Malcolm nods. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’
Jackie’s eyes are shining. ‘It’s going to be just like a baking version ofThe Thursday Murder Club!’
Harry nods. ‘With pastries instead of corpses.’
Martin grins. ‘And rolling pins instead of revolvers.’
Carol beams. ‘And pink champagne instead of Kopparberg.’
As I look round the table every person is watching me. ‘I take it you’re all interested, and fully committed to keeping this project secret?’ Not that we’re paranoid, but I’ve already explained that due to industrial espionage we wouldn’t want them chatting about this to just anyone.
There’s a huge chorus of ‘You bet we are!’ and ‘Count us in!’
I beam at them. ‘In that case I’ll hand over to Miles, who is master, creator andtheboathouse bun baker. He’ll be making all the dough in advance, and this evening he’s going to show us how to roll it out to make perfect pastries. Tonight is simply a taster to let you decide if you’d like to take this further.’
Miles grins at me. ‘Thanks for bigging me up there, Betsy Beth.’ He holds up his flour sifter. ‘You probably already know that if we shake flour on the board before rolling out it stops the dough sticking, but in case you don’t, this is how we do it.’
It’s useful that I have a valid excuse to watch him, because when he’s swinging around with his bare forearms, alternately concentrating on the square of pastry in front of him then looking up to interact with the people around the island unit, he’s so compelling to watch I literally can’t look away.
Eventually Zofia gives me a nudge in the ribs. ‘Come on Mrs, we know those are quality pecs, but if you don’t do your own pastry you won’t get your buns done.’
I vow to concentrate more so I don’t look like a ditz in front of Miles’s mum, but before I do a vibration in my apron pocket takes my attention away again. I slide out my phone, and murmur to Zofia. ‘It’s Scarlett, she’s FaceTiming. If she’s phoning with an update on her sex life, I’d better take it.’
I step back towards the sofa area and Zofia steps into my place. ‘No worries, I’ll keep your pastry up to speed while you talk.’
I dive behind my clothes screen and ignore that with the music and the rising background noise it sounds more like a party for a hundred than twelve, and make a mental note to take control before she does, to tell her what I’ve been meaning to tell her for weeks now.
‘Scarlett!’ I beam back as her face fills my screen, and wave wildly. ‘So pleased you rang, I have exciting news– Miles and I have opened a shop. Down on the quayside.’
I need to get her used to the idea of a St Aidan branch before she finds out for herself that we have a chain of the damn things.
‘You’ve got what?’ Her voice and her lips are slightly out of sync. ‘Whatever it is, I hope you know what you’re doing. Miles can be very persuasive.’
I give a sniff. ‘Which is why it’s a good thing I’ve had practice at resisting.’ If she calls me out on this, I have no idea what I’ll say when my whole brain is suddenly filled with the image of his lips coming towards mine in the walled garden yesterday.
‘There’s a lot of noise, have you got the TV on?’ The way she’s peering at me out of the phone and over my shoulder reminds me why I avoid FaceTiming, but at least I’m off the last hook.
As I hear Olly Alexander’s ‘Dizzy’ blasting out of the kitchen I’m guessing they’ve turned up the volume possibly to do a dance-routine break, which Zofia tells me is another thing this group are big on.
‘Miles’s mum, Jackie, and her friends dropped round to do some baking.’ I’m trying to hide one shock with another. ‘They’re funny, one of them is so into Harry Styles she talks about him as her boyfriend!’
Scarlett’s staring past my head. ‘Show me, without being obvious.’
In spite of all my misgivings I spin round to give her a long view behind me, and regret it immediately when she lets out a shout.
‘Why is the kitchen full of flowers?’
I walked into that one. ‘They’re from Zofia’s garden, her plants do better when they’re pruned, these are the clippings.’ I’ve got so used to the place bursting with more vases than a florist, I’ve almost forgotten how it looked when it was sad and empty.
Scarlett’s voice goes up a key. ‘Are theydancing? Is Zofia there too?’
‘And Aleksy. If anything untoward happens it’s good we have a cleaner and a builder in the house.’
‘A baking evening shouldn’t get out of hand–should it?’
I turn so she can’t see how many empty fizz bottles are already lined up next to the sink, but she’s onto me again.
‘What wasthat?’
