Page 32 of Cooking Up a Christmas Storm (Highland Cookery School #2)

On day two of her new job, Jodie’s alarm insisted that she had to pull herself out of bed at six forty-five, shower, dress, and be ready to depart by seven thirty, to arrive promptly at half eight, to click the coffee machine on ready for John and Fiona’s daily morning meeting.

The morning meeting, Fiona had told her, was the key to how the whole place operated.

So far as Jodie could make out this was when John descended, briefly, from his cloud, to issue instructions to his assistant before vanishing off as soon as any real work needed doing.

Jodie had already decided she was going to hate the morning meeting.

She was not disappointed. It wasn’t even simply that she hated John McKenzie. She hated the person her otherwise perfectly competent new boss became in his presence. Today she was talking him through the schedule for the spa project.

‘So the main contractor is setting up on-site today, and work starts properly tomorrow. The foundations should be done and building started before Christmas but obviously everything’s very weather-dependent at this time of year.’

John sucked the air in. ‘We know whose fault that was, don’t we?’

Fiona’s gaze dropped to the floor. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I still really don’t know what happened.’

Now John turned to Jodie, bringing her in on his joke. ‘Such a feather-brain this one. You’re going to have to help me whip her into shape.’

Something clenched in Jodie’s gut. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t need that,’ she murmured.

John bellowed out a laugh. ‘Loyal, are you? I like that.’

After the big boss had swanned off, Jodie pitched her tone as casual as she could manage and asked, ‘What was that about the time of year being someone’s fault?’

Fiona flushed slightly. ‘Oh, it was silly. We went out to tender for the building work much later than we should have, because some papers for the planning committee were lost. I mean I lost them. I don’t know how.

I had everything filed.’ She shook her head.

‘I thought I did. So now we’re building in winter which is potentially going to be much slower and more expensive. ’

‘I’m sure it was just a mistake.’

Fiona nodded. ‘And John’s been very good about it. This is why I need an assistant though. I’m not always the most organised.’

That wasn’t what Jodie had seen so far. Fiona appeared entirely on the ball so long as John McKenzie wasn’t in the room.

By the next day’s morning meeting Jodie had managed to finely hone a daydream about ramming her biro into John McKenzie’s windpipe and was enjoying the thought of twisting it right the way into his throat when he finally said something that made Jodie’s ears perk up. ‘Money’s no object.’

‘Really?’

‘To finally get that obstinate little posh boy off that land, absolutely not.’

Was the obstinate little posh boy actually Lowbridge’s very lovely, rather self-effacing, little posh boy?

‘He needs to understand that whatever he tries to get that place back afloat we will blow out of the water. We will do it better and louder and he will not stand a chance.’

Fiona nodded mutely.

‘Do I make myself clear?’

Another nod.

‘For goodness’ sake woman, use your voice.’

‘I understand.’

‘Good.’ John McKenzie’s expression broke into a smile and he reached a hand over to gently stroke Fiona’s face. ‘I’m sorry. You know how emotional I get.’

‘I know. You’re passionate.’

He smiled indulgently, and glanced over at Jodie. ‘Hit the jackpot with this one, didn’t I?’

Jodie shuddered. She’d seen Fiona’s crush on John from the interview onwards, but she hadn’t been sure, until now, that anything was actually going on between them. ‘Fiona’s great.’

He nodded and curled a tendril of hair behind Fiona’s ear. ‘Especially when she makes an effort.’

As soon as he left the room, Fiona pulled the make-up kit she kept in her top drawer out and checked her mascara, and reapplied her lipstick. ‘A professional appearance is so important to perceptions of the estate,’ she murmured, like a mantra she’d learned by heart.

Jodie’s dislike of John McKenzie hardened a little more. ‘You OK?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely fine.’ Fiona’s professional smile was back in place. ‘Shall we go over our bookings procedures?’

‘Sure.’ Jodie listened – she really tried to listen – as Fiona talked to her about margins on activities booked on their own versus activities as part of a break package with accommodation, and then about direct bookings, and bookings sites, and tour operator bookings, and a thousand and one other ways Fiona worked to maximise what she called the estate’s ‘visibility footprint’ and encouraged ‘user upspending’.

This was just the sort of thing that real Gemma would probably have put in place at Lowbridge.

Jodie might as well have been listening to the whole speech underwater in a foreign language.

‘That all sounds great,’ she told Fiona.

Her new boss shrugged. ‘All very standard stuff. Anyone could set this up. It’s Mr McKenzie who has the real vision.’

At the end of the day she hurried down the estate access road to her pickup point, out of sight of the main office and visitor centre. Flinty’s Land Rover was sitting at the end of the lane, pulled in close to the trees. Jodie jumped in. ‘Hi!’

