Chapter Five

Ella

I've never felt so tired in my life.

Somehow I've made it home, and I kick off my shoes, my feet killing me. I drop my purse to the floor, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tension. As for my head… it feels like it's full of cotton candy, and although I'm tempted to open a bottle of wine, I don't think it'll help.

I pad through to the living room, falling onto the couch and while I'm very far from comfortable, I can't move a muscle. My limbs won't work.

Was that really only one day?

I know it was… just like I know tomorrow is going to be so much worse. How that's possible, I'm not sure, but before I left the studios, while Blake was talking to Gavin about the script, Ruby took me to one side and explained the schedule.

"I know you're doing your best, but we're behind where we need to be," she said, frowning at me, even though none of the hold-ups had been of my making. "You and Blake haven't been able to practice any of the dishes yet, and even though Gavin will work up the script as quickly as he can, I doubt you'll get it before late tomorrow afternoon, so I need you to go through things with Blake as thoroughly as you can tomorrow morning, so we can catch up and get started with full rehearsals on Wednesday."

"Okay. But you need to remember, I'll be teaching him to cook, on top of everything else."

"He doesn't need to cook," she said. "He just needs to add the finishing touches."

"Plate-up, you mean?" I was too tired to make sense of what she was saying.

"No. But, for example, with the roasted vegetables, you can prepare nine tenths of them, and just have him add a few at the end, while he's talking to camera."

"I appreciate that, but if he doesn't know how to cut up a potato properly, I'll have to show him what to do, or he'll end up looking like an amateur."

"Hmm… I suppose, but you can't let the niceties of cooking impede the schedule."

"I'm not responsible for the schedule… or for the fact that it's running behind. I'm responsible for the food, and it'll be prepared properly, or not at all." To be honest, I'd had enough by then. Between Kennedy's attitude, and Vivian's criticisms, I didn't need anyone else blaming me for something I hadn't done.

"Fine. Just keep me informed about where you're at."

Personally, I thought it would have made more sense for me to get on with doing my job, rather than reporting to her all the time, but I nodded my head and gathered my things together, desperate to get out of there.

I'm relieved to be home, but lying here is getting seriously uncomfortable, and I need to shower and eat something before I fall asleep.

It's a struggle, but I get to my feet again, feeling a little light-headed, although that's not an enormous surprise. I haven't eaten all day.

"Note to self," I murmur as I head for my bedroom. "Eat breakfast."

I strip out of my dress and underwear, leaving them on the floor, and walk straight into the bathroom. The shower feels fantastic, but I don't take all day over it. Not only am I hungry and tired, but I'm thirsty, too. I barely drank anything today, either, and I make another mental note… to take a bottle of water with me tomorrow.

Once I've washed and shampooed my hair, I step out, wrapping myself in a fluffy bathrobe, and going back into my bedroom. Having such short hair has tremendous advantages at times like this, and I only pause to pick up my clothes and throw them into the laundry hamper before heading straight for the kitchen.

I could order in, and to be honest, I would… if it wasn't for the fact that cooking is the best therapy I know, and I need to let off steam.

I grab a few ingredients from the refrigerator, along with a chopping board and knife, and set about preparing a stir-fry while contemplating some of the more worrying aspects of my day. Looking back, I suppose Kennedy set the tone, and everything seemed to go steadily downhill from there. Still, she's the boss, and I guess if she wants to adopt that kind of attitude, she can. I never expected ‘star' treatment… I'm not the ‘star', after all. But the total disdain I received from Vivian was something else. What started as a criticism of my idea became a fault-finding exercise over everything I said and did. I swear, if I'd told her the sky was blue, she'd have argued with me that it was green. It took me a while to even find out who she was, but I eventually learned her name, along with the fact that she's Ruby's assistant. I don't know what that means, or what her job entails, but she seemed to think it entitled her to criticize me. Personally, I just hope we won't be working together too closely, because I don't think I've ever met anyone so openly hostile… and I've got enough to cope with as it is.

The vegetables are all prepared now and I heat some oil in a wok, waiting until it's hot before adding them. I turn them over and over, until they're almost tender and then add some pre-cooked noodles and quickly whisk up some soy sauce, garlic, brown sugar, sesame oil, chicken broth and cornstarch in a small bowl, before adding that to the vegetables, too. It sizzles and I stir it again, giving it a few minutes to coat the veggies and thicken before turning it out into a bowl and garnishing it with some sesame seeds.

I could have a glass of wine, but I'm too tired to enjoy it, so I pour myself a glass of ice cold water and carry it through to the living room, settling onto the couch. I don't turn on the television, though. There's no way I can handle any more noise today, and instead, I sit back and eat while thinking about the other thing that's been bothering me…

Blake.

I feel a little guilty about the way I handled things with him. I wasn't as kind as I could have been, and I let my nerves and the situation get the better of me on more than one occasion. Let's face it, even when he smiled so supportively at me, after Vivian was being such a bitch over the lamb, I couldn't raise the enthusiasm to smile back. I just wanted to get finished and get out of there… but I'm fairly sure that came across as ignoring him.

The problem is, even if he is eminently adorable, I can't escape my worries… the foremost of which is that the man can't cook.

I still don't understand why nobody made me aware of that in advance. He said he'd told Kennedy, so it's not like they were oblivious, and there was nothing to be gained by them keeping it a secret from me. The only reason I can think of is that they thought I might not take the job if I'd realized what was involved… and they'd have been right. Maybe they'd tried other chefs, told them the truth about Blake, and been turned down. Maybe that was why they kept quiet. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, it doesn't alter the fact that I could still walk away if I felt like it.

It's not as though I need the money.

Kennedy might not know that, but does she honestly think humiliating me in public is a good idea? Surely she has to realize that, if I walk out on her, she won't have a show, and while I may not be the ‘star', replacing me won't be easy… especially at this stage of the production.

None of it makes much sense to me, but I suppose I need to allow for the fact that I'm tired, and that I don't really understand how the television industry works.

I finish my stir-fry, taking my bowl and glass out to the kitchen and putting them into the dishwasher. There's nothing much to stay up for, and although it's only eight-thirty, I check everything is switched off and make my way back through to the bedroom, pulling off my bathrobe and climbing into bed.

My head hits the pillow, tiredness overwhelming me, and just before I fall asleep, I think about the prospect of walking out of my job, after just one day…

I won't do it, simply because I think it's what Vivian would like most in the world, and I'm stubborn like that. But as my eyes flutter closed, I resolve not to take any more crap… from anyone. If I know I'm right about something, I'm going to stick to my guns from now on, just like I did over the lamb. I don't care whether I'm dealing with Vivian or Kennedy. I'm not going to let them talk down to me anymore, and if they don't like it, they can find another culinary consultant.

When I arrive at the rehearsal studio, Blake is already sitting at the table with an iPad in his hand and a cup of coffee in front of him.

"Good morning," I say, doing my best to sound cheerful, to make up for yesterday's unkindnesses, even though a good night's sleep has done very little to calm my nerves.

"Hi." He looks up, frowning, before returning his attention to the iPad.

That was abrupt. Surely he can't still be put out because I ignored him yesterday. If he is, he needs to grow up.

