‘And why not a rival?’
‘Meg! You’ve been there – to the hotel where I work – you and your friends. It’s new, it’s owned by Raoul de Dijon …’ He hesitated for a second as he realised this name hadn’t got the reaction he was expecting. ‘Who is, as you obviously don’t know, the chef everyone in the business is talking about. He’s launching a cookery book, and he’s even going to be on television.’
‘OK. I know quite enough about him,’ said Meg, who had deliberately not reacted to the famous name. ‘I still don’t know why you’re working for him, though, and not for your father’s hotel.’ A thought struck her. Maybe there was a personal reason for him working there. Maybe her name was Laura.
‘My father can’t afford to pay me – at least, not nearly enough.’
‘Maybe if you worked at Nightingale Woods, more people could come, the prices could go up and we wouldn’t be having these difficulties.’
Justin shook his head. ‘You know that wouldn’t work. People aren’t going to come to a …’
‘Very charming?’
‘… hotel in a small corner of Dorset that no one’s ever heard of because there’s a new chef, who no one has ever heard of either.’
‘What about word of mouth? We’ve got people who were at the lunch coming for meals. They’re booking in for Sunday lunch, afternoon tea …’ She realised she was repeating herself and sounding desperate.
‘It won’t be enough,’ Justin said. ‘Ultimately, the hotel will have to be sold.’
‘Over my dead body!’ The thought of the hotel she had come to love becoming the slick, soulless place she, Alexandra and Vanessa had had lunch at was horrible.
‘Your body, dead or alive, won’t have much to do with it,’ said Justin. ‘But I’ll look at your ideas, and anything that doesn’t cost money, you can do.’
Meg chewed her lip, wondering how to phrase what she intended to say next. ‘No one’s heard of me, I’m not even a classically trained chef, but people are coming.’
‘Are you not trained at all, then?’ Justin didn’t seem to think this was possible.
Meg thought of the course she’d done with Mme Wilson. He would never consider that little cookery school in a Pimlico basement as training. ‘Not formally, no. But in September I’m going to work with a chef in Provence.’
Justin laughed, not unkindly. ‘You mean, you’re being allowed to wash pots, for nothing, in a kitchen in Provence, while the chef shouts at you in a language you don’t understand.’
Meg lifted her chin.
‘I know. I’ve done it,’ said Justin, ‘and you’re absolutely right to go. You’ll learn so much. But you haven’tlearnt it yet. Although I have to admit, you are doing pretty well.’
Meg broke in. ‘Supposing I said stop paying me. Keep my wage and invest it in the hotel.’
Justin stared at her as if she was a strange animal at risk of extinction. ‘That’s a ridiculous idea. Why would you do that when you have nothing to gain from it?’
‘I do have things to gain from it, although nothing financial. My mother loves this hotel and I’d do it for her. I also love this hotel and I enjoy a challenge. There are such great ingredients available here. I know the locals probably don’t want fancy food, like you produce, but they like good-quality plain food. Fresh vegetables and nursery puddings.’ She paused. ‘Though I might have to broaden people’s horizons a bit there.’
‘Don’t you like cooking nursery puddings?’
‘I like cooking what people want to eat but it would be more interesting to do other things too. I’m interested in becoming a pastry chef.’ Meg paused. ‘Not crêpes Suzette though. I’ll leave that one to you.’ She had cooked it a few days previously, but she felt it was showy. Susan, watching the process from the kitchen, called it ‘all fur coat and no knickers’.
She took a breath, aware she was getting heated, which wouldn’t be helpful. ‘One of the reasons I want to go to France is so I can learn more about desserts.’
‘You won’t learn about that from a provincial restaurant, if you want to do more than crème caramel and îles flottantes.’
She knew this perfectly well. ‘No, but while I’m there, I might be able to work in a pâtisserie.’
He studied her. ‘You’re serious about your cooking, aren’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Yes I am.’
‘And you’re prepared to sacrifice a summer’s wages to improve a hotel you really don’t have anything to do with.’
‘I said, it’s for my mother.’
