IT WAS MONDAY morning and Nel was studying a picture of a Mississippi paddle-steamer, mentally converting it to cake, when the phone rang. It made her jump. Only part of her mind had been on cake tins, piping nozzles and icing, the greater part had still been on Jake Demerand and what had happened between them – not the terrible aftermath, but the blissful moments when thought had been suspended, and only instinct mattered. The phone’s jarring reminder of the real world was not pleasant.
‘Is that Nel Innes?’ cooed Kerry Anne.
‘It is.’ Nel recognised her voice. Kerry Anne was a bucket of cold water in human, telephonic form on all her wickedly enjoyable reminiscences. She represented everything Nel was fighting against.
‘It’s Kerry Anne Hunstanton here. I want you to take me to where that woman makes her own cosmetics.’
‘Oh?’ You do, do you? she thought. Well, I’m not going to do it for nothing, young lady. I’ll get my pound of flesh in return, thank you very much.
‘Yes. I can’t get to London and I’m right out of cleanser.’
‘Well, of course I can help you out, but there was that little something you were going to do for me?’
‘I talked to Pierce about the markets, and he says they can carry on until the building work begins.’
‘God knows! We’re still having difficulty with the plans. Something to do with which sort of bricks to use.’
Good, thought Nel. Perhaps they would be rejected for ever, and she and Vivian needn’t half kill themselves saving the fields. Only that morning, when she had been up in the attic looking for one of the children’s old books, which she dimly remembered as having a picture of a paddle-steamer in it, she had spotted some polythene that a mattress had once been wrapped in. She had been about to throw it away, but then thought that it might come in very useful if she and Viv were obliged to take up Simon’s suggestion and lie in front of the bulldozers. Water meadows were, by their very nature, watery.
‘So, when can you take me? Will you take me?’
Still Nel didn’t reply. She was awfully busy – how to make exotically shaped cakes was really the least of her problems – and she wanted time to make use of Kerry Anne’s eagerness. On the other hand, time spent in Kerry Anne and Sacha’s company would distract her mind from saturnine lawyers who could perform magic just by breathing, which would be a good thing. Reliving the highlights of Saturday night was bad. She should be concentrating on the dreadful consequences of her folly. The trouble was, discovering sex again after all those years was like the first piece of chocolate after a long, strict diet; absolutely delicious and leaving you wanting more. Thank goodness in this case there was no chance of Nel repeating the wonderful, terrible experience.
‘Please?’ Kerry Anne’s dulcet, confident tones took on a pleading quality which the mother in Nel immediately responded to, against her better judgement.
She sighed. ‘I’ll arrange it with my friend and get back to you. Are you free any time?’
‘Right now, pretty much, although I’m off to visit my family in California at the end of the week.’
‘Fine, give me your number, and I’ll get back to you.’
‘I’ve already given you my number!’
‘I’ve lost it.’
Kerry Anne related it.
‘Right, I’ll try and organise something in the next few days.’
‘Thank you. This could be just what I need.’
Nel put the phone down thoughtfully, determined that Kerry Anne would get nothing that didn’t benefit others in some way. She had quite enough already. Then Nel sighed again, thinking she’d almost let Kerry Anne and Pierce do what they liked with the fields, if she could only keep Jake to herself.
She rang Sacha before she forgot or allowed herself to get distracted; sex seemed to have addled her brain.
‘Hi, Nel! Haven’t heard from you for ages! How are things?’
‘So, so. What about you?’
All the enthusiasm died from Sacha’s tone. ‘Don’t ask. I’m still searching for somewhere to live. The house part isn’t a problem, but finding something with space is quite another.’
‘But I thought you’d found somewhere.’
‘It fell through.’
‘What about renting somewhere to make the cosmetics? You don’t have to do it from home, do you?’
‘I’d have to do it on a much grander scale to make it financially viable to rent anywhere separate. I may have to give up Sacha’s Natural Beauty.’
