Ella looked blank for a second.
‘Your mouse picture in the silent auction. Up to a thousand pounds!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ the older lady beamed. ‘That’ll go a long way to helping with the roof repairs.’
‘Gosh. I’m so pleased. That’s brilliant news.’
‘Now, off you go. I’d get some food while you can. Pam’s pulled pork burgers are a real treat. I recommend you try them. And here comes Bets.’
Ella crossed the hall to meet her.
‘Thank you so much for sending Devon over.’
‘That’s all right. Audrey should have warned you. Did he speak to you?’
‘No. Just did his knight act and buggered off sharpish.’
‘Men,’ they said in unison and burst out laughing.
‘Come on. Let’s get some food. Then you can come and watch the dog agility class.’
‘Blimey, the excitement might just kill me,’ teased Ella, lifting her head as the scent of food tantalised. ‘Gosh, that smells delicious.’
‘Pam’s pulled pork burgers. They’re a must. Come on.’
Replete with burger, Ella settled into the afternoon. Who’d have thought the village fayre could be so much fun? Bets’ agility competition was hilarious as none of the dogs knew how to behave and only three of them managed to complete the course.
The final judging of the cakes was announced and Ella accompanied Bets to the stuffy marquee over which Audrey presided. She had two other people with her: Scott Pitman, who Ella recognised as a judge on a minor TV cookery programme from several years ago and Johannes Stern, who was a chef at the local hotel. With clipboards, looking as serious and grave as Prue Leith and Paul Hollywood, the two judges prowled along the length of the trestle table bearing an assortment of cakes. The standard varied enormously, from simple but well risen Victoria sponges to an intricate meringue with swans swimmingon its surface (she guessed that was Elsie Reynolds’ entry) and an elegant dark chocolate ganache-covered cake with an elaborate fascinator of white chocolate attached to one side. It was all rather impressive, although she was pleased that she could hold her head up high. Her entry was definitely up to standard.
After much heated deliberation and note taking, the judges formed into a huddle.
Out of the corner of her eye, with that second sense of awareness, she saw Devon slip into the marquee. Deliberately she turned her head away, so he didn’t register on her peripheral vision, determined not to give into temptation to sneak an occasional glance his way. Unfortunately, she didn’t manage to stick to that plan and as Audrey declared that they were about to announce the top five bakers, her eyes caught his. She quickly looked away, taking a sharp inward breath at the unwelcome flutter in her stomach.
‘I bet you’re shortlisted,’ whispered Bets.
‘In no particular order, we’d like to invite the bakers to come and stand with their cakes. These are our five finalists. Ella Ridgen.’ Bets squealed. ‘Elsie Reynolds. Brenda White. Sally Cummings and George Faber.’
Ella risked another look Devon’s way, unable to stop her delight from showing. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement, bestowing a matter of fact smile. A hands off, I’m-pleased-for-you-in-a-purely-acquaintance-type-way smile.
It seemed a shame when the judges began to cut into the cakes and then got down to the serious business of tasting them.
‘Nice texture. Well risen. Mmm, the chocolate has just the right balance of sweetness.’
‘Light, airy meringue with just the right amount of gooeyness in the middle. Very good indeed.’
They came to Ella’s and her knees began to shake. It was as bad as being at an exhibition and waiting forThe Timesart critic to make his comments. She’d forgotten how terrifying being judged was, especially with everyone around you to hear.
‘Beautifully presented. Fabulous sugar-paste work.’ In tandem, Scott and Johannes lifted their forks to their mouths. There was a pregnant pause of anticipation among the crowd. As the judges chewed, people craned their necks to hear their verdict. Scott’s expression changed first. Horrified disbelief. Johannes’ eyes widened and his nose wrinkled. For a second it looked as if he might spit his mouthful out.
There was an agitated mutter in the crowd as everyone started talking.
‘Zat is deesgusting. All I can taste is bicarbonate of soda.’
‘That’s a bit mean,’ muttered Bets with an outraged glare.
‘Oh, shit,’ whispered Ella, putting her hand to her mouth in horrified realisation. She started to giggle. ‘I just remembered. I guessed on the baking powder, got my teaspoons and tablespoons muddled up.’