I put down my purse and the bottle of water I brought with me from home, and head into the side kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Once I return, I stare down at Blake for a moment, but he doesn't move and I realize I'm going to have to break the silence.

"How are you today?"

"Okay." He seems distant, and I wonder why I'm bothering to make the effort.

"Shall we get on?"

"Just give me one minute…" He frowns, then quickly taps something into the iPad, focusing hard on the screen before he nods his head and turns it off. Once he's put it down, he looks up at me, his face clearing. "Sorry about that. I just needed to finish something."

Oh… so he wasn't being rude. Just busy.

"I see." He's obviously not about to tell me what the ‘something' is, and I guess that's none of my business, either. Instead, he takes a sip of coffee, and stands up, looking down at me. He's frowning again, and for the first time, I notice what he's wearing, which is black jeans and a pale gray t-shirt… and I have to say, he looks utterly divine.

"Are you as nervous about today as I am?" he says, and I wonder if anxiety is the answer to his strange mood.

"Yes."

He smiles. "In that case, let's see how much of this I can get wrong, shall we?"

That hardly fills me with confidence, but I nod my head, relieved he's no longer frowning at me, and turn around, making my way across to the kitchen. Blake follows, and we both put our cups on the countertop, where there's a box next to my knife case. I pull it closer and look inside. On top, there's a bag which says ‘For Blain' on the outside, and I reach in, handing it over to him.

"This must be for you."

He takes it, rolling his eyes, and opens it up, glancing inside. "Oh, great." He pulls out a red apron, which he unfolds to reveal the name of the show in white lettering on the front. It looks absolutely awful, but I keep a straight face, for his sake. He's got to wear it, the poor man.

"Is there anything else?" I ask.

"Yeah… this." He puts down the apron and holds up a black t-shirt, which looks far too small for him.

"Are you supposed to wear that as well, do you think?"

"For the show, yes… but for what we're about to do, I can't see the point."

I have to agree with him, and watch while he puts both items back into the bag and sets it on the countertop.

"I guess we'd better get on with unpacking everything."

He nods his head. "Why don't I hand you things and you can decide where you want to put them?"

"Okay."

I'm perfectly capable of unpacking the box by myself, but at least he's being helpful… and willing. I step aside, and he delves into the box, handing me a few jars of spices, which I put at the back of the countertop, followed by bell peppers, onions, eggplants, zucchini, green beans, tomatoes, olives, fresh herbs, and potatoes.

"Where do you want this?" he says, holding up a leg of lamb in a large plastic storage bag, with a slider seal at the top.

"What on earth is that doing in there?"

He frowns. "I don't know. It was just sitting here in the box. Why?"

"Because I'd assumed that whoever delivered the box would have had the intelligence to put the meat into the refrigerator, rather than leaving it out here to warm up."

His frown deepens. "Is it going to be okay?"

I reach over, rubbing my hand over its surface. "It seems fairly cold still. Can you put it away?"

"In the fridge?"

"Yes. We won't be needing it for a while."

He nods his head and carries the lamb over to the other side of the kitchen, to the tall refrigerator, with a deep-freeze beneath. As he opens the door, I turn back to the box, pulling out a bottle of olive oil, just as I hear him let out a slight chuckle.

"What's wrong?"

He puts the lamb inside, closing the door again. "Oh, nothing… it's just odd seeing a fridge that's even emptier than mine."

I stop, absolutely still, the oil still in my hand. "A—Are you telling me there's nothing in there?"

"Not anymore. It's got the lamb in it now."

I put down the olive oil and walk over, yanking the door open, to see he's not wrong. Other than the lamb which is resting on the middle shelf, the refrigerator is completely empty.

"I can't believe this."

He comes and stands behind me, and I close the door again and turn to be confronted by his broad, muscular chest. He's closer than I thought, and I take a moment to recover and look up into his bewildered eyes. "I'd expected them to supply us with a few basics. You know… milk, butter, eggs…"

"Is this going to be a problem?"

I think for a second or two, recalling what we're going to be cooking. "Not for this morning, no. But I'll have to speak to someone about it… and about them leaving out the meat as well."

He nods his head. "Yeah. Especially as the studio will be a lot hotter than it is in here."

"It will?"

"Hmm… because of the lights."

I feel silly for not knowing that. He explained about the lights in the makeup room yesterday, so I should have remembered. Still, we've got bigger things to think about now, and I wander back to the countertop. Blake follows, checking inside the box.

"Oh… look," he says, pulling out a brand new set of knives, still in their box. They're not the best brand in the world, but I guess it doesn't matter. It's only for show, after all.

"They'll be for you."

"Yes, because you've got your own."

I glance up at him, wondering if he's being sarcastic, but he's smiling, and I smile back.

"Hmm… but what they haven't provided you with is a spare apron."

"Will I need one?"

"Yes. Cooking can be a messy business."

"Well… if you think I'm wearing that awful red thing, you can think again."

"I wasn't thinking anything of the sort. I don't want to look at it any more than you want to wear it."

"In that case…" he says, his lips twitching upward.

"It's lucky for you I always carry a spare."

He looks me up and down, taking his time about it, and I let him, my body heating under his gaze. "Where?" he says, and I'd swear his voice is a little deeper than usual.

"Not literally about my person." I reach over, pulling my knife case forward. "It's in here."

I flip open the lid, and delve into the pouch inside, pulling out two navy blue fabric aprons, handing one to Blake.

He takes a little longer than me to put his on, but once we're both ready, I clear the countertop and get out a large chopping board, then unpack his new knives, laying them in front of him, while I grab a few knives from my case and put it away to give us more space.

"The first thing we're gonna do is prepare the vegetables."

He nods his head. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

"You're just gonna watch for the best part."

"Don't I need to know how to cut things up?"

"Yes, but in reality, when it comes to the recordings, I'll have done most of the work for you, and you'll just add a few vegetables at the end, before mixing in the spices. So, that's what I'm going to teach you."

"How do you know all this? About the show, I mean, not the cooking."

"Ruby explained it to me yesterday while you were talking to Gavin. I was also told I have to report to Ruby about how we're progressing, which seemed like an enormous waste of time to me."

"I agree. It feels like we've already got more than enough to do… or you have, really. I'm just observing."

It's good to know he agrees with me, but we need to get started, or all I'll be reporting to Ruby is that we've achieved little more than unpacking the food.

"First, we have to turn on the oven." I go over and switch it on, then turn back to him. "You won't need to worry about that. Gavin told me yesterday that, for the show, the ovens will be on permanently, and they'll be set to the correct temperatures, which will be in the script."

"Okay."

"And now, I just need to find a large roasting pan…"

"Where will it be?" he asks.

"God knows. Whoever organized this kitchen doesn't seem to have used very much logic so far…" I wander over to the oven, checking inside, but there's nothing there, so I check the drawer beneath and that's also empty. Helpful…

"What about this?" I turn to see Blake, standing by the refrigerator, holding up a very large roasting pan.

"It's perfect, but where did you find it?"

"In this cupboard." He peers inside the cabinet beside the refrigerator. "There's another one just like it, and two slightly smaller ones."

"And, of course, it makes perfect sense to put them all the way over there."

"Like you said, it's not logical."