‘Oh, Sacha, that would be awful. Just when things are beginning to take off and I really need anti-wrinkle serum in my life! But seriously, you have to fight for things you care about. You can’t just lie down and accept things.’ She wondered briefly if all her analogies would refer to lying down in future. Not that she’d done much of that. ‘The perfect place does exist, you just haven’t found it yet.’
‘Yeah, well. You get tired, eventually.’
‘Of course. If I wasn’t so tied up with this Paradise Fields thing, I’d help you scour the country. In fact, I’ll ask around when I visit farms applying to come to the market. Someone may have a spare building they’d let you have for nothing, or nearly nothing.’
‘That would be kind. Now, how can I help you?’
‘Well, I was wondering if I could bring a potentially very good customer to see what you do, but you may not want me to.’
‘Oh yes, bring her along. While I’m still in business I might as well sell what I can. Who is she?’
‘Kerry Anne Hunstanton. You know? They inherited Sir Gerald’s place?’
‘Oh yes. I wrote to them to see if I could use their barn. It’s in quite good condition and would be perfect for me.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. Except I got a letter from the solicitor saying no.’
Nel’s breath caught, even though she couldn’t be sure it was even Jake who sent the letter. It might have been an underling. ‘What a shame.’
‘So how do you know Kerry Anne Hunstanton?’
‘I met her when I was in the solicitors’, finding out if the hospice owned Paradise Fields, which they don’t, by the way. Then I met her again in Boots. She was frantically looking for something or other and I mentioned your products. She was very interested, and now she wants to visit you. So it’s all right if I bring her? You must charge her absolutely top whack for everything, mind.’
Sacha laughed. ‘As long as you don’t mind doing a bit of work. What about Tuesday?’
‘Tomorrow?’ It wasn’t super convenient for Nel, she had a paddle-steamer to make.
‘Yes, I’m going to Oxford the day after. There’s a house with a building in the garden which might do.’
‘But that’s miles away!’
‘And the house is pretty small, but I’m examining all the options.’
On the other hand, Nel could design and get the basic cake made this afternoon, and decorate it tomorrow afternoon. ‘I’ll bring Kerry Anne about eleven, OK?’
Nel decided that keeping busy was the best way to get over Jake Demerand and felt she should be grateful he should appear in her life when she had so much to be busy with. Unfortunately, both the water meadows and the farmers’ market were connected with him in some way, and so weren’t really a distraction. Of course, Kerry Anne was connected to the fields too, but visiting Sacha was always a treat.
Kerry Anne and Pierce had rented a cottage on the other side of the town. Kerry Anne was looking lovely when Nel picked her up. Not long ago, Nel would just have envied her her beauty, and put it out of her mind. Since her experience with Jake, she had been thinking a lot more about herself and her beauty routine. There was no doubt about it, it may have been a one-night stand (in fact, Nel forced herself to admit, that was exactly what it had been), but it had awakened a part of Nel which had been dormant for a long time. He may have been a one-night stand, but perhaps she should think about finding someone who wouldn’t be. Somehow, this didn’t include Simon.
‘So where are we headed?’ Kerry Anne asked when she had disposed her elegant limbs in Nel’s far from elegant car.
‘It’s not far. Just a short way out into the country.’
‘But it’s just a cottage!’ exclaimed Kerry Anne as Nel drew up in front of a little redbrick house surrounded by fields.
‘But a lot goes on inside it.’ Nel rang the bell.
Sacha was the best advertisement for her own products it was possible to find. Younger than Nel, older than Kerry Anne, her glowing complexion could give even Kerry Anne’s youthful dewiness a run for its money.
‘Come in both of you,’ she said, holding the door wide.
‘Sacha, this is Kerry Anne Hunstanton. Kerry Anne, Sacha Winstone, creator of Sacha’s Natural Beauty.’
Kerry Anne nodded, but wasn’t quite as effusive as Nel thought she should be.
