‘Isn’t that good for business?’ Ella asked, intrigued by his depressed demeanour.
He released a long-suffering sigh that seemed to go on for ever. Ella wanted to giggle but managed to hold it in.
‘My wife – I’m Peter Reynolds, by the way – has been baking for three straight days. Frozen pizza for dinner every night.’ He shook his head with a mournful expression, unconsciously rubbing at his belly contained by a burgundy sweater. He looked like a rather juicy berry. ‘And then I can’t get any bugger to work in the shop because they’re all too busy baking, or putting up tents or making new drainpipes for Splat the Rat. Then of course we’re run off our feet on Saturday because loads of people come to the fayre and they suddenly remember they’ve forgotten to buy any milk or Saturday papers, so I’m stuck here. All the cakes that don’t sell on the cake stall wind up here. I spend the next week trying to persuade people to buy them. Thing is, by then everyone is caked out, they’ve had enough bleedin’ sugar. I tell you, I’ll be glad when it’s all over and everything goes back to normal. Which reminds me, I don’t think I’ve got you down on the rota . . . ?’
And there was Devon, head down, not looking where he was going, coming straight towards her, his long stride eating up the narrow pavement.
There was no way she could avoid him. Not dressed for the damp morning, his habitual dark blue Guernsey sweater was dusted with fine drops of water and the curls of his hair had tightened in the light rain. Every one of her nerve endings seemed to dance at the sight of him. She took a measured breath and tried to muster up a casual smile. It sounded as if Marina had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Ella knew how much the idea of the new style of surgery meant to him. Now that she’d rediscovered her passion for painting, she could understand him taking this chance.
He looked up and smiled, his frown lifting. ‘Ella.’
He sounded pleased to see her, which hurt more than she’d thought it would. How could she hope to compete with Marina? ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked inanely, suddenly tongue-tied. When she’d picked Tess up he’d been busy with another patient, so they’d barely spoken.
‘Fine. Busy. That bloody dog Buster has eaten another pair of tights. Emergency surgery plus my planned list.’ His mouth crumpled in frustration. ‘You’d think his owners might have learned their lesson by now.’
Instinctively Ella put her hand down on Tess’s head. She’d certainly learned hers. ‘How’re you doing, young lady?’ He bent down to stroke her head and she nuzzled up to him. ‘She had a close call, but she’s looking a lot better.’
Ella felt a pang as she watched him fondle the dog’s ears. How could you be jealous of a dog, for goodness’ sake?
‘I’ve been taking it easy with her. Gentle exercise, like you said.’ She gave him a terse smile, aware that she’d failed poor Tess badly and that she needed to keep her distance. Desperate to get away, she looked at her watch.
‘Gosh, I need to get back. Nice to see you.’ With a quick nod, she tugged at Tess’s lead and started to walk away, pinching her lips tightly together.
He took a step back, surprise registering on his face before he frowned. ‘Right. OK.’
She walked off, resisting the urge to look back over her shoulder, horribly aware of the regret pinching at her heart. It shouldn’t matter to her if Devon and Marina did get back together, but it did.
Magda had an extensive collection of recipe books, which hitherto Ella hadn’t taken that much notice of. Now, in the kitchen, she perused the shelf. What she really wanted was a book entitledThe Complete Beginner’s Guide to Baking a Perfect Cake and How to Stop Thinking About a Certain Yummy Vet.There were quite a few notebooks which bulged with recipes torn out from newspapers and magazines, but everything looked quite advanced.
Then she remembered the blue box and the sheaf of papers in there. Sure enough, in Magda’s elegant script was a recipe.Perfect Victoria Sponge.Beside the recipe, which had originally been copied out in blue biro, there were additional handy hints in red.Watch the baking powder. Slightly less sugar.None of which was terribly helpful to Ella. But the basic recipe of butter, eggs, sugar and flour looked familiar enough.
Determined not to give Devon another thought she began to measure out her ingredients, beating butter with sugar, sifting flour and beating eggs. The recipe called for a something-spoon of baking powder; a grease spot on the type had obscured the first part of the word. She made a quick guesstimate and put in the baking powder into the flour just as she was interrupted by a muffled banging at the window.
‘Hello there.’ Audrey waved her head, bashing at the glass with her elbow, her arms full of something.
With a regretful look at the bowl of cake mix, Ella dusted her hands down her jeans and went to let the other woman in.
‘Hello, dear.’ She shouldered her way in as Ella stepped aside, and moved straight through to the kitchen. ‘Oooh! Baking. Super. Another cake for the cake competition. I bet you’ve got Magda’s lightness of touch with a sponge. All right to put this here?’ she asked, putting a large red and blue hexagonal-shaped barrelled box on the table.
Ella nodded. Where did Audrey get her seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy? She looked at the cake mix. She’d followed Magda’s recipe, so maybe this sponge would be as light and fluffy as the increasing expectation.
Audrey rubbed her back and groaned. ‘I forget every year how heavy this thing is. Right, tickets are in the car. I brought you Sellotape and plenty of raffle tickets because I wasn’t sure what you’d have. I’ve got two more boxes of bottles for labelling up – Devon will bring some more later.’
‘More?’ said Ella faintly as Audrey bustled back out of the house. She already had the first three crates he’d brought previously. Following Audrey to the kerbside, she arrived just in time to take a clinking box from the older woman.
‘Here you go. Mainly spirits in there. The scouts collected that lot. WI donations will all be sherry and Campari.’
Ella, almost buckling under the weight, carried the box inside.
‘Right, that’s that lot. Devon will bring the rest over tomorrow, he’s too busy today. Poor boy, he’s so good. Up half the night again last night and on call again tonight. I do worry about him. For the last couple of days he’s been in a foul mood. Even Bets is about to throw in the towel and that takes a lot. I blame that bloody woman, Marina. I could strangle her. He’s stuck between a rock and hard place. Working all hours God sends.’ Audrey paused, her face suddenly sombre. ‘He’s so bloody proud. He won’t take any money from us.’ Ella saw the worry lining her face, quite at odds with Audrey’s normalconfident serenity. ‘Doesn’t eat properly. And still willing to help.’
Ella paused, her heart almost stopping. ‘I thought . . . Marina. She said they were going to work together again.’
‘Did she? News to me. Not that he tells me much.’
‘She still cares about him,’ offered Ella tentatively. And could offer him what he wanted. That counted for a lot, didn’t it?
‘Ha, all she cares about is herself,’ said Audrey with a toss of her head. ‘But I can’t tell him that, can I? If it weren’t for that bloody debt, I’m sure he’d just tell her to sling her hook. I couldn’t believe she turned up the other day, all sweetness and light.’ She poked at the bottles on the table and held up a tall thin bottle containing a startling cerise-coloured liquid. ‘I do wonder where people get these things from.’
