Kitabı oku: «The Little Christmas Kitchen: A wonderfully festive, feel-good read»

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

ELLA

The meeting was tedious. The air conditioner was broken and whirring too loudly, so it muffled the execs calling in on speakerphone. The stuffy air smelt of aftershave and strong coffee with a hint of the marker pen that kept running out on the flipchart. Big bushy garlands of tinsel were looped along the wall, baubles hung in bunches like grapes on the windows and a white fake Christmas tree with glittered branches twinkled in the corner.

Ella was having to look anywhere but at the new account assistant, Katya, who was presenting –nerves had made her voice catch and her cheeks flush a blotchy red. Ella couldn’t stomach the embarrassment she felt for her.

Their boss, Adrian, was tapping frustratedly on his Blackberry, not listening. She knew he was getting the presentations out the way before he brought up the accounts they lost last week and what it would do to revenue. As she glanced around the room, taking in the glazed faces and the distracted looks of her colleagues all wired on too much coffee and bourbon biscuits, her gaze stopped on the building opposite where an aerobics class was in full swing. As Ella watched the women jumping up and down in their Sweaty Betty lycra, she wondered when she’d last had time to do any exercise. She’d cancelled her gym membership soon after she’d got her last promotion – when she realised she rarely left work before eight.

Tonight she was leaving early though. Tonight she was being wined and dined. Tonight they were going to Fera at Claridge’s and she had a brand new Stella McCartney chocolate silk dress hanging on the back of her office door ready to team with her nude Manolo Blahniks and an aztec print scarf. It was all from Net-a-Porter – she’d ordered the entire outfit that the model was wearing. Shamefully, she always ordered exactly what the model was wearing. The grey pencil skirt she had on at the moment, and the cerise mules, was a case in point. Occasionally, when she went completely off-piste and gave her own eye a go, Max would walk into the bedroom, himself dressed like a Ralph Lauren model, and say something like, ‘Really?’ or ‘I don’t think that’s quite right for…’ whatever event they were off to – Ascot or Henley or the Hunt Ball. Then he’d pinch her bottom and kiss her cheek and say, ‘I’d love you in anything but you know what the girls are like…’

The girls. Ella narrowed her eyes at the baubles. The girls…

Friends since school, Max’s tight little gang were ferocious. A terrifying mix of confidence and boredom that came with being too good-looking and having too much money. All caramel highlights and butterscotch tans, they had ample time on their hands to be as vicious as they were whip smart and wickedly hilarious. Ella was like a fish gasping at the surface of a puddle when she was with them, not that she’d ever admit it to Max. What perplexed her the most was that she could handle the hardest CEO in the boardroom, present to rooms of the coolest, most guarded clients without breaking into a sweat, but those girls… they could pierce her with look, undermine her with a laugh, leave her flustered and blushing and wanting to cling onto Max’s hand when he was wandering off with the boys to check out a new sports car or race horse and reminisce about boarding school.

At the front of the room Katya was ploughing on through the presentation. From the way she was stumbling and relying so heavily on her notes, Ella knew she’d be packed off on a presentation course before the day was out. She glanced at her watch. She was booked in for a blow dry in forty minutes. Come on, she thought, this is child’s play, we all know this stuff, why do we need a bloody meeting about it.

Tonight was their anniversary – her and Max – seven years. Seven years and look how far she’d come. If she was the kind of person to put stuff on Facebook then she’d plaster it with pictures of the diamond bracelet he’d given her that morning. Almost just to reaffirm to them all that he loved her. Even after all this time she still heard the whispers behind the smiles. But if she ever mentioned it, Max would squeeze her tight and lift her in the air and say, they’re all just jealous. Burying her face in his neck she would close her eyes and breathe him in and hope this life lasted forever.

She glanced down at the gems sparkling on her wrist. She loved it. Or at least she thought she loved it, was it her taste? Yes, it was her taste. It was a bit thin and delicate for her wrist, but yes, no, she loved it. I love it, she thought as it winked under the strip light.

Her Blackberry vibrated where it sat on top of her iPad on top of her laptop on the boardroom table. She let the bracelet tip forward over her hand as she reached forward, wondered if anyone else had noticed it sparkle, and slipped her phone off the table, holding it under the desk, out of sight, as she opened the new email.