He comes back, bringing the pan with him, and puts it down on the countertop. "Okay… I think we're ready." He stands right beside me and I pick up my chef's knife. "I'm not gonna bore you with the purposes and practicalities of every knife, but you need to understand the basics so you don't pick up the wrong one during the recordings. Believe me, someone out there will know if you make a mistake, and probably write in."

"They won't write in… they'll plaster it all over social media."

"Exactly. So we can't afford to slip up."

He nods his head. "Okay, so what's that knife?" he asks.

"It's called a chef's knife, and the clue is in the name. It's the knife most chefs use for just about everything. The blade is slightly curved, so you can rock it while chopping, and because it's heavy and has a thick heel, you can use it for grinding or mincing, too."

"Heel?" He sounds confused already.

"Yes." I hold out the knife, showing him the part of the blade furthest away from the tip. "Here, close to the handle, where the blade is at its widest."

"Okay."

"I'll tell you about the other knives when we use them, but we'll begin with preparing the onions." I reach out for one, putting it onto the chopping board, root side up. "If you cut it in half," I say, putting actions to my words and slicing through the onion from root to tip, "you can lay it flat and make it easier to cut. The root will hold it together while you're working."

"I'd love to say I know what you're talking about, but okay."

I turn the onion, so it's flat-side down and cut off the top. "We're gonna take off the outer layers and then quarter it." He watches closely. "Then we can cut off the root."

"Because its done its job?" he says.

"Yes. We're leaving our vegetables chunky because it suits the timing of the recipe, but I'll explain that to you later. For now, we'll just focus on techniques. So, why don't you do the next onion?"

I step aside and he picks up the chef's knife from his own set. He's holding it far too tight, and I step forward again, stopping him.

"You need to relax."

"I'm holding a deadly weapon. I don't feel very relaxed."

"Then don't think of it as a weapon. Think of it as an extension of your hand."

He frowns at me and I pick up my own knife again, showing him how to hold it. He adjusts his grip, but still looks uncomfortable. This isn't working, so I put down my knife and move closer to him, picking up his paring knife, which has a much smaller handle.

"Put that down for a second." I nod toward his knife and he does as I say. "Now, come stand behind me." He steps closer, and I feel the heat from his body. "P—Put your hand over mine." I don't know why I'm stuttering, but he leans in even closer still, his hand covering my own.

"Like that?" he says, his breath whispering against my cheek.

"Yes."

"What now?"

"Just think about how gently you're holding the handle of the knife."

"But I'm not. I'm holding your hand."

"Okay. Imagine my hand is the knife."

"I don't have that much imagination."

"Yes, you do. You're an actor."

"I'm not acting now, Ella."

I'm not sure this is helping, and I'm struggling to breathe for some reason. "I—I think you've probably got it now. Try again with the chef's knife."

He releases my hand and steps back, letting me move out of the way, and he picks up the chef's knife again.

"I take it I'm supposed to imagine I'm holding your hand?" He looks at me with a slight smile touching at his lips.

"If it helps."

He adjusts the handle and I have to smile, because he's holding the knife perfectly now.

"Who taught you that?" he asks.

"Nobody."

"So you didn't have to hold your tutor's hand to learn how to use a knife?"

I chuckle. "No. He wasn't the hand-holding type. He just shouted at us when we got things wrong."

"Hmm… I think I prefer your approach."

I give him a second onion and watch while he repeats my earlier actions to perfection, needing no additional instructions. His techniques might be lacking, but he's got a great memory… I'll give him that.

"What do we do with them now?" he asks, standing back.

"Put them into the roasting pan." He does as I've said and I grab a couple of potatoes. "These are big, so we'll cut them into wedges instead of chunks." I demonstrate how to do that, and he copies me yet again.

"So, when we're recording this, there'll be a tray of vegetables already prepared, and I'll just cut up a few more and add them, while talking to camera?" he says, scattering the potatoes on top of the onions.

"Exactly. Like I say, you'll have to add the oil and spices by yourself, but I'll show you how to do that in a minute."

"Okay. What's next?"

"The bell peppers, please." He hands over the two large red ones, and I put them on the chopping board. "There are few different ways of preparing these, and while a lot of professional chefs would pour scorn on me, I'm going to show you the simplest way… just because you're less likely to cut yourself."

"Sounds good to me." I look up and he smiles down at me, although he quickly averts his gaze to the pepper as I show him how to take off the top and de-seed it, cutting it in half before I slice it.

"We don't want it too thin, or it'll burn before the potatoes are cooked."

I hand him the second pepper, and although he wastes a little more than I did and struggles with the de-seeding, he does a reasonable job and adds the slices to the pan.

"We'll have the zucchini next."

He stares at me, then looks at the remaining vegetables lying on the countertop. "Zucchini?"

"Yes."

"Sorry. What on earth is a zucchini?"

"Oh… I forgot. Even though we speak the same language, we sometimes don't." I reach over, picking one up. "It's a courgette to you."

"I'm sure it would be, if I knew what to do with it. But I'll need to remember to call it a zucchini during the recording."

"It might be useful if you could, yeah."

I slice it at an angle. "Why are you cutting it like that?" he asks.

"Because it gives the oil and spices more of a surface area… and it looks more interesting."

He copies me with the second zucchini, and although his slices are by no means uniform, and he takes a lot longer to cut them up, he gets there with reasonable results. The pan is fairly full and I mix up the vegetables, burying most of the peppers and zucchini.

"Why are you doing that?"

"To protect them from burning."

"I see. And is that it for the vegetables?"

"We've got enough, if that's what you mean."

"You're not going to use this?" He holds up the eggplant.

"Not for now. It won't fit into the pan. The potatoes and zucchini were larger than I expected, but we'll use the eggplant next time."

"So, it's an eggplant?"

"Yes, although you'd know it as an aubergine."

He shakes his head. "You probably shouldn't have told me that."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't know it as anything, and now I'm likely to get confused." He has a point and I wish now I'd kept my mouth shut. He puts the eggplant down again and then looks up at me. "What do we do next?"

"We need to add the oil and spices, and some garlic."

"Oh good. I love garlic."

"Hmm… me too, but we have to allow for the fact that not everyone does, so we'll just put in one fat clove, and I think Gavin's going to put a proviso into the script that you're supposed to say it can be left out altogether."

"Yeah… if you're insane."

"I don't think you're supposed to say that on camera, but if I was making this at home, I'd probably use three, or even four cloves."

I pick up the bulb in front of me and put it on the chopping board, leaning hard on it to break it apart.

"So, how many of those are we using?" he asks.

"Just one… like I said." He frowns, looking confused, and I pick up a clove, holding it up to him. "This is a clove of garlic. The whole thing together is a bulb. Don't confuse the two. Even the most addicted of garlic lovers won't thank you."

"I'll bear that in mind."

"There are lots of ways of preparing garlic and I'll show you some of the others later on, but for now, we're going to make a paste, so we can add it to the spice mix." He nods his head, stepping closer again, and I place the garlic clove on the chopping board, putting the flat edge of my knife over it and leaning down hard on the blade to crush it. "If you do it this way, the skin comes away easily," I say, demonstrating the fact by removing the skin from the clove. "And because we don't need the clove to be whole, it doesn't matter that I've crushed it."

"Okay."

I look around the countertop, then double check the box, which is empty. "I don't believe this."