‘Hi.’ Sacha put her hand in Kerry Anne’s. ‘Do you guys want a drink or something, or would you like to see where it all goes on straightaway?’
‘Let’s go and see what you do,’ said Nel, who needed the therapy she knew Sacha’s workplace provided.
‘Follow me then, and mind the stairs.’
‘But it’s tiny!’ said Kerry Anne, as the three of them climbed the stairs into Sacha’s attic. ‘I was expecting a factory!’
A white melamine workbench stretched across the narrow end of the room. Behind it were rows of shelves on which stood bottles of different sizes, but all of them small. At right angles to the bench was a sink, a gas burner, and crates packed with larger containers and tubs. On the opposite wall, labelled plastic boxes were stacked to the ceiling. Every inch of the attic was filled with what was allotted to it, nothing out of order, everything tidy and ready to hand. Whenever Nel saw Sacha’s attic, she realised what she could do with her own, if it wasn’t so full of junk.
‘It is small, but it works. And everything is made on a very small scale. That way I can make sure the quality is always perfect. I would like a lot more space, of course, but this is all I have. Now, what particular product are you most interested in?’
‘Cleanser, definitely,’ said Kerry Anne. ‘My pores are so clogged, if I don’t cleanse properly soon, I’ll break out.’
‘Well, I’m out of cleanser, but we can make some. It’s quite time-consuming, and my recipe only makes four pots, but as I’ve got help, we could probably double up.’
‘Did you say four pots? You only make four pots at a time?’ said Kerry Anne, not sure if she should be impressed or appalled.
Sacha nodded. ‘As I said, I like to be certain that every item that leaves here is of the same high quality. Right, girls, put on a hat and gloves, please.’
Nel put a paper hat on over her hair and pulled on some gloves. ‘Do you really go through all this every time, even when you’re alone?’
‘Of course. How would it look for me if someone found a hair in something? I treat the cosmetics as if they’re food, that way I know everything is pure. Right, now, what are we making? Cleanser.’
Kerry Anne was transfixed as she watched Sacha get out a plastic mixing jug, and then a small, slightly battered notebook.
‘I keep all my recipes in here. It took me a while to develop this cleanser. It’s a copy of that one all the stars buy—’
Kerry Anne interrupted with a name in an awed voice.
‘That’s it. But I’ve refined it a bit, so I think it’s better. Now, what do we need? Shea butter. Mm! Smell that! If you read out what we need, Kerry Anne, I’ll find it.’
Kerry Anne read out ingredients and Sacha assembled them. Nel had seen Sacha work before as she was one of the people Sacha would ring if she got behind with orders and needed a hand. Nel knew how magical the processes were, the tiny quantities, carefully measured out, eventually turning into products which were as soothing and softening as they were exclusive.
Kerry Anne was getting more excited by the minute as she flicked through the book. ‘Lip balm! Can we make lip balm? My lips get so dry and there’s only one . . .’
This time it was Sacha who supplied the name. ‘Only mine has one or two essential oils in it that that one doesn’t have. And the pink version uses natural colour. We can do that after we’ve done the cleanser. Nel, would you be a love and get me some jars? They’re under the bench behind you, behind the box of labels. Great, and the lids are just behind them.’
‘I can’t believe this,’ Kerry Anne was trembling with excitement. ‘This is so fun!’
‘It is fun. I shall really miss it if I have to give it up. Hard work though.’
‘Well, if you usually do it all by yourself . . . Now what do I do?’
‘Just give it a good stir while I measure out the powdered walnut shells.’
‘Why don’t you employ some help?’ asked Kerry Anne, giving the contents of the jug a good sniff. ‘That smells so good!’
‘As you can see, I have no space, and if I rented somewhere larger, I’d have to sell in far greater quantities to make it viable.’
‘But you could keep on like this, though?’ Kerry Anne watched with the tip of her tongue poking out as Sacha levelled off her tiny measuring spoon.
‘Unfortunately not. My lease has run out, and my landlord wants this house for his mother to live in, so he can keep an eye on her.’