‘This is all very well–’ her boss said, sitting up and stretching his back in an arch. ‘But I can’t see anything different here. I can’t see what you’ll be offering the client that every other firm won’t be offering? We’ve seen all this before. And if I’ve seen it, they’ve seen it.’ He frowned, frustrated. ‘Come on people. We need a bit more blue sky thinking. A bit more oomph.’ He sat forward. ‘Basically, we need this new business. It’s Christmas for crying out loud. Wow them with a bit of sparkle. Ella can you take charge of this one–’ He paused. ‘Ella… are you with us?’

Ella wasn’t with them at all. Every ounce of her concentration was caught by the email she’d just opened on her phone. Her mouth had hung open of its own accord. Her right eye, that had recently developed a tiredness tic, was flickering. Her stomach had tightened like she’d forgotten to exhale.

Subject: I just thought you should know.

Your husband is having an affair with my wife. Photo attached confirms. Suggest you get yourself a good lawyer. I’m going to annihilate her in court.

Ella recognised Prague in the background of the photograph. Saw the ornate buildings dark and dirty and snow speckling the canopies of the market stalls. She recognised it because she’d been there with him. Last Christmas. His company had an office there, he could get business class flights and a room in the Mandarin Oriental on expenses.

‘Ella?’ Her boss repeated.

‘Yes, sorry.’ She pressed her phone off and cleared her throat. ‘Sorry, I just…’ She shook her head. ‘Yes, absolutely, I totally agree. Great presentation Katya. Just fabulous, exactly what we were looking for. Really, really great. Good, let’s get started then…’ she said, her mouth stretched into her work smile as she started to stand up, gathering her iPad, notebook and pen to her chest and pushing her chair back.

She felt everyone in the room watching her. Mark, her colleague who sat to her right, whispered, ‘There are still three more presentations.’

‘Oh sorry.’ Ella paused. Felt her cheeks begin to pink.

‘Ella?’ Her boss sat back, put his hands behind his head. ‘Is everything all right? Did you hear what I was saying?’

She looked around the room as she sat down, everyone seemed suddenly distracted by their notepads, or the wood grain of the table top.

‘Yes,’ she lied quietly.

He made a face. Ella was his secret weapon. Ella was the reason he’d been promoted. Her work, his leadership. Ella had won them the last four accounts and was possibly the single reason they were still in the black. Ella, who worked twenty-four seven and never took her eye off the prize. Award winning Ella. ‘Let’s talk afterwards,’ he said, and she nodded vaguely. Her hand burning like her phone was on fire.

CHAPTER 2

MADDY

‘If I tell my mum about the job then she won’t let me go because she won’t approve. If I don’t tell her that I have a job then she won’t let me go because she’ll say that I’ll just be bumming it round London wasting my life when she needs me to work here.’ Maddy wiped her oily hands on the old rag hanging out her jeans pocket and then took the hand Dimitri was offering to haul herself out of the boat and up onto the jetty.

‘Maddy,’ he said, bending down to pick up the board of his windsurfer, the sail already propped up by the side of the taverna. ‘You’re twenty-four. Don’t you think it’s about time you just went anyway?’ He raised a dark brow and looked at her with a fairly patronising smirk on his lips, but then got distracted when he noticed a scratch on his board. ‘Shit, when did that happen? It’s those kids isn’t? Oi you lot–’ he shouted at the gaggle of little kids who were messing around at the end of the jetty, dangling bits of rope into the sea with worms on hooks to try and catch the millions of silver fish that darted around the wooden posts. They looked up all big eyed and terrified when Dimitri yelled. ‘Did you mess with my board?’

‘No Dimitri,’ they all chorused in unison, faces pale and perfectly innocent.

He glared at them for a second, six foot with shoulders broader than should be allowed, black shaggy hair and at least three days’ stubble, he knew he could terrify them.

‘Don’t.’ Maddy rolled her eyes. ‘They’re only little.’

‘They’ve messed with my board. Look at it.’

‘You’re mean. Stop being mean to them. Look at them.’ She turned to wave in their direction, all four kids huddled together, their fishing rods clutched in their hands, their cheeks pink, waiting for their telling off.

Dimitri sighed. ‘You stay away from my board. Yes!’

‘Yes Dimitri,’ they chorused again.

‘And while you’re at it, stay away from my bike as well. I saw you the other day sitting on it. Yes. I did, don’t shake your heads, if it fell on you it could do some damage. Don’t sit on my bike.’

‘Can we ride on it again with you, please?’

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. ‘What have I started?’ he said to Maddy. And she shrugged a shoulder.

‘You shouldn’t have been so keen to show off your new toy should you?’ she said, nodding to where his beautiful Triumph Bonneville T100 sat gleaming on the cobbled slipway.

Dimitri followed her gaze, paused for a second to admire his bike and then said with a shrug, ‘I was excited.’