"What's wrong?"

"There's no salt… or pepper, for that matter."

"Do we need it?"

I stare at him for a moment. "Yes." I shake my head. "As if it wasn't bad enough that they didn't give us a few basic ingredients, to leave out salt and pepper is…"

"Unforgivable?"

"Something like that."

"Can we manage without, just for today?" he says.

"I guess we're gonna have to. You'll have to pretend I've added some salt to this, and just so you know, you do that to help with mashing it." I chop the garlic roughly, then place the blade of my knife over it and flatten it against the chopping board, scraping it back and forth. "It would work better with the salt, but you get the concept?"

"Sure."

"Okay, once that's done, we can put it into a bowl."

"Shall I find one?"

"If you can."

"How big does it need to be?"

I hold out my hands, making a circle with my fingers to show him. "Just a small one."

He nods his head and starts opening the cabinets, coming back after the third attempt with a glass bowl that's just the right size.

"At least they've given us the right equipment, even if we're short of ingredients."

I'm not in the mood for giving credit at the moment, so I take the bowl and add the garlic to it. "We're going to make a spice mix," I explain, taking the jars from the back of the countertop and setting them out in front of us. "This will make the dish more interesting… because, according to Vivian, my ideas were boring."

"Did she really say that?"

"Yeah. I don't know what I'd done to offend her, but she seemed to take an instant dislike to me, and my food, even though she's never tasted it."

"Well… I'm glad to know it wasn't just me who they thought of as dull. And look on the bright side, at least they didn't change your name."

"That isn't permanent, you know. It's just for the show."

"That's what you think. Kennedy told me yesterday that all the time I'm here I'm to be known as Blain." He says the name with such scorn, it's hard not to smile.

"All the time?"

"Yeah."

"But that's ridiculous." I can't understand why it's so important he should be called ‘Blain', other than in recordings… especially as he seems to hate the name so much.

"I know that, and you know that…"

I shake my head. "I guess we'd better get on," I say, tapping the tops of the spice jars. "We've got coriander, cumin, and turmeric, and we'll put a teaspoon of each into the bowl." I open the drawer and find some measuring spoons, thank God, using them to measure out the spices. Then I open the olive oil. "We need to make this into a runny paste, so we can use it to coat the vegetables," I say, pouring some into the bowl.

"How do you know how much to use?" he asks.

"Experience. But you don't need to worry. This will all be pre-prepared and waiting in a bowl. You'll just recite the ingredients and give them a final mix."

I hand him the bowl and a spoon from the drawer and he stirs it around a few times.

"Is that enough?"

"It'll do." I push everything to one side and pull the roasting pan forward. "Pour it over the vegetables…" He does as I say, setting the bowl aside. "Okay… now we get our hands dirty."

I tuck mine under the vegetables, lifting them slightly and letting them fall again.

"We have to do this with our hands, do we?"

"Yep… nothing better for mixing."

He nods his head and joins me. "It's weirdly satisfying," he says, as he helps to toss the vegetables, our hands touching every so often.

"Nowhere near as satisfying as kneading bread."

"If you say so."

We keep going until the vegetables are thoroughly coated and then wash our hands.

"Okay. You can put the pan into the oven now."

"Me?"

"Yes. You'll have to get used to it. I can't do everything for you."

He stares at me for a moment, and I wonder if that came across as sarcastic. I didn't mean it to, but before I can say anything, he grabs the pan of vegetables and turns away, putting it into the oven.

***

Mac

This is so frustrating.

Just when I think I'm getting somewhere, and finally breaking through the permafrost that seems to surround Ella, she closes down on me again.

I honestly thought I had no chance at all with her after she refused to even return my smile yesterday afternoon. I went home last night feeling quite depressed about the whole thing, bearing in mind we've got to work so closely together, and she seemed to want nothing to do with me. My mood was so low, I even contemplated changing my novel, just for the sake of getting Delilah to take it seriously, but when I started re-reading it, I still liked it, and I'm just tweaking a few bits as I work my way through the manuscript to keep myself occupied… and to take my mind off of Ella.

Except this morning, when she arrived, she was a completely different person… all sweetness and light. I might have been right in the middle of trying to re-write a tricky paragraph in chapter three, but I couldn't help wondering if yesterday's reactions might have had more to do with first day nerves and tiredness than with me. It was a possibility, and once I'd worked out how to phrase the end of that paragraph, I gave Ella my undivided attention. It wasn't hard. She looked fabulous in her skintight jeans and a pretty white blouse with a floral embroidered panel at the front.

We've had fun working together so far this morning. I especially enjoyed the part where she showed me how to hold a knife. It meant I got to hold her hand for a brief moment, until she got embarrassed. I don't know why she did that. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, and her method seemed to work. The knife felt a lot more comfortable in my hand after her demonstration. Although I'd rather have gone on holding her hand instead.

Mixing up the vegetables in the spices was good, too. We touched hands quite a few times. She didn't seem to be so self-conscious about that… or maybe it was just that she didn't notice. Perhaps that was because she'd just been explaining what Vivian had said about her food. She seemed really affected by that, and I can't say I blame her. I thought it might have been another reason she was so deflated yesterday, and I tried to make her feel better by telling her that Kennedy was insisting I should be called Blain all the time. Ella seemed to find the idea just as ludicrous as I do, but we didn't dwell on it… perhaps because she'd sensed how much it was bothering me.

I'd like to think so. It would be good to think she's that in tune with me.

Even if she isn't, we still had fun mixing up the vegetables.

At least, I did, until she made that sarcastic remark about not being able to do everything for me. I mean… who's asking her to?

I'll admit, that took the edge off of what had been a fun morning, and since then, we've been clearing up in silence.

"We need to prepare the lamb," Ella says, breaking into my thoughts.

"Okay."

"I should probably explain… in the recording, you'll demonstrate the lamb preparation first."

"In that case, why did we do the vegetables before the lamb?"

"Because they're harder to prepare, so I wanted to get them out of the way early on."

"I see. So we're not doing this in the right order?"

"No."

I nod my head, although I've got no idea how I'm going to remember all this. It's confusing enough as it is, without doing it all backwards.

"Shall I get the lamb?"

"Yes, please." I go over to the fridge, pulling out the leg of lamb. "Can you grab another roasting pan while you're there?" she asks.

"Sure." I do as she says, bringing them both back to the countertop.

She takes the lamb from me, and I watch as she removes the meat from its bag, putting it into the pan.

"We're going to use the same lamb for both dishes," she says. "So you'll only need to do this once."

"Okay." The atmosphere between us isn't as easy-going as it was first thing this morning, and while I want to feel more relaxed, it's impossible when I'm waiting for the next bolt of sarcasm to hit me.

She reaches out, picking up a small-bladed knife, which she holds out, showing it to me. "This is called a paring knife, and it's used for peeling and slicing smaller vegetables and fruits. In this case, though, because it has a really sharp point and blade, we're going to use it to make holes in the lamb."

"Holes?"

"Yes." She demonstrates, sticking the knife into the lamb's flesh, about an inch or so deep before she repeats the process several times and then turns to me. "You try it."

I pick up the same knife from my own set and copy her actions. "Is that okay?"

"Yes, just don't go too deep."

