He rolls his eyes. ‘Some people are born cooks. You’re one of them.’
I’m shaking my head and laughing at the same time. ‘Charlie Hobson, I always suspected you were full of shit. Thank you for finally proving me right.’ When my cheeks go pink they really clash with my hair. But hopefully he’ll think I’m just warm from the sun, not totally ecstatic that he couldn’t have given me a bigger compliment.
He gives me a strange sideways stare. It’s so funny when people can’t see the truth, even when it’s staring them in the face. As for my Little Cornish Kitchen, it’s getting more precarious by the day. Even if it’s like three events in one, having a party at Charlie’s is really pushing my luck.
20
In Charlie’s flat at Seaspray Cottage
Second chances
Friday
‘However annoyed I am with Charlie for everything he has done and will do, his flat is fabulous for a party.’ As Sophie says ‘everything’, the wave of her hand is so huge she could be laying the blame for every inappropriate development in the south west at his door.
Sophie’s usually right with her gut feeling, and despite the stunning rainbow icing trick he pulled off for Milla’s party last week, she still couldn’t trust Charlie less. I have to admit when it comes to Mr Hobson, I don’t know what to think. It sounds hypocritical seeing as we’re in his flat – but then tonight was his idea not mine. On the one hand, there’s the developer who was less than straight about the flats here, who’s fighting my bestie for Siren House. Yet on the other, there’s this guy with a lovely dog – currently curled up on the sofa at mine – who makes my knees feel nonexistent, who couldn’t be any more helpful when my egg custard’s curdling. Someone who’s alsoactuallyrelated to Cressida Cupcake. I know he’s got the capacity to be a scheming bastard, but sometimes I end up overlooking that simply because his face is so haunted and beautiful.
When Sophie’s talking fabulous party flats, she’s not wrong. Her hand wave also encompasses Charlie’s vast open living room, which is thronged with people all enjoying theLaura’s Secondsparty. Right now, they’ve all got dishes in their hands, and they’re all digging in and making the most of the expanded choice of puddings at this super-sized evening. I’ve had such an amazing week choosing which of Laura’s recipes to include and the table groaning with all her favourites is such a tribute to my wonderful grandmother. It’s as if Laura’s quietly cheering me on in my quest to save her flat.
Nell cut down on Charlie’s original expansive numbers so I don’t have my cover blown. My priority is to stop Charlie finding out that I’m doing this for money rather than the love of entertaining, so I’m sending silent messages to every enchanted mermaid in the area to look out for me on that one. As long as we don’t have any hitches, this ‘non’-event should give my renovation fund a mahoosive boost. Even though we’ve got four times the guests we’d usually have next door, the result is way less crowded.
Once again, Sophie, Nell and Plum have all pulled together to add the final touches. Plum’s lent us her giant outdoor storm lanterns and the balcony is festooned with fairy lights last seen on Nell’s chicken coop. Behind the puddings, the table is decorated with Mason jars filled with cow parsley and buttercups gathered by Sophie from her fields. We’ve got the familiar French playlist going, and as ‘Boum!’ moves into ‘Le Mer’ and ‘Rien de rien’ the atmosphere is relaxed yet buzzing.
Plum turns from where she’s ladling the last of the custard into jugs from a huge vat on the hob. ‘So is our plan on schedule?’ Nell engaged Dakota, who needed very little persuasion to take personal charge of making sure Charlie enjoys as much cava as she can persuade him to knock back. Part two comes later when we’ll all be on hand to hear him give his secrets away.
At this point in the evening most people are ready for a new glass, and Sophie carries on pouring Freixenet cava into flutes as she replies to Plum. ‘I’ve already more than made up for missing my Soul Nutrition class.’ For someone who’s supposed to live completely in the moment Sophie’s such a schemer. As she’s currently working her way through her fourth helping of melting chocolate pudding drenched with cream and custard, it looks like she’s found better ways to feed her soul than meditation. And she’s ditched gluten-free too.
‘And?’ I can’t wait to hear what she’s got to say.
She raises her eyebrows. ‘I didn’t want to say earlier in case it put you off your serving, but Charlie collared me on my way in. He said Joe has been in touch with him about joining forces for the auction.’
‘What?’ I grab a bar stool and sink onto it before I fall over.
Plum drops her ladle and she hurries across. ‘It happens a lot. They pool their resources to win the auction, then Joe would take the house and Charlie would take the garden.’
Sophie’s shaking her head. ‘And we’d get nothing?’
Plum’s frowning. ‘It could just be a wind up. Psychological warfare.’
I feel like I’ve been kicked in the guts. ‘Either way it’s a total betrayal.’ With anyone else it would be bad. With Joe Marlow, it couldn’t be more upsetting. But it’s a stark reminder of what Charlie is. I really shouldn’t be taken in by the chocolate brownie side of his character.
Sophie’s expression is pained. ‘Charlie said if I wanted to talk, I knew where to find him. But there’s nothing to discuss, can you imagine the garden obliterated by his flats?’
Plum lets out a long whistle. ‘So there’s lots to nail down later then. We needed this event even more than we thought.’
I could do with a triple helping of queen of puddings just to get me back on my feet. ‘Bloody developers. All that matters to them is the bottom line.’ I hardly dare to bring the subject up now. ‘So how’s the sale of the farm going?’ They’ve had lots of viewers, but this is the first chance I’ve had to ask if they’ve got any serious interest yet.
Sophie pulls a face. ‘We’ve priced to sell and the agent’s making it clear we’d be willing to do a deal for a fast exchange of contracts. But there aren’t any firm offers yet, and it’s difficult with the auction only three weeks away.’
Plum sighs. ‘Not too many people have the kind of loose change lying around that they’d need to buy your place. Would you dare to borrow against the company without a sale on the farm?’
Sophie’s shudder is so big it’s visible through her fifth spotless apron of the night. ‘When we took big risks to build up the business we didn’t have four kids. I promise myself to be level headed and keep the family in a good place. Then I remember how wonderful it would be to live in Siren House, and sensible goes out the window.’ Even without Charlie’s game playing she’s tearing herself apart over this. ‘Much more important though. You’ve busted your bum making puddings, Clemmie, so where’s the reason we’re all here?’
Plum and I stare at each other. It’s true that since the last chocolate evening on Wednesday, I haven’t stopped. And if I’d ever wondered what humungous sixteen place dining tables were good for, tonight I found out because Charlie’s has really come into its own. We’ve put the puddings out in two waves, and guests have come along and served themselves then come back for extra helpings. And then some. I’ve been holding my breath to see how the puddings have gone down, but the trifles have been just as well received as the banoffee pies, the cheesecakes have had as many gasps as the sticky toffee puddings.
As I get up and refill a jug with a slick of thick cream, I’m looking across the room. ‘If you want to find Charlie look for Dakota’s dress. It sticks out a mile, despite only being the size of a small hanky.’ Not that I want to be bitchy. Or unsupportive to other women. But bright pink. Off both shoulders, off the bum,andoff the back, with frills. She couldn’t have chosen anything more out there. And the worst thing of all is, she has the body and the confidence to rock it, and more. And right at this moment, I’d happily claw her eyes out.
And the second worst thing, which kind of makes my fashion-heart bleed, is that her sky-high cork wedge sandals are almost identical to the ones I’m wearing. Which I always thought were unique because I bought them from the Montreuil flea market in Paris. And obviously, mine worn with my floppy ocean blue knee length spotted dress look like nothing next to ones worn by someone whose tanned bare legs stretch all the way up to their neck. And muscular ones at that. It’s so unfair I actually get a little bit of sick in my mouth.