Maddy shook her head and turned away with a laugh, she stuffed the rag in her pocket and turned around to the kids and said. ‘I’ll take you out on this, if you like?’ This was the sleek white forty foot yacht she’d just repaired the engine of.

‘Are you sure Maddy?’ Dimitri questioned, dubious, as the kids all whooped and, chucking down their rods, ran over to jump on the deck of the boat, their shoes leaving tiny, dusty footprints on the gleaming surface.

‘Yeah it’ll be fine.’ Maddy said, pulling on a big red, oil streaked jumper that came down to just above the frayed edge of her shorts. Sweeping away the wisps of hair that the wind was blowing in her mouth, she said, ‘And with my mum, I just don’t want her to not want me to go. I want her to approve, I suppose. Stupid, huh?’ She laughed, husky and dry like a granddad.

‘It’s pretty windy out there, Mads.’ Dimitri shielded his eyes from the low sun and looked out to where the waves were starting to pick up.

‘Can you focus on what I’m saying about my mum.’ She frowned, ‘And – it’s ok for you take your windsurfer out but I can’t handle the boat? Are you kidding?’

‘It’s got worse in the last few hours. I would never dream of implying you couldn’t handle the boat. But let’s look at the facts, Maddy, it’s really bloody windy and it’s not your boat.’

‘Well he’d want me to test the engine as well as fix it, wouldn’t he?’ She kicked one of the posts with her old Nike hi-top trainer.

‘You can test it by turning the key in the ignition. Not taking a bunch of seven year olds for a joyride into a mistral.’ Dimitri shook his head, tendrils of black hair wobbling like a sea anemone.

‘It’ll be fine. And anyway–’ Maddy jumped down onto the stern, taking the rope she’d looped into one of the jetty rings with her to cast off. ‘I can’t say no now, look at them…’

The kids were all sitting crossed legged at the bow like tiny figureheads, watching expectantly.

‘See this is probably what your mum’s talking about. In your desperation to please people, you don’t think things through.’

‘Oh please.’ Maddy scoffed as she pressed the button to haul up the anchor. ‘She just doesn’t want me to go off to London and leave her alone.’

‘I think she worries that you’ve been too sheltered.’ Dimitri yelled over the wind and the sound of the two hundred and fifty horsepower engine as it sprang to life.

‘Bullshit.’ Maddy shouted back. ‘That’s the most patronising thing I’ve ever heard, Dimitri. You’re so annoying.’

‘Good comeback,’ he said, raising a brow. ‘My case in point.’

Maddy snorted a laugh and then turned her back on him to steer the boat out of the little harbour. The kids were clinging onto the tinsel-wrapped railing at the front, dangling their feet over the edge and laughing as the spray bounced up into their faces.

As Maddy looked past them, out at the wide blue sea, dark like sapphires, the white horses jumping like skittish foals, rays of low winter sun darting off each wave like silver fish, all she could think was, god I wish this was London.

CHAPTER 3

ELLA

Ella threw her Blackberry on the sofa. Bloody holiday. She didn’t need a bloody holiday. She needed to curl up into a little ball and hibernate like a hedgehog. She needed to talk to Max.

Adrian had called her into his office directly after the meeting and asked her what was wrong. She’d shown him the email and he’d sucked in his breath.

‘Do you want a cigarette out the window?’ he’d asked.

‘I don’t smoke, Adrian.’

‘I know but sometimes moments call for a cigarette. If you don’t want one I might have one.’ He pulled open his desk drawer and fumbled around at the back for a hidden packet of Marlboro Reds and a box of matches. Hauling up the sash window he leant on the sill and inhaled half the cigarette in one. ‘Christ I’ve missed this.’ Exhaling he shook his head. ‘Max. Max, what are you doing?’

‘I think maybe it’s been photoshopped.’ Ella said, crossing the room to perch on the edge of the big leather covered desk. Outside it had started to sleet, watery white flecks cascading down like a snow globe. A couple of mangy pigeons on the roof opposite were shaking out their feathers, huddled up together next to a light up Santa Claus – plump and wet and depressed.

Adrian raised a brow, the creases on his forehead deepening. Ella frowned. ‘You don’t think so? You think he’s having an affair. I don’t think he’s having an affair. Especially not with her. I really don’t. Look–’ she held out her arm where the bracelet slipped forward over the back of her hand. ‘Look.’ she said again, a little quieter.

‘It’s very pretty.’ Adrian nodded. Took another drag and then flicked the cigarette out onto the roof top, the pigeons scattered. ‘Do you want me to see what Anne thinks?’