She's a little snappy, but I ignore her tone and focus on what I'm doing, and on keeping my incisions more shallow, until the lamb leg is pitted all the way across.

"Now we're going to prepare some garlic." She reaches over, taking a few more cloves from the bulb she broke up earlier, and this time she peels them, rather than crushing them. "You won't need to do any of this," she says, and rather than giving me a chance to try, she gets on with it, until she's done three large cloves. "This time we're going to slice them, but again, I'll do it for you because most of this will have been prepared in advance, so you'll just need to finish it."

"Okay."

I watch while she thinly slices the garlic, forming a neat pile of slithers, and then she picks one up and stuffs it into one of the holes in the leg of lamb. "You'll have a leg which has been almost completely studded with garlic," she says, as she continues her work. "All you'll have to do is put in the last one or two, while you do your piece to camera, explaining the process."

"That doesn't seem too difficult."

"It's not."

She hands me a slice of garlic and I stick it into the last hole.

"Does it go into the oven now?"

"Not quite. We need to rub it with olive oil. Again, that's something you'll have to do, because it can't be done until all the garlic has been inserted… so…" She grabs the oil bottle and holds it up. "You'll need to drizzle the oil, like this." She places her thumb over the top of the bottle, letting just a small trickle out as she tips it, and then hands it to me. I copy her, and although a little more seeps through, I manage okay. Once she's happy with the amount of oil, she rubs it in with her hands. "Your turn," she says, stepping back slightly, and I finish the job.

"Now I'm guessing we wash our hands again?"

She nods her head and we go over to the sink. I let her wash up first, and then clean my hands, drying them off on a towel.

"Ordinarily, we'd season the lamb with salt and pepper, but we don't have any, so I'll have to show you that next time around."

"Okay."

"So, if you imagine we've done that, you can put the lamb into the oven as well."

I do as she says, opening the oven door, to the delicious aroma of roasting spiced vegetables. "That smells incredible," I say as I close the door again and turn to face her.

She looks up at me, like she's waiting for something. I raise my eyebrows, expecting her to tell me I've done something wrong, and she opens her mouth and whispers, "I'm sorry." I wasn't expecting that and I frown down at her. "Aren't you going to ask what for?" she says, after the silence has stretched for a little too long.

"I was waiting for the insult that usually follows your apologies."

She blushes. "There isn't one. Not this time."

"In that case, why are you apologising?"

"Because I think I might have sounded a little sarcastic earlier… and because I know I'm being tetchy."

"Is there a reason for that?" There's no point in telling her she isn't, when we both know she is.

"I think it's just the realisation of how little time we've got, how much there is to do, and that we're working without all the ingredients we need. The pressure is…"

"Getting to you?"

"Yes, it is. But it's not your fault, and I'm sorry if I keep snapping at you."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, too."

"What on earth for?"

"For making your life harder than it needs to be. If I knew how to cook…"

"That's not your fault either, though, is it? Kennedy hired you. She should have known it would…"

I reach out, placing my fingertips on her lips, the softness taking me by surprise, as does her sharp intake of breath.

"I'm gonna stop you there, Ella, before you find another way to insult me. Okay?"

She nods her head, and I pull my hand away. For a second or two, she just stares at me while I regret my actions. I'm not sorry I prevented her from insulting me again. I don't think it would have done either of us any good. But I regret the way I did it. I wish I'd kissed her into silence. Still, the moment's passed now. It's too late for regrets… and kisses.

She seems to startle back to life, a blush creeping up her cheeks, and she turns back to the countertop.

"W—We've probably got a little while yet until the vegetables are ready, so why don't we make a start on the alternate roast?"

"Okay. What are we making for that? And when I say ‘we', I'm using the word in its loosest sense. You're the one doing all the work."

She smiles up at me, her eyes twinkling. "We're gonna make garlic roast potatoes to start off with."

"I'm sold."

She chuckles. "That's just because you like garlic."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

"Which is just as well because it's in the vegetable dish as well."

"What vegetable dish?"

"The Proven?al green beans that will be served with the lamb and roast potatoes."

"What exactly would Proven?al green beans be, when they're at home?"

"Anything that's called ‘Proven?al' comes with a tomato sauce. It originates in the south of France."

"Is a lot of your cooking influenced by the French?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, nodding her head.

"And apart from tomatoes and garlic, what else goes into this sauce?"

"It usually includes onions, olive oil, Herbes de Provence, maybe some capers and a little white wine."

"Stop it. You're making me hungry."

"In which case, you'll be pleased to hear that you're going to need to taste all of this, so you can describe the flavours with more accuracy."

"Great… when do I start?"

She giggles, and the sound pulsates through my body. "When it's all cooked."

"Does that mean I've gotta wait?"

"Yes. Now, pass me a pan for the potatoes."

"What kind of pan?"

"One I can put water in, so I can parboil them."

I'm still none the wiser, and she rolls her eyes at me, although she's smiling, so I know she's not angry, or even about to get so. Instead, she walks around me, heading for the cupboard where I found the roasting pans, and she returns within moments, carrying a large saucepan. She puts it down on the work surface and turns to face me.

"For the show, the potatoes will already be peeled, so you'll just have to explain what to do from there on."

"Okay." I nod my head and watch while she peels two large potatoes, cutting them into chunks and putting them into the pan.

"The water needs to almost cover them," she says, nodding to the pan and I lift it to the sink, turning on the cold tap, and watching while it slowly drowns the potatoes. I stop it just in time and take it back to her. "Perfect." She smiles up at me just as the door opens, and we both look up to see Kennedy come into the studio. She's followed by Ruby and Vivian.

"How are things going?" Kennedy asks.

"Fine," Ella says, glancing up at me just briefly, the look in her eyes telling me she doesn't welcome this interruption any more than I do.

"The smells are driving us all crazy." Ruby smiles as they come over and stand on the other side of the island unit.

"That'll be the roasted vegetables." I try to make it sound like I know what I'm talking about, and from the looks on their faces, I seem to have succeeded.

Vivian leans over slightly, picking up a bunch of something green and leafy. "You didn't put the cilantro in, then?" She turns to Ella with a sly smile on her face. "I don't know why you asked for it, if you weren't going to use it."

"How do you know it's not for a different dish?" I ask, desperate to protect Ella from any more of Vivian's ridicule.

"Because it was listed under the ingredients for the roasted vegetables, and it makes sense to put it in there."

I wish I'd kept quiet now. I don't care about making myself look stupid, but I've failed to defend Ella, and I could kick myself for that.

"The cilantro is for the garnish," Ella says, crossing her arms. "We'll only add it to the dish at the very end. No-one in their right mind would add it to the dish before roasting. It would burn to a crisp." She turns to Ruby. "While we're discussing ingredients, though, I'd expected there to be a set of basic supplies… you know, flour, milk, eggs, butter. And at the very minimum, I would have thought you'd have given me some salt and pepper. Or do I have to ask for absolutely everything?"

Wow… she's not taking any prisoners today, and although I half expect Kennedy to tell her off for her tone, she doesn't, and instead it's Ruby who nods her head, leaning over the work surface slightly.

"I'm sorry. We should have seen to that." She turns, scowling at Vivian, and I guess it was her job… and that she failed to get it right. "We'll make sure the kitchen is properly equipped before the morning."

