Chapter Twenty

 

Valentine's Day was the last day for the crew and contestants to be with us. The final film shots of the winning cake had taken place, as had all of the post-contest interview segments with the contestants, who were now setting off for home again. Tal's little Volkswagon car beeped farewell as it drove past the Dumnonian's car park, where the towncar's driver was loading the judges' luggage into the boot. I suspected he was happy to be going back to his garden and his nature-themed home bakes after weeks of elaborate wedding cakes.

Dinah transferred the box with her mixer and supplies from my car to hers, then gave me a farewell hug. "Time for me to go, I suppose," she said. "I have a family lunch before I collect my luggage and go home. High time, too. It's been a very exhausting week."

"I'll miss you," I said. "But we're all so proud. I knew you could do it."

"That's more than I knew," she answered, stoutly. "But I'm glad of it, since Pr — even if some might have been a bit stuck up about their talents, good as they are. I still can't believe it wasn't Ewan's lovely Viennese thing."

"I think if he'd gone with a bold blue for the Danube, he would have beaten you," I answered, comfortingly. "He will next time."

"There's a next time for him, I expect, but not for me," she said. "I, for one, am glad to be going back to my home and my shop and making some perfectly ordinary cupcakes and bespoke wedding sponges of two or three layers for awhile." She closed the car's boot. "Look after your lovely husband and children," she said. "I popped in to say farewell on my way here — left a bit of surprise for you as well."

"What is it?" I asked, dying of curiosity now.

"You'll see." With that mysterious statement, Dinah climbed into the driver's seat, beeping once as she pulled out of the parking lot. I waved, hoping I was going to find a few dozen chocolate biscuits and my very own White Lady sponge waiting in my pantry a few hours from now. It wouldn't be quite the same as the old days of sitting in the kitchen, watching Dinah's dessert precision, however.

Kimmie gave me a goodbye hug before she gave one to Michael. "I can't thank you enough," she said, for the last time. "I keep saying it, since it's not like I found a better way to prove it. If only I'd had time to teach you a few jazz tap-dancing steps, I'd feel we were even."

"It was my pleasure," answered Michael, and I thought a hint of a blush might have flashed in his cheeks before he spoke. "Even if I kicked a bit against the idea — you were a decent student in the end."

"Such a gentleman," she said to him, sarcastically. "I'll see you around — next time they host the bakeoff here. I intend to be a presenter if they do."

He laughed. "Think they'll be back?" he answered.

"Absolutely," she said. "And they'll ask you back as the baking consultant, too. Even if I have to talk them into using some giant twelve-tiered wedding cake showpiece and then topple it over so they'll call you."

"All right," said Michael. "It's a deal."

Kimmie glanced at me, and I could see something in her eyes that didn't quite match the spark of humor in her voice. "Well, this is goodbye," she said.

"Kimmie, the car's here," trilled Pet, lowering her mobile phone. "Get your wiggle on, will you?"

"Me being paged," said Kimmie. "Bye, Julianne. Thanks for ... you know." She winked at me.

"My pleasure," I answered.

"If you ever come up to London, look me up. If I'm around, I'll buy you dinner to say thanks properly," she said to Michael.

"If you ever come back to Cornwall, stop by. I'll show you a place that makes Cornish seafood the proper way," he said. Kimmie smiled, then put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek suddenly.

"Bye," she said. "Wave farewell to the village on my behalf. Pet, will you ask them to load my suitcases?" She hurried off towards the car, turning back to wave once more.

I tucked my hands in my coat's pockets, looking for my keys as I crossed to my car. Harriet and Pierre were just climbing into theirs, pausing momentarily when they saw me.

"It was lovely to be back in your village," said Harriet. "I didn't say that line entirely for the benefit of the camera."

"We have had an excellent time," said Pierre. "Now it is time to go back to one's proper work."

"I don't suppose that includes a return to the Baking Extravaganza for the next series, does it?" I hinted. To my surprise, the judges exchanged glances.

"Perhaps," said Pierre. "We have discussed returning to a project we left before, the union between this country and the continent."

"Really?" I said.

"It depends on our respective filming schedules, of course," said Harriet. "And Pierre does have a book to finish. But perhaps in the future we'll find ourselves exploring the recipe traditions of Normandy for the sake of your television viewing pleasure."