Anne was Adrian’s wife. Anne had been friends with Max since childhood and it was through a dinner at their house that Ella had met Adrian and he’d given her a job. They had garden parties in the summer in their huge dilapidated mansion and their wild, adorable children ran around in slightly dirty clothes and no shoes while everyone else drank Pimms and adored the roses. They were the antithesis of Max’s other friends. So rich they could bypass into shabby and boho and not care in the slightest. But they were all so inextricably linked. Like a web. Or Kerplunk. One stick pulled out and it all falls down.

‘No.’ Ella shook her head. ‘I trust him. Of course I trust him. There will be an explanation. There’s always an explanation for things like this. It’s not bloody EastEnders is it. She’s one of his friends for god’s sake. If he was going to have an affair, would he really do it on his own doorstep?’ She felt her voice catch in her throat. She thought of Max – gorgeous, funny, beautiful Max, with his arm casually draped round the waist of a woman who wasn’t her – a woman with lovely hair and eyes that tipped up at the corners. Amanda. One of his ‘girls’. The one who had taken Ella aside when they’d first got together and taken her shopping and bought her champagne and linked her arm through hers and managed to get her to tell all her secrets about Max.

Max who she looked at every morning as he slept on their cream linen sheets and wondered how she’d managed to get that lucky. The sleet had turned to rain. It was pouring down the window and making a mockery of the Christmas decorations strung across the street. Little white lights trying to sparkle like her diamonds.

Max was actually having an affair. No longer did she need to worry about it or imagine it. Because it was actually happening.

No he couldn’t be.

Adrian went over to his Nespresso machine in the corner of his office, ‘Do you want one?’ he asked and Ella shook her head.

As it rumbled out the dark, glossy liquid in a thick white cup, Adrian said, ‘I’ve got some eggnog from that Christmas hamper we were sent last week. Do you want me to pour you a glass of that?’

‘No I’m fine. Honestly. I’ll just have some water.’ As Ella leant over to the carafe on his desk, her eye caught the photo that sat next to it of him and Anne and their kids. She thought of the amount of times she’d stared at that picture and imagined having one on her desk of her and Max and a couple of kids with his bright blue eyes and her dark hair. If Max was having an affair then he might want to split up and they’d never have children. And that might mean that she never had children because she’d have to get over Max, meet someone else and fall in love with them enough to want to have kids with them before she ran out of time. She was thirty-one. If Max was having an affair then not only would he have battered her heart, he would have snatched at her chance to have a family photo on her desk.

Please God she thought, please don’t let him be more in love with the woman with the shiny hair and the eyes that tip up at the corners than he is with me.

She felt Adrian watching her over the rim of his coffee cup.

‘Ok.’ she said after a pause.

‘Ok what?’ he said.

‘Ok, ring Anne.’ she said, when really she just wanted to ring Max and hear him say something funny down the phone and then walk into Claridge’s tonight looking all shiny and satiny in her new dress and for him to whistle and then grin and pull her chair out for her the way they’d taught him at Eton.

But instead they were going to ring Anne. Anne wouldn’t lie.

And that was why she was standing in her bedroom now, hauling her wheely case from under the bed, chucking in whatever was in front of her. Not her packing style at all. No rolled clothes and shoes in their own little bags, and travel sized toiletries. No outfits laid out on the bed making sure that she hadn’t missed a vital top or pair of shoes. This was more Max’s style of packing. Ella was the organised one, he was the haphazard fun one. That was how they complemented each other. That was why they worked so well. She succeeded, he charmed. They were the perfect unit. They were ‘Maxwella’ his friends joked.

Going over to the wardrobe she yanked out everything closest to hand – a pair of Jimmy Choo flip-flops, Ralph Lauren shorts bunched up next to the top half of her Missoni bikini and the bottom half of a Stella McCartney one. Record temperatures across southern Europe this winter was all the news could talk about. Violent thunderstorms and above average hours of sunshine were creating flood havoc alongside flocks of holidaymakers jetting off for cheap winter sun. But – as she threw in some white Victoria Beckham jeans that she’d bought just because all ‘the girls’ had them, a kaftan and a huge wooly cardigan that she usually wore to watch TV on her own – she didn’t actually think she’d be wearing any of it. Her subconscious knew it was all for show. The case, the holiday, the fleeing just before Christmas. Because her knight would come home, throw his sword to the ground, scoop her up and carry her off into the rainy London sunset while declaring it was all lies.