"Thank you," Ella says, although her tone is still steely.

Kennedy reaches over, putting her hand on my arm, which makes me jump. "Why aren't you wearing your t-shirt and apron?" Her voice is a soft, worrying purr, and I step away, raising my hand and pushing my fingers through my hair.

"I assumed they were for the show, not for rehearsals."

"I'd like you to get used to wearing them… to being in character. That's why I'm insisting everyone refers to you as Blain."

"Even if that's not who he is?" Ella says, tilting her head at Kennedy.

"Yes. It's for our benefit as much as anything. We can't afford for there to be any slip-ups, so it's best if we just get used to calling him Blain."

"Is that what you'd normally do with an actor?" Ella asks, refusing to give up. "If they were taking part in a soap or drama, I mean? You'd call them by their character's name, even if you were having a coffee with them, off set?"

Kennedy narrows her eyes. "It's not that simple, dear. It's…"

Ella holds up her hand and Kennedy surprises me by falling silent. "Please don't call me ‘dear'. It's incredibly patronising."

Something's changed here. I don't know what it is, but the dynamic has altered from how it was yesterday. When Kennedy spoke to Ella in that tone of voice during yesterday's meeting, she didn't react at all. Today, she's like a different woman.

She's feisty, and I like that. It makes me smile.

At that moment, Ruby's phone rings, and she pulls it from her pocket.

"Vince?" She listens for a moment or two. "Do we need to look at this now, or can it wait until we start rehearsals? I'm sure it won't be long now." She frowns, giving Ella a quick glance, while Vince says something else, and then she nods her head. "Okay, I'll come along now."

She ends the call, returning the phone to her pocket, and looks up at us, smiling. "I've gotta check something with Vince."

"Is there a problem?" The panic in Kennedy's voice is obvious for us all to hear.

Ruby shakes her head. "I think he's just getting anxious about the schedule. I'll placate him."

I can't remember what Vince does now, but he's not the only one who's getting anxious. Kennedy seems to be doing a fairly good job of that herself, and it's rubbing off on everyone else.

"Okay," she says. "Let me know if there are any issues we need to address."

I can think of several… the most important being that they haven't allowed enough time to prepare this first show. I'm not about to say that, though… and clearly Ruby doesn't want to stick her head above the parapet, either. She just nods and leaves the room.

After a moment's silence, Kennedy turns back, taking a deep breath, her eyes settling on me.

"Okay, so before the next disaster strikes, do you think you could change into the t-shirt and put the apron on?"

"Now?"

She nods her head, and although Ella might be able to answer back, I don't feel I can. I need this job too much, and I guess maybe she's decided she doesn't. At least not enough to tolerate Kennedy's attitude. Maybe the hassle of it all is too much for her.

"Fine."

I grab the bag containing the t-shirt and apron and head for the door, making my way down the hall and through the double doors, before entering the men's room.

Once inside, I undo the apron Ella lent me, lifting it over my head, and yank off my t-shirt, dumping them both onto the white countertop, before I delve into the bag for the black one Kennedy supplied. Unfolding it, I can't help frowning. It's tiny, and I struggle to pull it on. I get there eventually, after a little huffing and puffing, but when I look at myself in the mirror, it's all I can do not to laugh. Sure, it shows off my muscles, but I look like a modern-day version of Popeye, and even when I've got the apron on, I still feel foolish, mainly because the logo on the front is so prominent. I don't feel like I'm the ‘master' of anything at the moment, but I know the implication they're going for, and it's just not who I am.

I don't know if I want to walk back to the studio dressed like this, but I guess I'll have to get used to it.

"It's a character," I tell myself quietly, relieved there's no-one else in here. Kennedy's decided this is my ‘costume', for want of a better word, and I'll be wearing it on screen soon enough, so I may as well get used to it.

Grabbing my t-shirt and Ella's apron, I poke my head out through the door, thankful there's no-one in sight, and I practically run back to the rehearsal studio. As I open the door, though, everyone turns to look at me, and I can feel myself blush.

Ella stares at me, like she's not entirely sure what to make of the change in my appearance. I'm not sure what to make of her reaction, either. If we were alone, I might be brave enough to ask, but we're not, and I glance at Vivian, whose eyes widen as she licks her lips. She couldn't look any more hungry if she tried, her eyes literally feasting on me, but I can't raise any enthusiasm for her response. She's attractive enough, I guess, but I don't like the way she treats Ella. I turn away, just as Kennedy pushes herself off of the island unit, and walks over. There's something in the swing of her hips that makes me nervous, though, and I back up to the door a little.

"That's so much better," she says, smiling, as she reaches me. "I just need to…" She grabs my hand, pulling me further into the room, and then walks around behind me. I can feel her fiddling with the ties, her hands in the small of my back.

"What are you doing?" I try to pull away, but she's got hold of the apron strings and isn't letting go. Short of striding away and probably pulling my boss to the floor as she clings on to me, I've got no option other than to stay where I am.

"I'm just adjusting the ties."

"Is that really necessary? I'm not on camera now."

"Maybe not. But there's no harm in getting things right."

She finishes what she's doing, taking another moment to straighten the strap around my neck, which I'm sure is just as unnecessary as everything else she's doing, and then she comes around in front of me again.

"Happy now?" I say, surprised by the sarcastic tone in my voice. Ella's boldness must be rubbing off on me… thank God.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not. This t-shirt is way too small."

She looks me up and down, taking her time over it. "But that's exactly the look I wanted."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." She runs her hand up my arm, letting it rest on my bicep. "We want people to see you properly, don't we?"

"Not particularly, no." And certainly not looking like this.

"I'm sorry to interrupt…" Ella's voice rings out and I look up, Kennedy turning to face her at the same time.

"What is it?" Kennedy says, although Ella's looking at me, not her.

"Everyone keeps telling me that the schedules are tight and budgets are restricted, so do you think Blake and I could get on with what we're supposed to be doing?"

I don't wait for Kennedy's answer, but take my chance to escape, putting my t-shirt and the apron on the table before I quickly make my way back to the other side of the studio, taking refuge behind the island unit. I notice the tray of roasted vegetables on the work surface, and realise Ella must have removed them from the oven in my absence. They smell delicious, but I've got other things on my mind. Given Ella's comments, I would have expected Kennedy and Vivian to leave, but they don't. Instead, they stand, staring at us both… or at me, to be precise. It's an unnerving experience and one that's making me more than a little uncomfortable. I feel like a prize exhibit.

"Was there anything else?" Ella's voice is surprisingly harsh and as she speaks, she moves a little closer, like she wants to protect me. That thought almost makes me smile. Except I'm being careful not to show any emotions right now. It seems important to remain impassive… like I don't care. Not for Ella's benefit, but for the sake of the two predators in the room.

"We're just interested in how things are going." Kennedy glares at her.

"I've already said, everything is fine… but it won't be, if you don't let us get on." She's really gunning for Kennedy, and I wonder if she's actively trying to get fired. I hope not… and not because the show would suffer, but because I'd miss her. Now I come to think about it, I'd miss her more than I would have thought possible, considering I've only known her for a little over twenty-four hours.