"I'd like to see the cookbook for that one," I said. "A Hardy-Dupine dual authorship?"

"We shall see," answered Pierre, mysteriously. "Au revoir, Madame."

The town car drove away, taking the last two members of the baking show's cast. I watched them go, then started my own car's engine and went on my way. I wondered if Dovie was inside framing signed photos of the two presenters for her wall yet. It made me smile to picture it.

High Street still had up its decorations in honor of the baking contest, even though nobody was left except for the crew packing up the very last of the film equipment. In the window of the fish and chips shop, Charlotte had put up a sign. Congratulations Dinah Barrington — Winner of The Grand Baking Extravaganza Reunion and One of Our Own!

I drove to the barn and dropped off the things I had collected from the marquee this morning, which Kitty and I had stripped before the company was due to disassemble it. By the end of today it would be gone, along with the tea tent, just like the trailers and trucks belonging to the film crew, so we had packed up the garlands and props we had contributed to the set.

Just like the marquee site, the barn had a deserted feel. The kitchens were gone, and our furniture was still out of place, leaving lots of bare space and a few pitiful floral ornaments that had been left neglected since the last day of filming here. We'd have to spend the next couple of days tidying this place and putting things back in order, whenever we had time between Alexi's wedding plans.

When the barn was locked up again, I drove to the manor to return the baking sheets I had borrowed for the fete. Lady A was out with baby Charles, running errands in Truro, so after Mrs. Norris let me in, I went down to the kitchen on my own.

Michael had just returned and was checking some bread he was proofing in the warming cupboard. He laid out some of the pans he was using, and gave me his usual brief smile and nod.

"Some week, huh?" I said.

"Busy," he said. "Like always. But it went decently." He closed the proofing drawer.

"I never did say thank you for you changing your mind about teaching Kimmie," I said. "You probably don't need to hear it from me anyway."

"True," he grunted, as he began fine shaving some cheddar into a bowl of herbs.

I started to go, then paused. "Think you'll miss her?" I asked. "She was kind of fun to be around, in surprising ways. She even got you to smile a little more."

"Whatever," he said. If it hadn't been for his ears turning pink, I might have thought he didn't care. But I could tell he did, even though he didn't turn around to look at me. For just a second, I thought he felt the same way Kimmie did.

I'd seen Michael in relationships in the past, those rare ones everybody knew about. Whether it was him and Gemma or him and the rare date from the surrounding villages that drew him out of his shell, it had always been the same. Something was different this time, however. I wondered what would have happened if circumstances had been different than the reality.

What if Kimmie hadn't had a boyfriend?

 

 

___________________

 

 

The front door to my cottage shut gently as Matt returned well past dinnertime. He had been at the garden site in Camden for a long day with his client and the owner of a landscape construction company, both of whom apparently had no plans for the day that would stop them from discussing decorative grottos and boulder shifting. He looked tired as he hung up his coat and tossed his portfolio and satchel onto the table, ruffling his dark hair behind his neck as he rubbed its muscles, leaving the curlier part in the back sticking up.

Tired showed itself a tiny bit more than when I first knew Matt. It was part of the package that included the thread of grey that had cropped up here and there in his dark mane, and even a tiny bit in the dark stubble that sprouted from his beard's shadow. But even Ross Poldark was not immune to aging ... and the man in my front entryway, loosening off the burgundy tie that complimented his sport coat for semi-casual professionalism, still earned a second glance from the ladies when we were out together, which both irked me and made me a tiny bit proud at the same time. They had no idea that Matt was a great catch outside of his fantastic looks; that what was inside the package was so much better than the wrapping, so to speak.

He noticed me, froze a second, then formed a somewhat perplexed-but-intrigued smile of reaction. "Good evening," he said, staring at me.

"Hi," I answered. One hand offered him a casual wave of greeting.

"I missed dinner," he said. Stating the obvious. I knew he was stating more than that, because this should have been a semi-special night, even for two people who had learned it was better not to make plans. Box of cream-filled chocolates, glass of wine, whisper of a few intimate words — that was us. Most Valentine's Days, anyway.

"Aren't you going to ask me why I'm sitting on a blanket on our floor? Dressed to kill on a Monday night?" I said.

