CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The following few days passed in a blur of hospital visits and pudding-making, with little time for much else.
It would be more difficult after I’d collected Barley from the shelter at the end of the following week. But I knew I would cope. Even if I had to work twenty-hour days – turning out sticky toffee puddings and sponge cakes with sprinkles and pink custard – to sell at the Pudding Club evenings, I was determined to make sure Barley was a priority and spend time helping him settle into his new home.
On the morning of Steamed Pudding Night, I had some surprise visitors.
Maya and Marguerite.
‘When I spoke to you yesterday, you seemed quite stressed, so I wondered if you needed any help?’ smiled Maya when I opened the front door. She glanced at Marguerite. ‘We’ve been out for coffee and we’ve got some spare time on our hands until Marguerite’s hair appointment at two.’
‘That’s really kind of you. Come in!’ I exchanged a knowing smile with Maya, guessing that her ‘sister-in-law duties’ – taking Marguerite out – were maybe wearing a little thin. It was a little unfair that husband Andrew, a keen golfer who was always taking part in some tournament or other, seemed to be relying on Maya to cheer his sister up!
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I called, after showing them into the sitting room and dashing back into the kitchen. I’d made the date sponges for the sticky toffee puddings and now I was stirring the toffee sauce and it was so easy to burn it. Having taken the sauce off the heat, I went back through. ‘Right. All under control. Now, tea or coffee?’
‘You’re busy,’ said Maya, jumping up at once. ‘Why don’t I make it?’
‘No, I’ll make a pot of tea,’ volunteered Marguerite, standing up. ‘You two can catch up.’
‘Thanks, Marguerite. The tea caddy is by the kettle and –’
‘I’m sure I’ll manage,’ she said briskly and walked out.
I exchanged another knowing smile with Maya. Marguerite probably didn’t want to be left alone with me, having to make polite conversation. But her smile had seemed warmer today. Or rather, less glacial. Perhaps she’d finally forgiven me for the Lady Arabella fiasco.
‘You can stay for lunch if you like,’ I murmured, ‘although I’m not sure there’s anything very exciting on offer. Cheese and biscuits?’
Maya chuckled. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. I’m going to make spaghetti with sauce left over from last night, although obviously I won’t be telling Marguerite that. She doesn’t believe in eating leftovers. Says they play havoc with her gut microbiome or something.’ She flicked her eyes to the ceiling, then she smiled. ‘She’s fine, really. I just wish Andrew wouldn’t assume that just because she’s his sister, she and I will naturally be best friends!’
We sat and drank tea and I was glad of the break. Life had been a whirl lately, although I’d managed to fit in a trip to the pet shop, where I’d spent far too much on a gorgeously soft bed for Barley. I was hoping he’d use it – unlike our previous dog, who’d taken one look at the bed on offer and decided she much preferred sleeping on the cold, hard floor in the kitchen!
We drank tea and I waved them off half an hour later and got back to organising my boxes of utensils and bowls, and measuring out my ingredients for the demonstration later that evening. The sticky toffee puddings were all ready for the tasting session, but I had still to make the other two puddings.
I was kept busy in the kitchen all afternoon.
And then finally, it was time for round two of the Sunnybrook Pudding Club.
*****
Ellie collected me in her car, helping me load the boxes into her boot for the short journey along the road to the café. I felt nervous again, but excited as well because I was remembering how well it went at the first meeting. This time, I’d resigned myself to the fact that Jensen definitely wouldn’t be there, and that had also helped take the edge off my anxiety, calming the butterflies in my tummy to almost manageable levels.
We welcomed the guests, chatting to them on their arrival and helping them to get seated, ready for the light meal of warm smoky chorizo and manchego cheese quiche that we’d made, along with a vegetarian option of roasted summer vegetable flan, all served with salad and a lovely crisp white wine, perfectly chilled for a summer’s evening.
The aromas from the kitchen were delicious, but my mind was already skipping ahead to my pudding demonstration, hoping it would go as well as it did the week before. I’d been delighted with the positive feedback regarding the puddings that were on the menu for that evening. It had been a good move, finding out people’s favourite desserts the previous week.
I’d plumped for sticky toffee pudding, golden syrup sponge pudding and chocolate pudding with a rich chocolate sauce. The sticky toffee pudding wasn’t strictly a steamed pudding – it was baked in the oven – but I’d made an exception since it seemed to be most people’s favourite. I’d be serving them with vanilla ice cream and my own home-made custard.
As people began filing through to the function room after their meal, I checked my crockery and utensils, then realised I hadn’t brought enough mixing bowls. I dashed back through to the café kitchen, just as a blonde-haired young woman rushed in, apologising for being late.
‘Have I missed the cookery demonstration and the tasting session?’ she asked. ‘I do hope not.’
‘No, no. You haven’t. I’m just about to start. I’m afraid you’ve missed the light meal we were serving first, though.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, that’s all right. It’s the puddings I’m interested in. So you’re the one doing the demonstration?’
‘I am indeed. I was just searching for a pudding bowl.’
‘I’m told you can buy the puddings after the tasting?’
‘You can! They’re all displayed on the counter in the café.’
‘Lovely. I’ll have a look later, then.’ Her eyes sparkled with warmth. ‘I’ve always been a firm believer in the power of those lovely traditional sticky puddings to lift your mood. Ever since my mum used to serve up those yummy chocolate puddings on a Sunday when I was a kid. The ones that came in a tin?’
‘Ah, yes. Those were the days.’ I smiled wistfully. ‘I think the golden syrup pudding was always my favourite.’
She nodded. ‘I still remember the excitement of the tin bubbling away in a pan, clanking against the side, and then Mum wielding the can opener and trying not to get first degree burns getting the tin open!’
I chuckled. ‘Why did they stop making those? We should get up a petition to bring them back.’
‘I’ll bet yours taste just as good, if not better. I’m Sasha, by the way.’
‘Annalise.’ I smiled at her, although as I was holding the large pudding basin, shaking hands wasn’t an option. ‘And I couldn’t agree more about the power of puddings to make you feel good. The demonstration is through there. See you later!’ I pointed to the function room and she thanked me and wandered off, pausing for a moment to glance interestedly into the café.
I popped over to the window to check there was no one else arriving. It looked as if everyone was here, so I started to move away. Then I caught a flash of blue denim to my right.
With my nose to the window, I peered along and sure enough, a man in jeans and a grey sweatshirt was standing just outside the main café door. I frowned, puzzled as to why he didn’t just come in. He seemed to be waiting outside. And then I realised. Our poster advertising the Pudding Club was stuck to the door. He must be standing reading it.
At that moment, he took a step back and turned away, and seeing his face, I gave a loud, involuntary gasp.
It was Jensen!
The pudding bowl slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor, and I stared down at it in horror. It had cracked into a dozen pieces.
But why was Jensen leaving?
My heart beating fast, I hurried through to the café and flung the door open... just in time to see him getting into a car parked further along the lane. I stood there, frozen with bemusement for a moment, as wild thoughts rushed through my head.
Why was he leaving? Had he seen my face on the poster and changed his mind about coming in? But why?
The noise of the car engine brought me to my senses.
I had to catch him before he drove away.
I started running but it was too late. The car was edging out of the tight space, and I could only watch in dismay as Jensen motored to the end of the lane, turned left and accelerated away from me, towards the main road. Even if I ran across the village green, I’d never catch him before he disappeared off along the high street...
I’d lost him again!