16. Lizzy
Lizzy
“Iwant to die.” Simon, the director, dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter.
Harry was glued to our side with his camera. Clearly, we’d replaced Goatee as the focus.
Simon pushed his plate away and grimaced. The other two judges sitting at the kitchen island made similar faces and turned away from the table.
“Seriously,” Simon went on with a groan. “This dish is literally making me gag. I’m not sure if it’s the smell, the taste, or the look of it. Maybe all three.”
This wasn’t a surprise. Simon had asked to judge ours first. As soon as the judges had sliced into the pastry, I could tell the chicken was gray, and the pastry was as I suspected—half cooked.
Both Wills and Jane were grimacing politely in the corner closest to the door, which Wills had opened. Emma, always lacking any artifice, pinched her nose shut. Did I imagine that the dogs stretching out by the fire dug their noses farther into the thick pile of the rug?
Simon waved away the dish. “I honestly can’t eat a second bite.”
“It’s the blue cheese,” Darcy said. “You have to ease into the taste. One more bite? To make sure.” This man was nothing if not persistent—he did not take no for an answer.
I could see why he was successful in negotiation.
Holding the dish at arm’s length, Simon gingerly pulled apart the rolled-up chicken. More of the bad smell wafted into the air. With a grimace, Simon brought the plate to his nose. “That’s the smell. The nuts are off.”
“The nuts? You didn’t smell that as you were chopping?” I asked Darcy.
Darcy shrugged indignantly. “They were heart nuts. I assumed the smell would cook off.”
Irritation prickled through me. “What do you mean, the ‘smell would cook off’? That’s not a thing. You don’t know anything about cooking, do you?”
“You’re the one who said the pastry was similar.”
“I didn’t say it was similar. I said they were not the same. And then you pulled the dish out of the oven way too soon.”
He gave a disgusted sigh. “I took the lead, made all the decisions, and now, looking in the rearview mirror, you’re the expert with twenty-twenty vision.”
What? Now he was turning on me? This man was not used to being challenged or criticized. “That’s it. I’m not doing anything else with you again this weekend.”
“That’s fortuitous,” Simon said. “Because you two have not won the prize this afternoon, with your gray chicken and rancid nuts and whatever other horrid goopy mess was in there. So, you won’t be going together on the romantic afternoon.”
I felt a mix of emotions. Disappointment I didn’t have the chance to get inspiration for my next book, followed by a wash of relief that I wouldn’t be spending any more time with Darcy.
Simon turned to us. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, Darcy, could you take this chicken outside and throw it in the farthest bin—it’s turning my stomach. Trystan, could we open all the windows?”
Trystan obliged, as Darcy headed outside with the smelly chicken wrapped and at arm’s length. I wished I could do the same with Darcy. I noticed the cameraman smiling, like he’d caught great footage. I bristled.
The three crew then tasted Emma and Knightley’s starter of veggie slices with a light salsa.
I’d bet those two argued over the menu the entire time, as Knightley had a propensity for raw food, and Emma, who rarely cooked, had a weakness for junk food and rich, cheesy sauces.
The judges had pronounced it tasty but not really cooking.
Emma glared and hissed, “Told you so,” to Knightley.
I was at least happy that Jane would get an afternoon away…and with the good brother.
The judges then took a mouthful of Wills and Jane’s galette made with berries Trystan had picked from the house’s bushes and added whipped cream.
Jane admitted the short pastry was from Trystan’s fridge, which Trystan had clearly made by hand.
One glance at Darcy glowering in the corner indicated he wanted to object, but the camera was still on us and even he seemed to recognize it would make him look petty.
The berries alone would have won over our chicken disaster.
This little exercise had shown that Wills and Jane were both people who gracefully accepted advice and help and did not make life hard on themselves. A winning combination.
Unlike Darcy and me. Worse, I’d been worried last night the show made me seem silly and unserious, undermining my professionalism. With this debacle, I’d gone right past silliness to idiocy.
