‘I’m so glad. And I’m here because I know perfectly well that the delightful Cherry overheard me dictate my review to my paper – she was meant to overhear! I want you all to know how good I think you are. But what she can’t have overheard, because I didn’t mention it, was that I also write forExcellent Hotels and Restaurants, which you may know is where all the best hotels in the United Kingdom are listed.’ He paused, waiting for a reaction.
Meg obliged. ‘Oh my goodness!’ She had heard of the guide and it was definitely the best one to get into.
‘And I want Nightingale Woods in that guide!’
‘I don’t know what to say!’ Meg was stunned.
‘My friend Russell had mentioned that Nightingale Woods was rather special so when I met Lady Lennox-Stanley and she told me she was on her way here, of course I expressed interest. Then she suggested I came along.’ He paused and smiled confidingly at Meg. ‘Part of me wanted to test how the hotel would cope when presented with a last-minute guest, and I’m happy to say you dealt with it perfectly!’
‘I’m so glad.’ Fancy Lady Fussy-Knickers inviting a restaurant critic to the hotel on the spur of the moment! Her mother, David – and Andrew – would be so thrilled. She couldn’t wait to tell them. But although Cherry thought his review had been good when she overheard it, maybe she’d got it wrong. What then?
Basil patted her hand. ‘I can see that now you’re worried. No need. I’m going to give you what I’vewritten so you can see for yourself. There will be small alterations, of course. I’m often told I have a rather …’ He paused. ‘Flowery writing style, but basically, here’s what I think. I won’t stay to watch you read it. I’m going to take a turn about the garden and enjoy the peace and quiet.’
When he’d gone, Meg picked up the paper and read.
If you search the hidden hills and dales of Dorset you may be lucky enough to chance upon the charming Nightingale Woods. It is a gem!
I have said before in print that good service is as important as good food and accommodation and sometimes you get one or the other. Here you have all three. The beautiful old house welcomes you like a friend, and while there are definitely rooms that need redecorating, there are now some rooms with private bathrooms. If the welcome is warm, the food of a very high standard, and the staff excellent, dealing with a demanding clientele with efficiency and charm, worn-out upholstery and chipped paint fades into insignificance. Do visit this quirkily original hotel if you possibly can. It’s somewhere really very special.
When she’d had a few moments to take in the review, Meg went to find Basil in the garden. ‘I’m overwhelmed,’ she said. ‘This is such a lovely review. Of course, I only work here, it’s not my hotel, but it’s so nice to hear it so praised.’
‘I realise you don’t own Nightingale Woods, but who does?’ said Basil, who had patted the space on the bench next to him so Meg would sit and talk.
‘Well, currently it’s being run by Andrew Nightingale, but his father, the owner, has died so Andrew is sorting out his will. My mother is with him. She’s why I’m here.’
‘But you fit in so well!’
Meg smiled. ‘It’s my first experience of working in a hotel, and the first time I’ve been in charge on my own in a kitchen. But with Susan and everyone to help I’ve found I can manage it, and I love it.’
‘Your style of cuisine—’ He began and then stopped. ‘What? What have I said to make you laugh?’
‘I hope I didn’t seem rude. I didn’t realise I had a “style of cuisine”. It sounds so grand.’
Basil laughed. ‘You do have a style! It’s simple food, from really excellent ingredients—’
‘All local, all from friends and relations of Susan’s.’
‘Put together with care and attention and no fussy bits. Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate food as theatre as much as the next man – more than many – but that’s not what you’re doing here. And your puddings make strong men weep!’
Meg was really giggling now. ‘But how do you know?’
Basil tossed his head. ‘A strong man – well, Russell actually – confessed to me last night how much your lemon meringue pie moved him. You may laugh, but a simple dessert, beautifully made, is a rare and joyful thing.’
‘I love doing desserts. Lots of chefs don’t, but I don’t mind how much fiddling I have to do to make things look pretty. I don’t like puddings like lemon meringue to look fussy – the woman who taught me cooking in London was very against anything piped – but when I make little fruit tartlets or mille-feuille, anything dainty, I do get very obsessed.’
Just then, Meg heard the sound of a motorbike. ‘Oh, that’s Justin. I wonder what he wants.’
‘Who’s he?’ asked Basil.
‘He’s the son of Andrew, which makes him the grandson of the dead owner. He’s a chef at the hotel in Newton-cum-Hardy, which is quite near here.’
A few moments later Justin came striding into view. ‘Hello! Taking the weight off, Meg?’ Then he smiled at Basil in a way that made Meg feel obliged to introduce them.
‘So,’ said Basil when this had been done. ‘You’re the nearest thing we have to an owner in the vicinity?’
‘I like to keep an eye on my father’s investment,’ Justin said.
Privately, Meg stored this away. She’d let Susan know as soon as she could think of a sensible way to do it that Justin had made it absolutely clear he came to see the hotel, not her.