I did look good, in my opinion. This was my little black dress for business, a newly-purchased, slimming velvet number with lots of scrunchy folds, a decent-but-intriguing 'v' neckline, and tucks in the waist that would help whenever I made the mistake of eating a pint of ice cream that insisted on punishing me with a week's worth of vegan dishes to remove it. Around my neck I wore the delicate little ruby rose he had given me as a gift last year, and which had begun the subject of a few private jokes and shared memory glances since.

I hadn't bothered with my Prada heels since bare feet made more of a statement. That and the crushed red velvet blanket I had swiped from underneath our duvet, where it added an extra layer for chill-prone people like me.

He shrugged off his jacket and came to sit beside me, pushing aside a few cushy pillows I had added decoratively — but not the basket, which contained a very noticeable bottle of wine and two glasses. "How long have the kids been asleep?" he asked me, as he rested his arm across the seat of the sofa behind us.

"Twenty minutes. I took them to the shore this afternoon and let them run wild hunting for shells and polished rocks," I said. "They had salmon paste sandwiches with crisps, threw the rubber ball a hundred times for one of Rosie's rescue dogs she was walking by, and are far too tired to wake up for hours. They had a blast, in short."

I felt his fingers stroke the base of my neck, his hand having found its way under my hair. "You look fantastic," he said, softly. "My first thought when I walked into the room, although I didn't say it then."

"You don't have to flatter me, we're married," I teased, softly. "Besides, I knew you'd probably forgotten, although I didn't. Nor did Dinah, actually."

"Dinah?" he said.

"When she dropped off some nice pinwheel chocolate biscuits and cherry cake loaves, she also left a little something for you and me," I said. "Well, it was probably for me for being encouraging, but I'll share it with you because I love you."

I opened the basket's second hatch and lifted out a perfect-size 'death by chocolate' cake for two, glazed in mirror chocolate and decorated with dipped two-tone cherries and candied pecans. It had taken incredible willpower not to eat it on the spot when I saw it.

"Forget dinner," I said, handing Matt a fork. "You and I are going to spend this entire evening in peace and quiet. This is my way of returning the last impromptu picnic you brought me."

He laughed, softly. "That cake was almost frostbitten," he said. "And I didn't bother to dress myself to the nines."

"It wasn't Valentine's Day," I reminded him, giving him a soft kiss on the lips. Instead of returning it, however, he leaned back, looking into my eyes.

"I didn't forget," he said. He reached into his pocket and drew out a little package, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a white ribbon. "I saw this in the window of an antique shop near the train station a few weeks ago, when I was meeting with the plant nursery for the project. I thought now that the kids have stopped dropping the things you value most, maybe you would enjoy having something beautiful to keep your necklace in."

I unwrapped it, letting the paper fall open on my lap. It held a Limoge-style ceramic jewelry box — delicate French porcelain, beautifully glazed, with a tiny rose at the top for lifting the lid. Hand painted with a bouquet straight from an English country garden, full of heirloom roses, forget-me-nots, periwinkle and Queen Anne's lace, surrounded by ribbons. The gilded trim along the box's lip was slightly worn, proving that someone else had loved it in the past.

"It's so beautiful," I said. "It's perfect." It would be just right for keeping on my bedside table, a far more attractive box for stray earrings I forgot to remove before bed, for the tiny pair of ear buds I used when covertly watching fashion reality shows while Matt dozed beside me — and for keeping the little necklace now tucked around my neck, of course.

Carefully, I placed it aside, then wrapped my arms around his neck. "Thank you," I said, softly. "For everything."

"Everything — what?" he answered, with another puzzled smile.

"You know what I mean." I kissed his lips lightly, feeling his return it with a touch of hunger that wasn't for cake. His hand cupped the back of my neck, cradling it as he kissed me for real, once, then again, as I slid my arms around his shoulders.

Gradually, my bare foot pushed the basket with the cake and wine off the blanket as we kissed, and Matt reached over to switch off the lamp. The only light in our parlor was the soft glow of the little star-shaped twinkle lights I had strung above our windows, and the only noise was my sigh of contentment as I nestled into the sweet zone of anticipation between kisses. This was so much better than mere chocolate gateau.

 

 

Julianne, Matt, and their friends at Cliffs House return in Book 3 of the series HERE