‘So you’ll have to leave here?’
‘Yup. By the end of next month. But I’m going to look at a place in Oxford tomorrow. Now, we put this in a bain marie – you know, like in cooking? And heat it very, very gently . . .
‘. . . it sets pretty quickly in winter,’ Sacha said a few moments later. ‘In summer I have to put it in the fridge.’
‘Wow.’ Awed, Kerry Anne looked into the blue glass pot at the cleanser she had helped make.
‘When it’s completely cold we’ll label it.’
‘I don’t know about you two,’ said Nel, after a couple of hours had passed and several dozen little blue jars, plastic bottles and tiny pink potion bottles had been filled, ‘but I need a cup of something. Shall I go down and put the kettle on?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ said Sacha. ‘Kerry Anne, you must be gasping. I get very carried away and forget about things like meals and hot drinks. I even forget to go to the loo until I’m desperate.’
‘I can perfectly understand that,’ said Kerry Anne. ‘It’s so fascinating. What can we make now?’
‘Well, I’m going to make a hot drink,’ said Nel, aware that the other two were operating on a different plane. ‘What would you like?’
‘Do you have ’erb tea?’ asked Kerry Anne. She looked up from the bottle she was filling with a syringe. She was more precise even than Sacha with her quantities.
Sacha named several varieties of her tea. ‘I know Nel will have peppermint.’
‘It’s the only one I like, apart from proper tea, and I know you don’t have that.’
‘You don’t use caffeine either?’ Kerry Anne was ecstatic. ‘I know it wrecks the skin.’
‘I’m not sure about that, Nel gets through a fair bit of caffeine and her skin is fine.’
‘That must be because she uses your products. Which proves how wonderful they are if they work so well on an older skin.’
Nel, not sure if she should laugh, cry or throw something, looked at her watch instead. ‘Oh my God! I’ve got to go! I’ve got a cake to finish!’
‘But it won’t take you long, you’re good at making cakes,’ said Sacha. ‘You’re always making them!’
‘Not in the shape of a paddle-steamer, I’m not. I only used to do that sort of thing for the kids when they were little. It’s terrific fun, but it takes hours. I must dash! Kerry Anne, do you want to come with me, or what?’
Kerry Anne looked like a child about to be dragged away from the biggest ride at Alton Towers, just before she’d reached the top of the queue.
‘I’ll run you home later, if you like,’ said Sacha, who was pleased with how much work she’d got through. ‘Kerry Anne is really good at this. I’d like it if you could stay a bit longer. I’ll make you something to eat as well as the cup of tea Nel isn’t going to make.’
‘That would be great! I haven’t had so much fun in years. Thank you so much for bringing me here, Nel.’
Nel regarded Kerry Anne, who looked touchingly young and vulnerable in her white paper hat. She must warn Sacha later that she wasn’t as innocent as she looked. ‘That’s fine. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.’
As she negotiated her car out into the road, Nel realised she was in danger of softening her attitude to Kerry Anne. She’d been rather sweet in her enthusiasm, much softer than the glacial beauty of the meeting in Jake’s office. Yet she was clearly determined to push the building through: Nel mustn’t forget that. The trouble was, she inevitably became fond of people when she got to know them better. To know all was to forgive all. But as her sons often pointed out, not many people shared this philosophy and it did tend to make you vulnerable. And look what had happened the moment she stopped hating Jake Demerand! Or had she stopped hating him? Love and hate were so closely aligned.
Oh my God! She almost swerved as she realised she had allowed the ‘I’ word into her thoughts. You may have felt in a bad way before, girl, but let that little word encroach into your consciousness, and you’ll really be in trouble.
