Chapter Four Alex
The Board won’t stop raving about Noelle.
It started with the brie, with Brian declaring it – a wisp of cheese dripping from his chin – to be phenomenal.
Everyone else murmured in agreement, mouths full with cheese and bread, and the sentiment has steadily continued throughout the night.
Our main for the evening, a perfectly crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside pork loin served alongside surprisingly flavoursome Brussels sprouts and a creamy gratin, just about makes them lose their minds.
Every word that comes out of their mouths is praise for Noelle and the admittedly delicious feast she’s prepared for us.
Just as I knew she would.
‘This is it,’ Luca groans dramatically, shovelling gratin into his mouth. ‘I’ve reached the peak my palate will ever again experience. It’s all downhill from here.’
Therese nods enthusiastically as she spears a Brussels sprout onto her fork. ‘She’s got the magic touch. How else can you explain Brussels sprouts tasting like this?’
‘Do you think she’ll share her recipes?’ Brian asks, going for his second serving of pork loin. ‘Or is she available for hire?’
‘I bet she’s in high demand,’ Meryl says, daintily dabbing at the sides of her mouth with a napkin. ‘Where did you find her, Alex?’
‘She’s his personal chef,’ Luca says cheerfully. ‘Whenever you’re at the office, have you never noticed Alex doesn’t eat at the staff canteen and always brings his own food in? This is why.’
I scowl at Luca from across the table.
‘A personal chef?’ Wilbur murmurs beside me.
It’s the first thing he’s said in quite a while, too preoccupied with devouring the meal on his plate.
I suppose I should thank Noelle for that.
Anything that can render Wilbur mute and save me from his constant scheming is nothing short of a miracle in my book.
‘You know, I’ve been considering hiring one for a while now.
Do you know if she has any openings for new clients? ’
‘No,’ I say, quicker and sharper than I’d intended. ‘She’s fully booked.’
‘A pity,’ Wilbur says. ‘She’s quite talented.’
I don’t need Wilbur of all people to tell me that.
There’s a reason I’ve held onto Noelle for as long as I have, and I don’t intend on sharing her with the rest of them.
Wilbur opens his mouth but whatever is on the tip of his tongue is cut off by the return of Noelle, pushing a small cart into the room.
‘Dessert, anyone?’ Her voice is almost like a song as she darts around the table and places small plates in front of us. ‘First we have—’
‘First?’ Meryl cuts in, eyes wide.
Noelle nods, an almost sly grin tugging at her lips. ‘I’ve got two and a half desserts for you tonight.’
‘I don’t usually have a sweet tooth,’ Meryl says. ‘But if your desserts are anything like the rest of the meal, you might find me slipping some into my handbag to take home.’
Noelle beams and I realise, with a jolt, that this is the first time I’ve seen her smile like this.
It’s a lovely smile.
Wide and bright.
The kind that takes over her whole face and lights up her eyes.
‘You flatter me,’ she says demurely.
‘Trust us, it’s well deserved,’ Brian says.
‘Thank you. So, first up we have a rich cranberry pear tart with a buttery walnut shortbread crust.’
Everyone oohs – literally – as Noelle sets the circular pan in the middle of the table and we get our first glimpse of our first dessert for the evening. Thick pear slices are artfully laid out with glistening cranberries sprinkled around the top.
‘You made this yourself?’ Therese asks, mouth slightly agape as she stares at the dessert. ‘Today?’
Noelle nods and Therese shakes her head in disbelief.
‘You are simply magnificent.’
Noelle ducks her head, her smile turning slightly bashful. ‘You haven’t even tried it yet.’ She hands out forks to everyone and then gestures for us to dig in. As predicted, the dessert is—
‘Phenomenal,’ says Brian again, and I’m starting to worry that it’s the only descriptor he knows.
‘Delectable,’ Therese purrs.
‘Outstanding,’ Meryl mumbles through a mouthful of buttery crust.
‘Heavenly,’ Wilbur says, and I’m pretty certain that’s the highest compliment I’ve ever heard him give anything.
‘Fucking amazing,’ Luca finishes off as he practically licks his plate clean. ‘Noelle, you should open up your own restaurant.’
It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of movement, but Noelle hesitates suddenly. Her beaming smile falters slightly before she shrugs and says, ‘Maybe one day. It’s not really my focus right now, though. I actually really enjoy working more intimately with my clients.’
She glances over at me and, if I’m not mistaken, her lip twitches slightly. ‘It’s just so nice to get feedback directly, like you’ve all been giving me today. Nothing beats that.’
Sarcasm is dripping from her every word, but nobody else seems to catch it. They all erupt into murmurs of fervent agreement, and Noelle’s smile blooms into something wonderous.
‘Didn’t you say something about another dessert?
