‘Just give it time. It’s just practice. You have to go with the flow a bit. Relax. I bet you’re wanting precise instructions all the time, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Hannah grumpily, ‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘When you’re cooking, it’s about the flavours and the tastes and the love.’
‘Oh don’t you start. Adrienne has a bit of that new-age rubbish going on.’
Mina laughed. ‘You do sound cranky. Why don’t you run yourself a nice bath, pour a glass of wine, and chill? Tomorrow is another day.’
When Hannah finally pulled herself from the bath, her spirits had not improved so she decided to stay put and not go up to the farmhouse for dinner. As she crossed the landing to her room, she heard the door open downstairs. Great. Now she had to face Conor to add to her humiliation. She listened for a while, hoping that he might come upstairs to his room so she could nip into the kitchen to grab a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps. She couldn’t face cooking anything. They were welcome to take anything back to their own kitchens but she was sick of the sight of the whole lot of today’s cooking, especially since hers had all been disasters.
She listened but Conor seemed to have stayed put downstairs. Just great. She was going to have face him. Reluctantly, she trailed down the stairs to find him in the kitchen with a glass of wine, sitting with his laptop on the table.
‘Staying in tonight?’
She nodded. He must think she was a complete loser.
‘Thanks for rescuing me today.’ She sighed.
‘Hey, don’t worry. You came to learn, remember.’ He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
‘Yes, but everyone else seems to know what they’re doing.’ She shuddered, thinking of the smoking bones.
‘You just need to improve your chopping technique.’
‘Do you say that to all the girls?’ she joked.
He looked up, considering her for a moment. ‘Knife skills. That’s what you need.’
‘I’m not in training to be a serial killer.’
From beneath the table, he pulled out a briefcase and opened it up to reveal a set of rather terrifying-looking knives. ‘Chef’s best friend and his most essential tools.’
Hannah frowned, examining the blackish surface of most of the knives. She’d have expected chef’s knives to be gleaming silver instead of the slightly dull appearance of these ones. ‘They don’t look very…’ She was about to saycleanand then thought better of it.
Conor picked up one of the knives. ‘These are made of carbon steel, so they tend to discolour but I prefer using them. Easier to sharpen and they stay sharp for longer.’
He stood up, picking up one of the knives. ‘Come on. I’ll give you your first lesson.’ Crossing to the kitchen counter, she noticed there was a wicker basket containing a miscellaneous selection of past-their-best and misshapen fruit and vegetables.
‘That’s nice of you,’ said Hannah warily, following him.
‘I’m a nice guy.’ He flashed her one of his brilliant smiles before adding, ‘Purely selfish reasons. I haven’t got time to rush you off to Accident and Emergency with a finger in a bag of peas.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m not sure my nerves can stand another day wondering which of your fingers you’re going to chop off.’
In spite of herself Hannah laughed. ‘I wasn’t that bad.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘OK, I was.’
‘Which is why I’m going to give you a lesson.’
He opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a knife. ‘This will do – not perhaps as sharp as mine.’
‘I could use one of yours.’ She indicated the briefcase on the table.
‘Over my dead and buried body. You’ll not be touching them.’
‘Why? Have they got diamond-encrusted handles or something?’
