‘You haven’t got an electric mixer here?’ Justin frowned.
‘A wooden spoon and a balloon whisk only,’ said Meg.
‘Very traditional and old-fashioned,’ said Justin. ‘I’ll arrange for a mixer to be delivered.’ He gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I know my hotel is better, and yours is stuck in the nineteenth century, when Mrs Beeton ruled with the only cookery book anyone had, but you do need a stand mixer. We have a couple spare.’
Meg tried to stop herself smiling back. ‘Good.’
‘And I’ll tell the client they can’t have a Black Forest gateau,’ said Justin. ‘I couldn’t get the mixer to you in time.’
‘No, don’t cancel it,’ said Meg. ‘I’ll make one by hand.’
Justin considered this. ‘You could come up to my kitchen and use my equipment. It would save transporting a fragile cake in the back of a car.’
‘That sounds like a good idea, darling,’ said Louise, who was halfway through her drink and obviously feeling far more relaxed. ‘No one is coming until teatime tomorrow.’
‘No, thank you. I can do other things in between processes if I make it here,’ said Meg quickly. Then she tried to think of a process that gave her time to do anything. ‘While it’s cooking,’ she finished lamely.
‘Do come and make it up at the hotel,’ said Justin.
Something about the way he said it implied that Nightingale Woods was not a place for professional cooking. ‘No, really. I’ll be fine doing it here, thank you,’ she said stiffly.
She picked up her glass and took another gulp. ‘Have a bit of broken vol au vent,’ she said to Justin, offering the plate.
‘Delicious,’ he said. Meg could feel him studying her as he ate it.
She took a bit herself before passing the plate to her mother. ‘Right!’ said Louise a few moments later, getting to her feet. ‘I’m going to make omelettes for our supper.’
‘I thought it was Meg who made such good ones,’ said Justin.
‘She does make excellent omelettes,’ said Louise. ‘But I taught her how.’
Neither Meg nor Justin spoke for several minutes. She refused to make polite conversation just because her mother had put her in this awkward position and Justin obviously didn’t feel the need to make polite anything.
Meg broke first. ‘Will you take the deeds to your father?’
‘Yes. The sooner this estate is sorted out the better. Everyone needs to get on with their lives and they can’t when they don’t know if they’ll have money to do it or not.’
‘You mean your father and his brother?’
Justin nodded. ‘My uncle has – things – he needs to settle.’
‘By “things”, do you mean debts?’ asked Meg.
Justin laughed ruefully. ‘Yes. It was very indiscreet of me to say that.’
‘But your grandfather will have left things equally between his two sons, surely?’
Justin shrugged. ‘I didn’t know him well but he was fairly eccentric. If he didn’t want the hotel sold, he might easily have willed the hotel to my father, and any leftover cash to Colin.’
‘Would that be an equal way to divide the money?
‘No, and Uncle Colin would feel very bitter about it. So I must get the deeds to my dad as soon as possible. I’m still out of action anyway, so it’s a good time for me to go to France.’
‘Let my mother go instead,’ said Meg, surprising herself. She had no idea where that thought had come from but now it had, she knew it was right. ‘She’d love to see your father and you’re busier than she is.’
‘Are you pushing her and my father together?’ Justin sounded suspicious.
‘No,’ said Meg. ‘We both know they are together already. It would give my mother a chance to see him, and him her. Imagine how lovely it would be for them in France, in early summer.’ Then she realised it was possible that Justin had no imagination.