Too close next to me, Darcy ground his teeth. His elbow rubbed against my arm, and I moved away, annoyed.
The judges conferred in a corner, but they were all nodding in unison one minute later.
Simon emerged from the huddle. “We have a winner,” he announced as the cameramen focused on him. “And it’s Jane and William!”
Jane and Wills hugged spontaneously and jumped up and down, still hugging.
The cameras panned around all of us. I clapped and nodded as though I were a gracious loser, because I was genuinely happy for them. Emma and Knightley were doing the same. I took a look at Darcy. He grunted bitterly and shoved his hands into his pockets. What a bad sport.
“Get changed for four hours of eating and drinking in the lap of luxury,” Simon said.
Wills and Jane hugged again, and Wills kissed Jane on the cheek.
I clapped, happy for them, and rubbed Jane on the back. “Tell me everything that happens when you get back.” At least my sister won, so I could use the secondhand details for book inspiration.
“I will, I promise.”
“Shit,” Darcy said, not hiding he was bitter about losing.
“How should we dress?” Jane asked.
“You are going to be wined and dined and entertained,” Simon said. “But take some walking shoes and a coat for outside. We have another camera assigned to you.”
Jane and Wills ran up the stairs.
Relieved to be done with that nonsense, I followed Jane upstairs, toed off my shoes, and flopped on my bed as she sorted through her clothes in our wardrobe.
She lifted out the two dresses she’d brought. “White floaty linen or short minxy denim?”
“Linen. Jane, this is going to be fun.”
“Good choice. I know, I’m excited. Doing all this together with Wills is amazing. We’re getting to know each other quickly, and I like everything about him.”
I kicked my feet gleefully. “I’m excited for you.”
She turned to me from the wardrobe where she was rehanging the denim dress. She wore an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to win.”
“No, it’s fine. You’ll tell me all about it anyway.” I was relieved not to be spending any more time with Darcy. I picked up my laptop. “This is a great opportunity for me to try to coax out some words.”
While Jane fussed with her clothing, I wrote a few sentences about Peony getting ready for an outing, perusing gloves and ribbons, but her best friends had tricked her, so she would be alone with Thomas. In a hot-air balloon.
I reread the lines.
Did they have hot-air balloons back then?
But how did this activity morph them from friends to lovers?
Did Peony realize Thomas was afraid of heights but he’d done this all for her, and she was forced to hold him close as he wept like a baby at two thousand feet?
Or did the hot-air balloon go up in flames… like this paragraph should? Groan.
I slammed my laptop shut and focused on Jane.
She tried on both outfits, and we decided the white linen dress, flat espadrilles, and cashmere cardigan were romantic and comfortable, and she packed her trainers in her straw bag for any walking they might do.
We put a scarf in her low ponytail, pulled out some wisps, and added red lipstick.
Although I was sure I mostly looked like I’d been pulled through a bush backward—literally because I was always fetching Oodles’s ball from under a bush—Jane possessed that je ne sais quoi of a woman who’d dismounted her pink bike and was sauntering through a flower market in Nice.
I had more of a swerved a herd of sheep and landed arse over face vibe.
“Oh, Jane.” I touched my fingertips to my lips.
“Will I do?”
“You look lovely.”
I followed her back down to the first floor to wait for Wills. When he descended the stairs, he held out his hand to her. So romantic. She took it, and, bursting out the door, they were whisked away in an SUV.
“Have a wonderful time!” I called to them.
After a brief wave, Jane turned to Wills and laughed at something he said. My heart warmed. Cute. I felt like the proud mother.
I poked my head into the kitchen. Darcy was fiddling with his phone by the fire, and Trystan was preparing dinner, cutting up potatoes for the gratin.
I hovered around Trystan. “What do you think they’re doing?”
“I’m sorry, even now, I’m not supposed to say,” Trystan said. “Sounds fab, though.”
