re like two wild cats that can’t be in the same room without hissing and spitting at each other.”
Pierre drank some coffee to avoiding commenting. She hated discord and always did her best to remain on good terms with everyone. Yet her true sympathies lay with Laura. Not only because the bridal dress designer had quickly become a friend, but because she couldn’t help the feeling that Nicole looked down on them. Nothing tangible, in fact Nicole was always very sweet and charming. But she’d had too many previous employers and colleagues look askance at her avant-garde style of dressing. As a result, she’d developed an over-sensitive radar. It may all have been in her own imagination, but she couldn’t quite relax around Nicole.
She took another sip of coffee. Five weeks until the wedding; then the woman’s work would be done. Surely Pierre could ignore her inner paranoia for five weeks. Besides, she had so many other blessings. Working here was better than anything she could dream of. And if living in this elegant eighteenth-century mansion wasn’t fabulous enough, the large friendly kitchen made it even better.
“Hello!” Laura walked in.
All of Pierre’s misgivings vanished. The bridal dress designer, a tall, striking brunette with very short hair was the opposite of Pierre in every way but the two had become friends almost instantly.
“I like this.” Laura nodded towards Pierre’s jeans.
They had been black, but Pierre had splattered them with bleach then dipped them in ochre dye which made them look like they had golden yellow flowers blooming over the dark background.
“Why are you down so early with your hair still in a towel?” Laura pulled out a chair and sat down at the huge wooden table.
“She’s colouring her hair again.” Cook placed a bowl of porridge and a cup of coffee in front of Laura.
“Ooh, what colour?” Laura asked sprinkling seeds and nuts over her porridge, then squeezing a little honey.
“She won’t tell you,” Cook said. “It’s always a surprise.”
Laura gave Pierre a questioning look.