She chucked in toiletries, scattered in loose. Half pots of Eve Lom moisturiser and her specially mixed shampoo clattered alongside her hairdryer, straighteners, trainers. The crisp shirts she’d paid a fortune to have pressed at the dry cleaners were stuffed in willy-nilly. She stopped for a second and called a taxi – to the airport? Which one. I don’t know. Heathrow? Yes madam.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she hung up the phone. Hair uncharacteristically skewiff. Eyes that someone who knew her well might say had been crying. The trace of mascara stains on cheeks that she’d scrubbed already with cold water and while telling herself to get a grip.

Adrian hadn’t had to say anything. She’d just watched the expression on his face when he’d asked Anne if Max ‘might be perhaps being unfaithful’. She’d heard the cough he’d done to try and buy himself some time. Then the nod as if he was pretending that Anne was saying something completely different.

‘Shit. What am I going to do?’ Ella had said without thinking when he’d put the phone down.

‘Talk to Max.’ Adrian had said. He’d looked worried, like a boy watching his mother cry. Ella couldn’t break down. Ella didn’t show her emotions. Ella was always the strong, confident one.

‘Yes good idea.’ She’d swallowed, pulled herself together. ‘There’s bound to be a rational explanation.’ Perhaps Anne didn’t know Max that well.

But instead of calling Max she had gone home and rifled through his drawers. Discovered nothing. Wondered if that was because their style was so minimalist or because it wasn’t true.

As Ella was just zipping up the overstuffed bag she heard the click of the front door, the pad of Gucci loafers on the beige carpet, and turned to see Max standing in the doorway, one hand pulling his tie loose.

‘I thought you were going to Claridge’s straight from work?’ he said, his beautiful face innocently perplexed. Arrow straight eyebrows drawing lightly into a frown, blond hair casually dishevelled.

‘Are you having an affair?’ She asked, her lips tight. Infuriatingly her hands were trembling.

Max paused, his eyes narrowed momentarily, then he swept the tie from under his collar and threw it on the bed. ‘Not this again.’ he said, incredulous, ‘Ella, come on!’ He rolled his eyes and then stalked into the en suite as if the question hadn’t been asked. ‘Of course I’m bloody not. Honey, I never have and never will,’ he added after a minute with a laugh that echoed round the bathroom. Then he popped his head back round the door and said with a wink, ‘You’re crazy. It’s our anniversary.’

The first time Ella had met Max’s parents they had been shown onto the veranda by the Portuguese maid and poured iced mint water from a crystal jug. The still air had hummed with heat and the only noise was the sprinklers battering the lush lawn as the ice clinked in their glasses. His mother and father were standing rigidly next to one another, muscles tense, clearly having been interrupted in the middle of a blistering row. Max’s father had patted the golden retriever at his feet and trudged off down the garden without even a nod of hello, his mother had looked Ella up and down with an expression of languid distaste, her lips unnaturally plump as she pouted and said, ‘When the men in this family lie, their cheeks go a very unnatural shade of pink.’ Then she’d taken a sip from her white wine glass that sweated in the humid air and said, ‘It’s a gem his mother passed on to me. Very useful,’ before heading into the house and leaving the two of them alone on the decking watching as the labrador bounded through the jets of water drenching the lawn.

‘Ella.’ Max turned, leant against the sink, paused for a moment then walked towards her, wrapping his arms round her waist and said, as he always did, ‘You literally mean everything to me.’

His hands were warm on her back, his eyes seemed to soak deep into her – but his smile wobbled as if he was nervous and, much as she wished she couldn’t, even under his Val d’Isere tan, Ella could see the hint of pink tinging his cheekbones.

‘I’m not having an affair.’ he said, looking her straight in the eye. ‘I don’t know where you’ve got the idea from but I promise, I’m not.’ He bit his lip, his fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt.

He smelt of Max. Of the shower gel from the gym mixed with his bespoke patchouli aftershave and perhaps a glass or two of wine.

‘Look.’ he said, pulling away from her, taking her hand and drawing her into the hall. ‘Look what I just carried all the way here.’ In the doorway was a Christmas tree, massive, ten or twelve foot, lying wrapped in white netting, a trail of needles behind it. ‘I had to drag it the last bit,’ he laughed. ‘So bloody heavy.’

He was nervous. Ran his hands through his hair as he almost bounded forward and propped up the tree. ‘We’ve never had a real one and I know you really like them so I wanted to surprise you. What do you think?’

‘Max?’ Ella said, nervously, watching as he moved quickly, edgily, holding the tree up then laying it down again and ripping at the netting to set the branches free.