Vivian looks almost as surprised by Ella's tone as I am, but doesn't comment. Instead, she looks at Kennedy with a smug expression on her face, probably expecting our mutual boss to come back with some kind of put-down.

After what seems like an eternity, Kennedy lets out a sigh and nods her head. "We'll leave you in peace, then."

Even Ella seems surprised by that, and frowns. That obviously wasn't the response she expected. Vivian didn't either, and her face gives away her shock, although she follows Kennedy from the room without a word.

I wait until the door has closed behind them and turn to Ella. "Do you hate this job so much you want to get fired?"

"Not especially. But I'm done with being spoken down to." She shrugs her shoulders and looks up at me. I can tell she's itching to ask why I let Kennedy walk all over me just now, but I'm not in the mood for talking about it, especially as she's just shown herself to be so much more daring than me.

Instead, I pick up the bunch of green leaves Vivian had hold of earlier. "Are these called something different in England? Because I've never heard of cilantro before."

She takes them from me, picking off a leaf and holding it out to me between her thumb and forefinger. Rather than taking it, I grab her hand, keeping it steady and then dip my head, nibbling at the leaf, my lips caressing her skin until she releases it. She gasps, holding her breath, her eyes wide and fiery, and fixed on mine as I chew, and suddenly recognise the flavour.

"Oh… it's what they put on curries."

"Yes." She blinks, letting out that breath. "It's called coriander."

"Didn't we put some of that into the roasted vegetables?"

"Yes, but that was the seeds, ground to a powder."

"I see, and you call the leaves cilantro?"

"We do."

"Is that just to be difficult?"

"Something like that." She puts the coriander leaves down again, and turns back to me. "Shall we get back to the potatoes?"

I pull my t-shirt back on, gazing down at the black one, which is lying on the countertop in the men's room, alongside the red apron. I refuse to think too hard about having to wear them. Instead, I'm just going to accept it for what it is: a costume. After all, there are too many other things to think about, and having made it to the end of the day, I'm too tired to care about Kennedy's desire to dress me up like a clown.

Gavin didn't bring the script along until half an hour ago, so I've barely had a chance to even glance at it. He was very apologetic about running so late, and while that meant I couldn't make a start on learning my lines, Ella and I have used the afternoon wisely. I've gone over a few of the things she's taught me, making sure I've understood them properly, and we've practiced certain techniques, so I look more like a chef who knows his way around a kitchen, and less like an actor who's playing a part. She's also shown me how to plate up both of the meals, because – like putting things into the ovens – that's something I'm going to have to manage without her. I hadn't realised how much precision went into doing that, but Ella drew me diagrams, showing which parts of the meal went where, so I couldn't forget. I got to taste everything, too, and although I liked the lamb with the roasted vegetables, the French-inspired version, with crispy roast potatoes and Proven?al green beans was out of this world. They contained more garlic than should be legal, but I loved them.

Ella and I left the studio together, but the last I saw of her she was talking to Ruby and Vivian as she walked towards the lifts, while I had to come and change before leaving the building. There was no way I was going to ride on the bus in that ridiculous t-shirt. Now I feel more like myself, though, I head home, trying not to think about how much work we've still got to do… and how little time there is left.

Instead, I use the bus ride to go through the script, and then continue with it in earnest once I've ordered a pizza.

I can't be late to bed, though, so once I've eaten, I take a shower and go upstairs. Not surprisingly, I'm asleep within moments of my head hitting the pillow.

I'm in a TV studio, although it's not the one Ella and I have been working in for the last couple of days. This one is set up for a chat show, and I'm waiting, while Aria White, the darling of daytime television, introduces me.

"You all know him as the Meal Master, and I've gotta say I wouldn't mind him giving me a few instructions." The audience laughs, and she smiles to the camera. "But following the phenomenal success of his show, let's meet the man who knows all the answers… ladies and gentlemen… here's Blain."

Deafening applause rings out as the floor manager gives me a firm shove and I step forward, offering my hand to Aria. I feel self-conscious still, wearing the black t-shirt and red apron, but I'm under strict instructions from Kennedy that it must be worn for all publicity appearances, and I'm not about to disobey her now… not when the show's taken off like it has.

Aria doesn't really shake my hand, but holds it in hers, guiding me to the couch, and sitting in her chair, right beside me. Her eyes are sparkling and she looks at me appreciatively.

"I thought you looked great on the screen, but the reality…" she says, fanning her face with her hand, which makes the audience laugh. I smile, unsure how to answer her, but she covers my shyness with consummate professionalism. "So, Blain… it's okay if I call you Blain, isn't it?"

"It's my name."

Her smile widens. "Great. Tell me, what's your favourite ingredient to cook with?"

My mind goes blank. We didn't rehearse that question, and I can't think what to say. She's waiting, though, and I have to say something…

"I think it would have to be… courgettes."

She stares at me blankly. "Courgettes?"

"Zucchini!" I wake up, shouting the word, sweat pouring off of me as I glance around my bedroom, realising I'm at home. It was a dream. Or to be more precise, it was a nightmare… one that stands every chance of coming true, if I'm not careful. Not that I'm assuming the show will be a success, or that I'll be asked onto chat shows, but I think there's a very real chance I could mess this up, simply by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I turn over and check the time on my phone. It's five-thirty, and not worth going back to sleep. In any case, I'm concerned I'll drift back into my nightmare again, so I get up and go downstairs to take a shower, trying to put all thoughts of courgettes – or zucchini – out of my mind.

When I arrive at the studio, desperate for coffee, I'm not at all surprised to find Ella isn't at work yet. It's only just gone seven in the morning. What does surprise me is the pile of black t-shirts and red aprons waiting for me on the table. I guess this is Kennedy's way of getting her point across, and although I don't want to wear them today any more than I did yesterday, I also don't want another repetition of that scene with her. Rather than running the gauntlet of the men's room again, I shrug off my jacket, quickly undo my shirt, and pull on a tight black t-shirt. I don't bother with the apron yet, but wander into the side kitchen and make a pot of coffee, pouring myself one before I return to the studio.

Instead of going straight back to the table, I walk across to the kitchen, noticing there's no box of supplies today. I wonder if this is Vivian's idea of a joke… whether she's exacting some kind of revenge over Ella for showing her up in front of her boss, and I open the fridge and let out a sigh of relief. Inside, there are two legs of lamb lying on the middle shelf, along with eggs, butter, cheese, cream, and heaven only knows what else. If anything, I'd say we're over-equipped now, but I'm not about to complain. When I turn back, I note the salt and pepper mills beside the hob, along with the olive oil, and a bottle of what appears to be balsamic vinegar. I smile, sauntering over to the cupboards, where I find several types of flour and sugar, and more herbs and spices than I could even begin to name, and I chuckle. It seems Vivian's done her job a hell of a lot better today.

Still, this isn't getting my job done at all, and I go back to the table and sit down. My script is in my jacket pocket and I pull it out, sitting back and turning over the title page to focus on learning my lines. I've always been quite good at this, even if acting was never my first love. It's a career I fell into more by luck than judgement, but thinking about it now, I suppose most of my roles have been more about my physical appearance than anything else. Except that last one, of course. Playing the part of an alcoholic chef involved me looking dishevelled and moody for at least ninety per cent of the play. The rest of the time, I just had to pretend to be asleep. When I was awake, though, I acted my socks off, and look where it's landed me… in yet another role where the only thing that matters is what's on the outside.

