shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that. And I certainly hadn’t planned any of it. It’s all just happened. But I absolutely love Little Biddington, and looking after the shop gives me more time here. Until I sort out what I really want to do.’
‘Sounds ideal. And what about you and, um…?’
‘Max?’
Trish noticed the way Connie’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his name.
‘It’s early days,’ she replied, smiling coyly.
‘Aah. They’re the best ones. If my memory serves me right.’
‘Oh, it most definitely does,’ giggled her host.
The doorbell chimed, causing Eric to fleetingly appear as he leapt several feet in the air.
‘Heavens. Does he do that every time the bell rings?’
‘Without fail,’ replied Connie.
The other two members of the cookery club arrived together and, to Trish’s astonishment, couldn’t have been more different. Kate – the village vet, who apparently had a brood of young children – seemed flustered, with a streak of ketchup on her creased blue top and a small tear in the back of her mismatched Indian print skirt. The younger woman, Melody, conversely, was stunning – in pristine white jeans and a pink blouse. Within minutes of their arrival, however, Trish concluded they were both lovely.
‘Well, it’s great you’ve joined us,’ said Melody. ‘Although I should warn you, you have to watch what you say here. I bet Connie hasn’t told you about her blog.’
Trish quirked a curious eyebrow.
‘I knew she wouldn’t have,’ Melody exclaimed, shaking her head in mock despair at their host. ‘She set up a blog about the club when we first started and it’s so popular that the Galloping Gourmet magazine contacted her to write a column. The first one is in this month’s edition.’
‘The Galloping Gourmet?’ Trish gaped at Connie. ‘That’s amazing. I love that magazine.’
‘So do I,’ said Connie. ‘And I’m still in shock about the whole thing, to be honest. I started the blog on a complete whim after something Kate said one day, and it just took off.’
‘Well, well, well.’ Trish shook her head in disbelief. ‘If I’d known I’d be spending the evening with a celebrity, I’d have put my lippy on.’
‘No lippy required here. It would only come off when we’re troughing all the food. And talking of food, let’s knuckle down to some cooking. I’ve already prepared the main course of sardines en escabeche, and I was going to make an ensaladilla salad to go with it. There’s all sorts in that – potatoes, carrots, green beans, gherkins, olives…’
‘Sounds gorgeous,’ said Kate. ‘I’m going to make pimiento tartlets for the starter. They should take about forty minutes, including cooking time.’
‘And I’m having a go at pestinos for dessert,’ said Melody. ‘They’re sweet bites, apparently invented by the Arabs. I could deep fry them, but I’m opting for the healthier version and will bake them instead, before dunking them in honey. They’ll need about half an hour in the oven so maybe we should start with those.’
‘Wow. It all sounds gorgeous,’ said Trish, feeling suddenly shy. ‘And I know you said I didn’t have to bring anything, but because you mentioned the Spanish theme, I made some authentic bread – pan de cebada. It’s quite heavy, but very tasty. I thought it would go with Connie’s sardines.’
Connie clapped her hands. ‘See!’ she exclaimed to the other two members. ‘Didn’t I tell you she’d fit in perfectly.’
Trish couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun – especially when helping Melody make the pestinos. It had taken several hilarious attempts with the piping bag to produce the required shapes, but they’d eventually succeeded, more amusement ensuing when they’d dunked the tiny cooked pastries into the honey before serving. The end result had been delicious crunchy golden fritters flavoured with cinnamon and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
‘So, do you think you’ll come back?’ asked Kate, when every morsel of their efforts had been devoured.
‘Absolutely. If you’ll have me.’
‘Of course we will,’ said Connie. ‘Apart from on the telly, I’ve never seen anyone chop an onion so expertly.’
‘And without shedding a tear,’ piped up Melody. ‘I’m going to have to squeeze in some practice before this baby arrives.’
‘When’s it due?’
‘March. Part of me is so excited I think I might burst. And the other part thinks goodness, it’ll soon be here and I’m nowhere near prepared.’
‘The next few months will fly by,’ said Kate. ‘And then you’ll wonder what you did before. I have no idea how I filled my time before having my three. But that’s because I can’t remember anything that happened more than two hours ago.’
Trish laughed. ‘I take my hat off to you having three. I can’t cope with one. Although, I have to say, up until her dad left last year, Amber was no trouble at all. Since then, she’s been like a bear with a sore everything.’
‘Ugh. Don’t tell me. I’m already dreading the teens and the twins are still at the terrible twos stage. It must be hard on your own, though.’
Trish shrugged. She’d been enjoying herself so much she’d hardly given Ian a thought all evening. And she didn’t particularly want to now. ‘You just have to get on with it.’
‘Total respect,’ replied Kate. ‘And just so you know, I don’t cope at all. Thankfully, we have a very competent French au pair who helps me out.’
About to tell Kate how lucky she was, Trish stopped. Had she imagined it, or had Connie and Melody exchanged A Look at that statement?
‘How much longer is Domenique with you?’ asked Connie, avoiding eye contact with the vet and beginning to clear the empty dishes.
‘Well, she originally signed up for a year, but as that’s nearly at an end, we’ve persuaded her to stay another six months. Which is fantastic news.’
This time Trish was definitely not mistaken. The Look which passed between Connie and Melody at that remark left her in no doubt that they viewed this news as anything but fantastic.
‘You’re looking well,’ remarked Ian when he came to collect Amber on Saturday morning. ‘What’ve you been up to?’
Trish blinked at him. Was that a compliment? Or an attempt to butter her up, hoping she’d give in and agree to tell Amber his news after all? Resisting the urge to say something along the lines of finding a toy-boy lover on the internet and abandoning all household duties in favour of rampant sex, she said, ‘I’ve joined a cookery club.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh. Right. What’s one of those?’
‘Well, believe it or not, it’s a club where we cook,’ replied Trish, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone.
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