‘Good evening, Miss Bryant.’

It wasn’t Flinty behind the wheel. It was Veronica Lowbridge. Jodie fought to stop her smile faltering.

‘Margaret is helping with the cookery school today in your stead, so I said I could come over.’ She turned on the engine and eased the Land Rover onto the road, moving smoothly away and up through the gears.

Jodie frowned. ‘It’s a lot crunchier than that when Flinty drives.’

Veronica’s pursed lips didn’t quite crack into a smile. ‘I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.’

Jodie was happy to let the drive back over the hill and around the headland pass in silence, and for the first part of the journey Veronica seemed to feel the same. As they came into Lowbridge village she broke the silence.

‘So is your investigation bearing fruit?’

Honestly, Jodie was struggling to do very much investigating in amongst trying to keep up with the work Fiona was passing her way. ‘I know that John McKenzie is a dick.’

Veronica’s eyebrow shifted infinitesimally higher. ‘I think we all knew that already.’

‘Yeah. Sorry. I guess I’m still finding my feet. Trying to make sure they trust me.’

‘That’s important in any deception, I imagine,’ Veronica replied.

Jodie’s nerves jangled. Which deception was Veronica talking about?

‘I did wonder what you’d done about your National Insurance number over there.’

‘What?’

‘I mean, it’s one thing not to be able to find your own, but what on earth would one do if in need of an entirely fake one?’ Veronica’s gaze didn’t shift from the road as she coaxed the ageing four-by-four up the hill out of the village.

‘I don’t know.’

‘I suppose one could pretend to have lost it. And buy oneself some time?’

Jodie’s heart thudded rapidly. Breathe. Breathe , she told herself. She doesn’t know . If Veronica knew Jodie would have been out on her ear weeks ago. What Veronica definitely did do, though, was suspect. ‘Can’t do that forever though.’ Jodie tried to keep her voice light.

‘No. Sooner or later an employer will request your National Insurance details from HMRC. I dare say Darcy will get around to it at some point. Let’s hope the McKenzie HR people aren’t any more efficient.’

Jodie froze. She forced herself not to react. Darcy could get her details from HMRC. And then everything would fall apart. No more Gemma. No more chats planning and plotting with Bella. No more Lowbridge. No more Pavel. Nothing.

Something else crept into her mind through the chaos. Why had Veronica told her this? Was it a threat? It didn’t feel like she was being threatened. It felt like Veronica was trying to give Jodie a warning.

Pavel cleared his pots and pans to the washing-up station in the small kitchen at the end of the cookery session, and came back to find Flinty standing determinedly in front of the youngest Strachan holding Bella’s smartphone aloft.

‘Gemma says I have to film things for the internet. So go on, lad.’

Strach shook his head. ‘Nah. It’s bad enough Granddad being all over TikTok. I’m not having him saying I copied.’

Flinty harrumphed lightly. ‘Right. Well, you then, Pavel lad.’

‘Gemma did me last week.’

Flinty shook her head at the lack of willing influencers to hand. ‘Somebody needs to be in my ticky tock,’ she insisted.

‘In your what?’ Veronica Lowbridge asked from the entryway.

‘My ticky tock,’ Flinty explained. ‘It’s on the internet to make young people come and learn about sprouts.’

‘Not just sprouts.’ Gemma followed Veronica into the kitchen. ‘It’s to promote the cookery school. People’s food memories and cooking tips.’

Veronica nodded. ‘Have you filmed one?’ she asked Gemma.

She shook her head. ‘I’m more behind the scenes.’

‘And what if McKenzie sees it?’ Pavel pointed out.

‘He’s right.’ Flinty nodded. ‘It’ll have to be you, V.’

Pavel watched as Flinty positioned her, somewhat reluctant, partner on a stool at the kitchen island.

‘Right, so I’m going to ask you about food, and you have to keep it short, so as them young ones’ll watch it in between their sexting and that.’

Pavel saw Gemma suppress a giggle.

Veronica nodded. ‘I shall attempt to be suitably engaging.’

Flinty stopped and looked at Gemma. ‘I don’t know what to ask her now.’

‘Why don’t you tell us what your favourite food is and why?’

Flinty nodded. ‘But nothing all fancy. You have to be relatable on the ticky tock.’ She looked to Gemma. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

Gemma nodded wordlessly, suppressing – Pavel could see – another giggle.

‘I have had a lot of what you would call fancy dinners, but I think my favourite food would be a buttered crumpet.’ Veronica nodded. Job done.

‘You have to say more than that. Why’s it your favourite?’