‘We’re not on bloodyMasterchef,’ she snapped. ‘Taste it.’
‘It’s lovely, thank you for having us,’ said Solange from the opposite end of the table. She and Yvette were clearly oblivious to the challenge that had been laid down, although neither had yet picked up their knife and fork.
Like Hattie, Luc was watching Alphonse, who, with deliberate slowness, cut one of the scallops in two. ‘Nice texture.’
Fliss drummed a finger on the table.
The tension had now been communicated to the two women at the other end of the table and they too fell silent as everyone watched Alphonse neatly tuck the food onto his fork and slowly put it in his mouth.
He closed his mouth and chewed reflectively. Fliss rolled her eyes but Luc noticed that the whites of her knuckles were showing on the hand in which she held her wine glass.
Luc could have sworn Alphonse was deliberately chewing as slowly as possible.
Finally he swallowed and then picked up his wine and took a long thoughtful sip.
‘Very good,’ he pronounced with understated calm, as if unaware of the atmosphere around him.
Fliss rolled her eyes again and snapped, ‘It’s excellent and you know it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it.’
When Alphonse didn’t reply, she picked up a forkful of food and began to eat, which was the signal for the rest of them to start eating.
As soon as Luc took a mouthful, he knew that Alphonse had lied. It was more than good. The scallops were perfectly cooked, lightly caramelised in butter, with a very slightly sticky edge and a firm bite, and the texture of the soft creamy bean mash, flavoured with lemon and thyme, was a perfect match. Fliss was an accomplished cook, that was for sure, and Luc knew that Alphonse’s response was deliberately grudging.
Hattie caught his eye and gave him an almost imperceptible nod.
‘I think it’s amazing,’ said Yvette, glaring at her brother.
For a moment, Hattie wondered if Solange had maybe already broken the news to Yvette about the joint wedding plans. She seemed uncharacteristically placid.
‘For an Englishwoman,’ she added, with a tart smile.
Fliss raised an eyebrow and gave a deliberate look at Hattie.
‘Actually, Yvette, we have some news.’
Yvette looked alert, like a mouse on the scent of cheese. ‘The wedding has been cancelled.’
‘No,’ said Hattie, ‘but we have a plan that will accommodate your wedding too without the other wedding even being aware.’
Yvette shot a quick glare at her mother. ‘You told them.’
‘No,’ said Hattie, for once feeling in total control. ‘Your friend Marie in the café told us. But I’ve worked it all out.’ She pulled her notebook out from under the table.
‘You will arrive in the orchard at ten forty-five. We will serve canapés and wine from then until twelve-fifteen.’ Luc smiled to himself. Hattie was in total command, sure of herself and her organisational skills. It was the first time he’d really seen it. She was good at what she did. Up until now, she’d been diverted by too many other things.
‘Meanwhile, up at the château, the guests staying here will have a later breakfast, which will be serve-yourself from ten-thirty, so that Fliss, Solange and I can prepare your canapés and drinks. Gabby’s ceremony will take place in the orchard, which will still be decorated from yourvin d’honneur, and guests will arrive from two for the ceremony at two-thirty. Drinks will be served on the terrace at three-fifteen and the reception will be at four-thirty in the ballroom.’ Hattie picked up her glass and raised it. ‘That should sort all the problems out.’
Yvette sat there with her mouth open and then to everyone’s astonishment burst into tears. Solange’s arms closed around her, pulling her into a warm-hearted hug.
‘Fliss has agreed to help prepare the canapés and Hattie will decorate the orchard for you. Isn’t that kind of them?’ said Solange, in that mum-prompting-a-thank-you sort of way.
The conversation flowed, focusing on the weddings, where they might share resources, economies of scale and what crossovers there might be, as Fliss served the next course.
‘Luc, would you mind serving the wine, I think it will go well. We’re having coq au vin.’
Before Luc could reach for the bottle being handed to him, Alphonse intercepted it and perused the label. ‘Beaujolais Village. Interesting choice.’
‘I thought the pepper and spice notes would go well with the herbs in the dish,’ said Fliss with a quick tilt of her chin. ‘Although the chicken is still very much the main flavour.’