Great .

"One of the major benefits of roasting vegetables in this way is that, once you've done the preparation, they will look after themselves, while you look after your guests." I mutter the words under my breath, scanning the line a few times, so I'll remember it, before moving on to the next one, just as the door opens and Ella walks in. My breath catches, my stomach flipping over… the two combining to almost make me choke. God, she looks good today. Not that she didn't look good yesterday, in that white blouse, with the pretty embroidery at the front. The one she's wearing today is just as lovely. It's in a floral material, with a v-neck, and I put down my script and let my eyes wander for a moment. Her blouse might be beautiful, but there's something about her jeans… I noticed it yesterday. They do something to her legs and her backside that makes it really hard to concentrate. I raise my eyes again to find she's staring at my chest, which makes me smile. It's good to know I'm not the only one whose eyes are drifting…

She looked at me like this on Monday morning, when we first met, and although we got off to a frosty start, I think there's been a slow but definite thaw.

It started with yesterday's apology, progressed when I placed my fingers over her lips to stop her from insulting me again, deepened when I came back in here after changing into my costume, and really fell into place when I nibbled that piece of coriander leaf out of her hand. I can still remember the intense fire in her eyes when I did that, and the way she held her breath. I liked that reaction… nearly as much as I like her. She might speak her mind, but I'm not complaining. I hate women who fawn, like Vivian, almost as much as I hate women like Kennedy, who use their position to get what they want. That photographer I met on Monday was right about that… just like he was right about my attitude to Ella. It's different. She's different.

"Good morning." She smiles and I smile back.

This is promising.

"Good morning."

She dumps her handbag on the table. "Can I get you another coffee?" She nods towards my cup and I realise it's gone cold without me having touched it.

"Yes, please. But can I ask you something first?"

"Sure." She nods her head, waiting.

"I… um…" I don't know how to say this, but I've started now, so I'll just have to own up. "I had a dream last night."

She frowns. "You did?"

"Yes. It wasn't a very nice dream, either."

"Oh." She sounds disappointed and I wonder what she'd been expecting me to say, and whether she'd assumed my dream might have featured her. If only … "What happened?" she asks.

"I was appearing on a chat show."

"Why?"

"Good question. In my dream, the Meal Master show had been an enormous success, and I was having to do the rounds of publicity appearances… dressed like Blain."

"I see."

"As if that wasn't bad enough, the host of the show went off-script and asked me about my favourite food to cook with, and I blurted out that it was courgettes."

"Right… and?"

"I didn't say ‘zucchini'."

"Oh. I see." She smiles.

"It's not funny, Ella. I'm scared."

She pulls out the chair beside me, sitting down. I can smell her scent. It's floral, but not sweet, with a kind of woody overtone and I inhale gently as she draws the chair a little nearer.

"What are you scared of?"

She's being serious now… all thoughts of amusement forgotten.

"I'm scared I'll say the wrong thing… that I'll call a cookie a biscuit or something."

"So you know there's a difference, then?"

"Only because I go to the supermarket, just like anyone else."

"Hmm… except a lot of people over here call it a grocery store."

I sit forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You see? That's my point entirely. I'm going to make an arse of myself."

"You mean ‘ass'."

"Stop it, will you?"

She reaches out, placing her hand beside my elbow, the tips of her fingers almost touching me, and I forget all my fears as I struggle not to react. I wish she'd take that last step and let her fingers wander a little closer… maybe walk them up my arm and give me an excuse to clasp her face between my hands and crush my lips to hers…

"I won't let you make an ass of yourself, okay? I'll make sure you know the names of everything you're gonna be using."

Her words bring me back to reality, and although the desire doesn't go away, I focus on what she's saying, and I smile at her. "Sorry to be so pathetic."

"You're not pathetic. Hell… I'm terrified, and I won't be doing any of this in front of the cameras."

She pulls her hand away as she's speaking. I want to grab it back, but I don't. Time is moving on, and we need to move on with it…

"What are we doing today?" I ask as she gets up again, pushing the chair back under the table.

"That depends…"

"On what?"

"On how close you are to knowing your lines."

I tilt my head. "I could do with a little longer, if that's okay."

"It's fine. In fact, it's perfect."

"It is?"

"Yes. I was thinking I might prepare everything we're going to need in advance today, so it's more like it will be when you're doing the show for real."

"Okay."

"So, I can do that while you finish going through the script."

"Sounds like a plan."

"It will be… once I've made us both a coffee."

She wanders off to the side kitchen, but has only just got there when the door to the studio opens and Kennedy comes in, followed by Ruby. Fortunately, Vivian isn't with them today, but Kennedy is eyeing me closely already, and I wonder if she's about to ask why I'm not wearing my apron. She doesn't. Instead, she comes over to the table, standing right beside me.

"These arrived just now, from the photographer."

She puts down a pile of photographs, fanning them out, and then spreads them a little further, so I can see them better.

"What are they?" Ella comes back, standing on the other side of me, gazing down at the images of me, wearing nothing other than the apron and my jeans, and I feel myself blush, not daring to look up at her.

"They're the publicity stills for the show," Ruby says. "We asked the photographer to print them out, as well as sending us the digital images, so we can show them around more easily."

"They're magnificent, aren't they?" Kennedy's positively gushing.

I can't deny the photographer has done a fantastic job, although I'm not sure I like the idea of them being ‘shown around'. "They're certainly atmospheric," I say, unable to think of another way to describe them.

Kennedy smiles and then surprises me by looking straight at Ella. "Can we talk… privately?"

Ella frowns. "If you insist."

"Perhaps through there?" Kennedy nods towards the side kitchen and the two of them walk away, leaving me alone with Ruby.

"What do you really think?" she says, glancing down at the pictures and then at me.

"I don't feel entirely comfortable about them, if you want me to be honest."

"I didn't think you did."

"Why? Does it show?" I look down at the pictures again, trying to discern any trace of discomfort in my face or body language.

"Not in the photographs. But I think you've made it pretty clear you don't like the way you're being presented."

"That's because I don't."

She smiles. "Look on the bright side… at least they're tasteful."

Other than the apron and its gaudy logo, she's probably right. Things could have ended up far worse.

"What are they going to be used for? And don't just say publicity. I got that much already."

"All sorts of things. We're running a social media campaign, and these will give it a real shot in the arm."

"If you insist. Which ones are you going to use?"

"We're gonna start off with the one where you're holding the rolling pin."

I nod my head, rifling through the photographs until I find one. I wonder what Ella's going to make of this, and turn toward the side kitchen, to see she's standing with her back against the work surface, while Kennedy's talking. There's something about Kennedy's demeanour that draws my attention. She seems positively obsequious, and I frown, recalling her change of attitude to Ella yesterday, and how she didn't bite when Ella argued with her. What's that all about?

They come out a few minutes later, and Kennedy walks over, gathering up the photographs. "We'll leave you to get on," she says. "I'm sure you've got a lot to do."

We have, there's no denying that, and while I'd love to ask Ella what that conversation was about, I guess it's none of my business. It was probably just something to do with work, and speaking of work… my lines are beckoning…