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Life begins at forty…
Trish Ford always dreamed of living in a little chocolate box village like Cornfield – but she never expected to be starting over at forty! Joining the Cotswolds Cookery Club seems like the perfect recipe for finding happiness again, along with her new friends Connie, Melody and Kate.
From mouth-watering paella to sweet, honey-drenched pestinos, Trish finds a delicious distraction in the Spanish cuisine whilst doing her best to deal with her stroppy teenage daughter and her cheating ex-husband and his pregnant girlfriend.
But it will take all of Trish’s new-found confidence – and maybe a helping of her irresistible leche frita – to risk her heart on hunk single dad Steve…
Fans of Milly Johnson, Caroline Roberts and Jill Mansell will love this heartwarming read!
The Cotswolds Cookery Club is a story told in three parts. A Taste of Spain is part two.
Forty Things to Do Before You’re Forty
Countryside Dreams
An Autumn Affair
A Summer of Secrets
A Winter’s Wish
The Cotswolds Cookery Club
A Taste of Italy
The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of Spain
Alice Ross
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
Contents
ALICE ROSS
escaped her dreary job in the financial services industry a few years ago and has never looked back. Dragging her personal chef (aka her husband) along with her, she headed to Spain, where she began writing witty, sexy romps destined to amuse readers slightly more than the pension brochures of her previous life. Now back in her home town of Durham, when not writing, she can be found scratching out a tune on her violin, walking her dog in wellies two sizes too big (don’t ask!) or standing on her head in a yoga pose. Alice loves to hear from readers, and you can follow her on Twitter at @AliceRoss22 or on facebook.com/alice.ross.108.
Trish Ford stared across the kitchen table at the slogan emblazoned on daughter Amber’s T-shirt.
The difference between your opinion and pizza is that I ask for pizza.
Amber’s plentiful range of T-shirts included other insightful maxims perfectly suited to her fifteen years – such as Whatever, Shh No One Cares and I’m Not Always Rude And Sarcastic – Sometimes I’m Asleep.
Trish had often considered printing a range for forty-two-year-old mothers like herself, featuring slogans such as It’s All Downhill From Here, Life Does NOT Begin At 40, or to sum up her feelings today – I Don’t Know Why I Bother.
A phrase she seemed to be employing with depressing regularity of late.
She didn’t, for example, have any idea why she bothered cleaning Amber’s room, given it reverted to its default state of carnage within two hours. Nor had she any idea why she bothered ironing piles of Amber’s newly laundered clothes each week, when the girl insisted on everything being reironed the day she decided to wear it. And why on earth she’d bothered spending two hours in the kitchen making a chicken and tarragon plate pie for dinner, just to watch her daughter pick at a few runner beans, then shuffle the rest about her plate with a look of disgust clouding her pretty features, completely passed Trish by.
Her doleful musings were cut short by an announcement from the fruit of her loins.
‘Actually,’ sniffed Amber, setting down her fork and shaking back her mass of honey-blonde corkscrew curls, ‘I’ve decided to become a vegetarian. Have you seen how they force-feed chicken and geese to produce foie gras?’
Trish hadn’t. Nor did she want to. And not because of a lack of interest in animal welfare: all their cast-offs went to the RSPCA charity shop, she made a monthly contribution to the World Wildlife Fund, and the only eggs that ever entered her kitchen were those produced by the happiest and most liberated of chickens. Today, though, she had other matters on her mind. Matters far closer to home, which were the reason she’d spent so long slaving over the proverbial hot stove: to try and take her mind off them.
Over the years, Trish had trialled a range of relaxation techniques, including running (which didn’t last long due to it involving far too much… well… running), yoga (she’d fallen asleep in the relaxation section at the end