Darcy was head down, furiously tapping on his phone. “They’re getting an insider’s tour from the owner of the house where they filmed part of Poldark and Rivals. Shit.” He gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed at himself that he’d let it slip.
“Really? Poldark and Rivals?” I was instantly skeptical. Darcy wasn’t a credible person right now.
At my challenge, he looked annoyed. “They’re also enjoying a special afternoon tea with a couple of the actors, being subjected to some ridiculous therapies involving bamboo and hot stones, and an astrology reading as to how they might be suited.”
My writer’s brain latched on to these details.
How could I incorporate this TV set into my novel?
Maybe one night, Peony drank more Madeira than was advisable, and on a drunken bet with Thomas, they both tried out for the traveling minstrels.
Turned out they were naturals and were cast as lovers.
On the road, their lines became prophecy, and they fell in love.
Except…this plotting would need a goodly sprinkling of thou hasts and ye forthwiths.
I didn’t know Shakespeare well enough. Sigh.
“How do you know about the date?” I asked Darcy.
“The homeowner is a friend of mine. He let it slip while we were playing padel in London.”
His answer was so specific, he seemed more credible. But that left another question…
“Why did you pretend you didn’t know?”
He huffed at me, lips turned up, forehead creased. “I didn’t pretend anything. I didn’t ruin the surprise.”
“But if you know the owner, surely he’d give you a tour?”
“Of course. I’ve been to his place several times.” Clearly bored by my questions, he turned back to his phone.
I’d asked him about this earlier. He told me that he wanted to win because it “sounded fun.” That was completely different from his answer now. He’d lied to me about his motivation. “But then why on earth did you want to win the afternoon prize so badly?”
He froze like he’d been caught out. “I always rise to competition.” His reply sounded conceited and evasive at the same time, and he fidgeted nervously with his watch.
Puzzling and maddening. That couldn’t be the real reason. But I didn’t have the energy to pursue this line of questioning.
“I’m heading upstairs to read,” I said. There was a “farm tour” scheduled, but I was going to give it a miss. Attempt another writing session, maybe.
Trystan raised his knife from where he was slicing potatoes. “Sorry, young missy, there is no time to read and rest. You are all scheduled to help out on the neighboring farm.”
I guessed sneaking out to write wasn’t allowed. And at the word farm, the dogs were triggered with excitement and chased each other around the room, as if they’d heard walk or dinner.
“Oodles, no,” I called ineffectually.
According to the schedule we’d been given, the brunch losers were to visit a farm.
Then a makeover and dinner and dancing. I wasn’t sure what Trystan’s “helping out on the farm” meant, but I was exhausted and on edge after working with Darcy to produce the ghastly gray chicken and then puzzled after finding out Darcy had access to the main prize anyway.
“Max,” Darcy called, also ineffectually.
“You two. Here.” Knightley tapped the arm of his chair, and both dogs went and sat next to him.
Though the dogs stayed sitting obediently, their tongues lolled out and their faces said, Righty-ho, let’s go, guys!
In contrast to the dogs’ boundless enthusiasm, my whole body felt like I’d swallowed a stone.
Not only was I missing out on an interesting afternoon because of Darcy’s arrogance, even if I would’ve had to spend it with him, I’d now be forced to do something that sounded like hard labor—still with him.
I wasn’t afraid of physical work, but I was looking forward to a break from humans, trying writing in my room.
Maybe instead of touring minstrels, Peony and Thomas were caught in a time warp—maybe the hot-air balloon ride was a portal?
—and now they were extras in Poldark. Peony was cast as a new love interest for Poldark, showing Thomas he no longer wanted to be friend-zoned.
But…nope. Time travel was not my brand, and I couldn’t mess with Poldark, pissing off my readers and TV viewers in one fell swoop.
More frustrations on an already frustrating day.
“I thought the afternoon would be free time now that we’d lost,” I answered.
“Sorry, babe, no free time on reality TV.” Using his paring knife, Trystan pointed at Harry in the corner. “Not as long as there is a camera in the room.”