Adrienne narrowed her eyes in mock offence. ‘And yes, Conor and Fergus said she ought to be called Adrienne.’
‘I didn’t say a word.’
‘You didn’t need to. It was written all over your face. Hannah, darlin’, you’re an open book.’
Behind her back, Hannah crossed her fingers. She really hoped she wasn’t.
After gathering up the haul of eggs, which still gave her a thrill, she headed towards the big farmhouse kitchen.
‘I’ll see you in the kitchen. This week we’ll be focusing on cooking with eggs. It’s going to be so much fun.’
Hannah nodded while remembering this week’s schedule. It sounded by far the most full-on and quite intimidating. They’d be tackling a huge range of dishes and sauces which included learning to make hollandaise sauce, mayonnaise, sabayon (and she had no idea what that even was), crème anglaise (again, not sure), soufflé, mousse, meringue, custard omelette, and quiche. Half of those sounded horribly complicated. And why? You could buy perfectly good mayonnaise and custard in the supermarket and Tesco did those lovely little six packs of chocolate mousses. She scrunched up her nose; she’d never so much as considered buying hollandaise.
Now that they’d moved into the third week of the cookery school programme, everyone had settled into a routine at breakfast, much of which, it seemed, had been set on that very first morning. Meredith and Alan were always first in and by the time Hannah arrived, were sitting companionably chatting over coffee. Izzy usually burst in not long after, piling her plate high, always ravenous. Fliss would saunter in with that slightly bored expression on her face as if this homely scene was somehow rather beneath her while Jason would stomp in complaining vociferously to anyone who would listen – although these days no one listened – about the pigs.
‘I’m really looking forward to this week,’ said Meredith. ‘Learning how to do the fancy stuff.’
‘So am I. Proper cooking at last,’ said Fliss. ‘My last sabayon curdled.’
‘Oh, that is annoying,’ sympathised Meredith. ‘It’s not something I’ve made before. Although I tried to make those gorgeous Portuguese nata and my custard was more like very fine scrambled egg. Tasted delicious but the texture was awful.’
Hannah listened, bemused. They might as well be talking another language as far as she was concerned. Thankfully Izzy caught her eye and pulled a face. Clearly she wasn’t the only one.
‘It’s all a load of bollocks,’ said Jason. ‘You can buy a litre of Hollandaise for a fiver from the cash and carry.’ At Fliss’s blank look, he added, ‘Delivered and all. And I bet you punters can’t tell the difference.’ Everyone suddenly became very interested in the plates in front of them. Jason with his back to the door continued, ‘Life’s too short to be faffing about separating eggs every five bloody minutes.’
Hannah winced at the prune-mouthed expression on Adrienne’s face.
‘That’ll be two euros in the jar, I believe, Jason,’ she said, adopting a benign smile, which Hannah could tell, despite its apparent benevolence, promised later retribution. Meredith drew in a quick gasp and Fliss’s eyes sharpened with quick amusement. Like Alan and Izzy, Hannah slid down her chair trying to pretend she wasn’t there.
He flinched, mouthing, ‘Oh fuck,’ and then turned round. ‘All right there, Adrienne.’ He nodded with his usual insouciance. Hannah pressed her lips together. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to laugh, no matter how much she wanted to. The two of them reminded her of a pair of cats facing off.
‘And that’ll be another euro in the jar,’ she added sweetly before turning to smile at everyone else. ‘All set? I’ll see you in the kitchen in five minutes.’ With that she glided out of the room, leaving Jason shaking his head.
‘How does she do that?’
‘She just knows what an idiot you are,’ sniped Fliss.
‘Better than being a toffee-nosed—’
‘Jason,’ Meredith rose and took his arm, leading him away to the cookery school. ‘How was the…?’
‘Oops,’ said Izzy as Meredith’s voice died away through the doorway.
‘Huh, he’s such a berk,’ said Fliss. ‘I’ve no idea what he’s doing here.’
‘He’s pretty good,’ said Izzy.
‘You think? He can use a knife, but that doesn’t make you a chef. Probably got that with his ASBO. You have to have a certain aesthetic when you’re cooking.’
‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’ asked Izzy.
‘An appreciation of the art of cooking. It’s not just food—’
‘It’s Marks and Spencer’s food,’ chipped in Hannah, recalling the store’s famous advertising campaign, and received a frosty glare for her trouble. Fliss tossed her hair over her shoulder and muttered, ‘Philistines, the lot of you,’ as she marched out of the kitchen.
‘And then there were three,’ said Izzy with a quick grin.
‘Three who’ll be in the doghouse, if we don’t shake a leg,’ said Alan. ‘Come on, lasses. Let’s get this party started.’
