‘Oi.’ Fliss gave her hand a quick slap. ‘If you’re not careful you’ll be put on sous chef duty.’
‘So, this evening. It’s all about a bet, I hear.’
‘Luc told you, did he?’
‘He mentioned that you’d had words.’
‘Hmph. I remember Luc scarpering leaving me with the big oaf, who rather rudely made the assumption that my soufflé was luck and that patisserie is my limit and macarons the sum total of my repertoire. He insinuated that a three-course meal for more than four people would be beyond my capabilities.’
‘And?’
‘And I bet him he was wrong.’
Hattie bit back a smile. ‘And what happens if he loses the bet, which I’m assuming he’s going to.’
‘Too damn right he is. I will be receiving a bottle of Dom Ruinart Blanc de Blancs 2015,’ crowed Fliss in triumph.
‘I take it that’s a very good one, whatever it is.’
‘It’s a champagne. Blanc de Blanc is made solely from chardonnay grapes and it’s my favourite. And –’ she puffed out her chest in triumph ‘– it’s all mine. Every last drop.’
‘Would you drink something as expensive as that or would you save it?’
‘Normally I’d keep it for a special event but on this occasion I shall enjoy drinking it in front of Alphonse. I might even let him have a glass. And tonight I shall enjoy watching Alphonse eat his words.’
‘So what are we having?’
‘Remember I bought some scallops the other day at the market, which I put in the freezer, I’m going to use those. We’re having Coquilles St Felicity.’
‘Which is?’
‘Normally you have Coquilles St-Jacques, which are basically pan-fried scallops in a rich creamy sauce topped with breadcrumbs and gruyere. There are variations on the recipe. I’m doing scallops on lemon, parmesan and white bean puree topped with a lemon and thyme crumb.’
‘Yum, I adore scallops,’ said Hattie.
‘And then I’m doing coq au vin, with whole baby mushrooms, and mixed greens with shallots, garlic and lardons. And for dessert we’re having a strawberry tart made with crème anglaise, strawberry coulis and a sweet pastry case.’
‘Wow. You’re going for it.’
‘Of course,’ said Fliss with a sniff and a toss of her hair. ‘He might think I’m an amateur and that my soufflé was a fluke but he’s about to learn differently.’
‘What time have you said?’
Fliss glanced at the clock on the chimney breast. ‘Seven o’clock, which gives me another two hours to finish up and change. I’m going to have a nice soak in the bath and put a dress on.’
‘Do you need any help?’ Hattie looked around the immaculate kitchen.
‘Yes, you can lay the table and make it look nice. The chicken is all prepared and in the oven, the vegetables are chopped and ready to sauté, the bean mash is done, I’ll fry the scallops just before I serve them, and the lemon breadcrumbs are done, so it’s just a matter of assembling the starter. And I just need to knock up a strawberry glaze to go over the top of the tarts and I’m done. Easy peasy.’
Hattie raised an eyebrow. ‘For you maybe. You don’t even look as if you’ve broken into a sweat.’
Fliss gave her horrified look. ‘Of course not.’
Hattie looked at the long kitchen table. ‘It would be nicer to eat in here than in the dining room, I think.’
‘Mm,’ said Fliss doubtfully. ‘But that would be smarter.’
‘Not when I’ve finished with this table. Leave it to me.’
