‘If you were offered a job, I wouldn’t be here,’ he said, ‘and some of these younger chefs aren’t so old-fashioned.’
‘Old-fashioned,’ she murmured. ‘Yes.’
He laughed and opened the door to the hotel. ‘If you think about where you work, you are in no position to mock anything for being old-fashioned.’
‘It’s one thing working in an old house that hasn’t been changed much from when it was a family home and another having outdated ideas. It’s quite easy to change the decor. Apparently, it’s harder to change a mind.’ She gave herself a mental cheer.
Justin wasn’t impressed. ‘My mind is fine as it is, thank you. Now, here’s the beating heart of the hotel.’
It was hard not to envy this kitchen, with its sleek, purpose-built spaces, full of the best ovens, gadgets andequipment. She particularly coveted the cold kitchen, separate from the hot kitchen, where cold dishes, very often desserts, could be created in a chilled environment so gelatine wouldn’t melt, and cream would hold its shape. Just the size of the mixer, capable of beating dozens of egg whites into a cloud of potential meringue, made her realise how much her wrist and arm ached when she beat eggs with her balloon whisk.
By the time the tour was over she was determined to buy a professional mixer, even if she had to use her own money. She could take it with her when she left Nightingale Woods. She might also see if she could convert one of the many larders and still rooms into a separate space for making desserts.
The tour over, they went together to the back door. ‘Here’s some money for the desserts,’ said Justin. ‘I know we didn’t talk about how much you were charging for your labour, but I think this is fair.’
He handed Meg an envelope which seemed to be stuffed with notes. She took it without looking at it, let alone counting it.
‘Aren’t you going to check how much I’ve given you?’ said Justin.
Meg wanted to lie, to be able to say something that wouldn’t reveal her ignorance about what her work was worth, but she knew she wouldn’t get away with it even if she tried.
‘I don’t know how much I should be paid for making them. I’m just hoping you’re not cheating me or the hotel.’
‘That’s very honest of you, Meg. And I promise you I’m not doing you out of anything. I’ve paid the goingrate.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll need you to make some more desserts when these are gone. That’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Meg breezily, ignoring the insanely early mornings when she’d started long before dawn in order to get the desserts made while it was quiet and cool. Now she remembered all the things she hadn’t done that morning, in order that she could do the desserts. ‘I’d better go now. I hope your foot gets better soon.’
Just then, the door to the kitchens swung open and Laura rushed in. ‘Justin! You’re not supposed to be on that foot, and you know it! I could have paid …’ Laura hesitated, obviously searching for a name. ‘Meg. Or she should have just sent an invoice like a proper business would have done.’ She smiled at Meg. ‘It was very kind of you to make the cakes and things. I don’t suppose we’ll need your services again.’
Meg smiled but didn’t say that Justin had just told her the contrary.
‘After all,’ Laura went on, also smiling, ‘the home-made thing is all very charming but we like a more professional look here.’
Meg smiled harder. Only the imagined vision of Laura’s carefully made-up face deep in a cream cake kept her from saying something waspish.
‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ said Justin.
‘No need, Jussy!’ said Laura. ‘I can do that. Although I’m sure Meg is perfectly capable of getting to her car on her own.’
‘Yes, I am,’ said Meg, and turned to go. But curiosity about how Justin would handle this situation kept her there.
‘I said I’d walk her out,’ said Justin. ‘I’ve one or two things to say to her about Nightingale Woods. Thank you, Laura,’ he added, dismissing her.
When they got to Meg’s car, she turned to him. ‘Jussy?’ she murmured.
He pursed his lips, suppressing either a smile of embarrassment or an outburst of anger, Meg couldn’t tell. ‘No one calls me that.’
‘Except Laura,’ said Meg.
‘Get in the car!’ said Justin huffily. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Meg was a good driver, she knew, but she didn’t like being watched if she was making tricky manoeuvres. However, she managed the reversing without having to go back and forth too often and escaped. She didn’t wonder why Justin hadn’t said anything to her about Nightingale Woods; she knew perfectly well he’d only said that for Laura’s benefit.
Once she was a little way away from the hotel, she pulled into a lay-by and inspected the money he had given her. It might not buy a mixer on its own, but it was definitely a step in the right direction. ‘No offence, Justin,’ said Meg to herself. ‘But don’t feel obliged to get back to work too soon. The longer your pastry chef is doing your job, the sooner I can buy some things that will make my life a bit easier.’
It was lunchtime when she got back and Susan and Cherry were both on duty. As it was still unseasonably warm, Meg had poached a salmon and made mayonnaise early; now it just had to be served with a cucumber salad and new potatoes from the hotelkitchen garden. Luckily everything had been picked earlier as it had come on to rain, really quite hard.
‘We needed the rain,’ said Susan. ‘But we don’t need you, Meg. Why don’t you take some time off? You’ve been working long hours making those fancy folderols for that other hotel.’