Nel had to call in at the supermarket before going home. Cake sculpture required a lot of supplementary equipment. She didn’t have time to be discriminating; anything that might come in useful was hurled into her trolley. She gathered large circular biscuits; every kind of small sweet; chocolate buttons, chocolate fingers and animals; food colouring; cocktail sticks; silver balls, hundreds and thousands; sugar roses; in fact, almost everything the Home Baking department sold plus catering packs of icing sugar. She always used to have much of this stuff in her larder, but it had been years since she had last made such a complicated cake. It had been a helicopter. The dogs had eaten it while Nel was giving out party bags. Fleur had been extremely upset, but Nel had been secretly relieved; there was only so much hyperactivity she could cope with. But any dog that even sniffed at this one would be banished from the sofa for life.
Her back was aching, her teeth felt ready to fall out she’d tasted the icing so often, and the kitchen floor was encrusted with sugar, but it was a masterpiece, even if she shouldn’t think so herself. She even went so far as to photograph it.
Because it had to feed a lot of people, and be a centrepiece for the party, it had to be on quite a large scale. Nel had used her largest square tin to make the base, and cut it into a boat shape. With another square of cake, she had built a cabin. The paddle wheels were huge chocolate biscuits with dismantled liquorice all-sorts for the flaps. It was surrounded by a sea of blue icing, each wavelet topped with a wiggle of foam. The river didn’t often get rough enough for white horses, but what the hell, she was an artist!
She was only sorry that none of her children were home to admire her creation. The boys were of course at university and Fleur was with her girlfriends in town. Of course she should have been at home, working, but since the clubbing fiasco, Nel had decided not to nag. Fleur might decide to ask her mother a few pertinent questions, and Nel was not only hopeless at lying, but blushed far too easily for a grown woman.
With the utmost care, she put the cake on a high shelf in the larder, having scrutinised the ceiling above for cobwebs. Then she laid a sheet of tissue paper delicately on top of it. She decided to put off washing the kitchen floor until tomorrow, and retreated upstairs to the bath. The dogs would give the floor a good lick, after all.
The following morning, Nel decided that making the cake had been the easy part; getting it to the meeting at the hospice would be the tricky bit. But at least her car had nothing much else in it. As the party itself was on the following day, when she would be loaded to the gunnels with bran tubs, prizes to go in the bran tubs (which she had not yet wrapped), cloths to cover trestle tables, a tombola machine, oversized dice and a million other things not yet on her list, she decided to take the cake early.
She laid it on the back seat as if it were a newborn baby. She had great difficulty in preventing herself putting a seatbelt round it, and had to content herself with packing it round with cardboard boxes, so if she had to brake sharply, it wouldn’t budge.
It was a pity it was a formal meeting. Most of what went on at the hospice was casual and fun, in spite of the very serious reason for its existence. But occasionally, and this was one of the occasions, all the patrons and bigwigs were invited, and Nel and Vivian always put on their best clothes accordingly. It was possible there would be news about getting a new director. Nel and Viv had wanted a woman, but they were not sure any had applied.
The building did look dreadfully tatty, thought Nel, as she opened the back door of her car to retrieve her high-heeled shoes. And the drive was as muddy and pot-holed as any farm track. Perhaps instead of raising money so the children in wheelchairs could get to the jetty, and therefore the boat, they should have had the drive retarmacked. But they always put the needs of the children before things like that. Even now a group of them were kicking a football around near the basketball hoop.
Very carefully, she drew the cake out of the back of the car and put it on the bonnet. If the big cheeses didn’t appreciate that work of art, they didn’t deserve her. Except that she didn’t do it for the big cheeses, she did it for the children.
She was debating whether to carry the cake in before she changed her shoes, and then come back out, or put on her heels and risk falling over in the mud when she became aware that the group of children was coming nearer. For the first time she wondered what they were doing there. It was term-time, none of the committee members would be likely to bring their children to kick a ball around, not in winter. She became aware that they were wearing a sort of football strip, so their presence must be official in some way. There was a man with them, saying goodbye, but he was being followed.
‘OK, take this on your head,’ he called.
The ball missed its target, landed badly, ricocheted off a stone and landed in the cake.
‘Oh shit!’ said someone.