Since she’d been here, she’d not put any of her decorating skills to good use. Ransacking the dresser, Hattie found all sorts of bits and pieces she could use, as well as a selection of tablecloths, napkins and placemats.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ asked Fliss, eyeing white carboard, raffia and scissors. ‘It all looks a bit Blue Peter.’
‘Trust me,’ said Hattie before disappearing out into the garden to pluck some foliage from the immaculate troughs of flowers at the front of the house.
Half an hour later, having unearthed some pretty blue bowls from one of the sideboards in the dining room and a set of plain white china, Hattie put the finishing touches to the napkins, which she was rather pleased with.
‘Voila. What do you think?’
Fliss glanced over and then did a double take. ‘Wow!’ She crossed the room to take a closer look and gently touched the sprigs of dried lavender tied with sage-coloured raffia to rolled white damask napkins. Hattie was rather proud of the handwritten name cards, with more sprigs of lavender like single stitches threaded through the cardboard, that were set in front of each straw placemat on the white damask tablecloth. The simple rustic touches helped to create a welcoming atmosphere.
‘This is fantastic! I love the lavender touches. You’ve got a real flair for this. Simple and elegant.’
‘Wait until you see my ideas for the wedding flowers and decorations.’ Any day now a ton of stuff would be arriving for her white-love-heart-themed table decorations. Hattie loved doing things like this and having free rein today had reminded her how much she enjoyed it. Chris’s mum didn’t like fancy but on the odd occasion people had come to dinner, Hattie had spent a lot of time theming the table.
‘I think we both deserve a glass of wine and a little toast to ourselves. The dream team. Would you mind opening a bottle? I need a drop for the glaze and then I’ll take a glass up to the bath with me.’
‘Which one?’ asked Hattie when she opened the wine fridge, which had been restocked since this morning.
‘Hmm.’ Fliss appeared at her shoulder and pulled a bottle from the rack, perusing the label before putting it back and selecting a second. That one was also rejected and she chose a third bottle.
‘Ah, this is more like it. Pouilly-Fuissé. Perfect. It’s not just the French that can match their wines with food.’ She handed the bottle to Hattie and went back to slicing her strawberries, every now and then tossing the rejects into a pan on the hob. It looked painstaking but Fliss worked quickly and methodically.
‘Can you pop a dessert spoon of wine into those strawberries in the pan? All I need to do is boil them up with sugar and strain them to make the glaze.’ She finished slicing the last strawberries and removed a tray of mini pastry cases from the fridge. ‘I’ve already filled these with crème pat. I just need to arrange the strawberries on the top.’
‘Crème pat?’
‘Crème patissière,’ she said as she began to carefully arrange the slices of strawberries, vertically, so that they stuck up like little love hearts. ‘It’s just a sweet custard but a lot more delicate.’
Hattie had to admire her flair. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to put the strawberries in like this. It elevated the tarts to a new level. When the last slice was placed, Fliss stood back and gave them careful scrutiny.
‘They look amazing,’ Hattie said, unwrapping the foil around the top of the bottle.
‘Of course they do,’ said Fliss, folding her arms in satisfaction, and stuck her nose in the air. ‘And Alphonse is going to choke on them.’
Having opened the bottle – God, she missed screwtops – Hattie poured them each a glass of the pale straw-coloured wine. Fliss swirled the wine before sinking her nose into the top of the glass and Hattie eyed her dubiously.
‘Peaches, honey and hazelnuts,’ declared Fliss after a taking good slurp which she rolled around her mouth.
Hattie took a tentative sip and swilled it around her mouth too.
‘Peaches! I can taste peaches.’ Hattie punched the air, almost spilling the contents of her glass. She really could taste the peach flavour. Luc’s teaching had rubbed off on her.
‘Right,’ said Fliss. ‘I’m off to go and have a soak. There’s the most wonderful jar of Moksa Sel de Guerande and Lavender bath salts which I’m going to help myself to and I might even treat myself to a candle too.’
‘Sure there’s nothing else I can do?’
‘No, see you in a while. Besides, I think you’re wanted.’ Fliss raised her glass in a quick farewell, nodded to Luc, who was lounging in the doorway, and flitted past him.
How long had he been there? As usual, her body reacted to him with an involuntary warm glow of happiness.
‘Hey, Luc,’ she said, trying to be cool. So much for the idea of keeping her distance.
‘Hey, Hattie.’
‘How was Marthe?’
His lips flattened and he shrugged. ‘She was sleeping, apparently.’