’ I ask, my voice cutting across their delighted murmurs like a whip.
A small part of me hates how brusque I know I sound, but I push aside the feeling without a second thought – I’ve got good at that over the years.
Besides, this evening has gone on long enough already.
There’s no need to keep stretching things out.
Noelle’s smile stiffens into something a little more forced as she turns to look at me. Now that’s what I’m used to. Barely concealed contempt flashes across her face, and I do my best to ignore the spark of shame that alights inside me.
‘Right. Dessert number two,’ she says curtly, turning back to the cart she pushed into the room.
‘This is a true Jones family Christmas tradition.’ She brandishes a two-tier cake and places it on the table with a flourish.
It’s covered in intricate icing swirls, and delicate sugar snowflakes cascading down the side.
‘Spiced rum pumpkin cake,’ Noelle announces proudly. ‘It’s an old family recipe with a few tweaks from me. My grandmother makes it every year for our annual family reunion and it’s reached a point where it just doesn’t feel like Christmas if I don’t get a slice of this.’
And what would be so wrong about that? It’s just another day in the calendar, and I’ve never understood what’s so special about it. What is it about December 25th that turns people into sickeningly twee versions of themselves?
I poke at my slice of cake as Noelle sets it down in front of me.
It takes me all of five seconds to discover that it’s just as delicious as the rest of her meal.
I take a bite and the flavours explode in my mouth, a moist, perfect blend of spices and sweetness that warms me from the inside out.
I glance around the table to see everyone else nodding in approval, their eyes closed in bliss as they savour each mouthful.
‘Noelle, this is incredible,’ Meryl exclaims between bites. ‘You should seriously consider selling this cake. People would queue down the street for a taste.’
Noelle smiles at the compliment, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she turns her attention back to the group. ‘Thank you. I’m glad you’re all enjoying it.’
Even Wilbur, usually so reserved in his praise, nods in approval.
Noelle watches us, her gaze lingering on each of our faces as we indulge in her desserts. There’s a quiet satisfaction in her eyes, a sense of fulfilment that I can’t help but envy. She seems truly content, as if our enjoyment of her food is the only thing she needs right now.
‘Didn’t you say something about two and a half desserts?’ Luca says as he finishes his plate, scraping up the last of the crumbs to the point where his plate looks spotlessly clean once he’s finished.
Noelle grins. ‘This one, I can’t take the credit for entirely.
’ Her eyes twinkle mischievously as she turns back to the cart.
She lifts a beautifully decorated tin and delicately pries it open to reveal an array of Christmas cookies, each one more intricately designed than the last. The sweet scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills the air.
‘These are also from Maison Badeaux,’ Noelle explains, her voice filled with excitement.
‘I thought it would be a nice touch to end the night by sharing them with all of you.’
The group murmurs appreciatively, their faces lighting up at the sight of the treats.
She flits around the table, placing a cookie in front of each of my guests.
And then she gets to me.
I expect her to place the cookie on the napkin in front of me, but she freezes, hands hovering uncertainly over the box.
‘Have we run out?’ Therese asks, craning her head around to see what the hold-up is.
‘No,’ Noelle says, her voice coming out like a croak. ‘I ordered the right amount. It’s just… well, I didn’t think about the designs when I was handing them out, and…’ She holds up the last cookie in the box and gives me an apologetic grimace.
The cookie is a miniature masterpiece of mischief; the Grinch’s scowling face etched onto its surface with uncanny accuracy. Green icing curls around its edges like a malicious grin, and even the tiny red Santa hat perched atop its head seems to exude child-friendly malevolence.
My jaw tightens as Luca bursts into loud, raucous laughter, and the rest of my Board follow his example, even Wilbur. Fucking Wilbur.
‘You hit the nail on the head with that one, Noelle,’ Luca laughs.
I feel a flush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks as Noelle looks at me with an awkward mix of apology and amusement. The room is filled with laughter, but all I can focus on is the Grinch cookie sitting in front of me, its mocking expression seemingly taunting me.
I push the cookie back towards Noelle, my irritation bubbling underneath the surface. ‘I appreciate the gesture, but I think I’m full,’ I say curtly.
Noelle’s expression falls, a potent mix of regret and concern flashing in her eyes. She opens her mouth to apologise, but I turn away and she clamps her mouth shut before she can utter a word.
The laughter around the table slowly dies down, replaced by an awkward tension that hangs in the air like a heavy fog. I can feel the eyes of my Board on me, all of them judging my reaction to an admittedly harmless joke, so I force a tight smile and they all heave quiet sighs of relief.
As soon as their attention is no longer on me, I discreetly check my watch and bite back a groan.
How much longer do I have to endure this charade? The seconds tick by slowly, each one an eternity as I count down the moments until I can finally escape this suffocating room and any mention of Christmas.