and about to knock when she heard voices from inside. Peering through the dusty leaves of a banana plant, Felicity Fenchurch sat purring at Sasha discussing something oddly familiar.
‘I know it’s a late edition, Sasha, but I really think my granny’s triple-layer chocolate chestnut cake will be just the thing. Chestnuts are always big at Christmas and nothing screams indulgence like a chocolate cake. And what makes mine special is the addition of a secret ingredient – maple syrup. And a slightly unorthodox method of chilling the batter before baking. It’ll be revolutionary.’ Felicity smiled and bright white teeth gleamed in the dull office light.
Esme couldn’t believe what she was hearing. These were the same things – the same words – she’d used when describing her recipe to Helena yesterday. Felicity must have overheard them and now she was passing off the recipe as her own. An unpleasant feeling grew in Esme’s stomach.
‘I’m really not sure,’ replied Sasha, in cool professional tones. ‘We’ll need to drop something else and it’ll have to fit into that timeslot. I really don’t fancy redoing the entire schedule.’
‘Of course. I was going to suggest we drop the chocolate orange tart. It’s so last year anyway and with some clever cut shots from David this will be sublime.’ She smiled at David who glowed at the compliment. Felicity crossed her long legs and Esme, with heat rushing through her body, spotted the red sole of a Louboutin.
‘And,’ pitched in David, ‘I just love that it’s her granny’s recipe, don’t you? People love sentimental cooking. It’ll be a bestseller for sure.’
‘Okay then,’ replied Sasha, nodding. Her grey hair was cut into an elfin crop and her deceptively youthful face remained passive. ‘Fine. We can do it.’
Esme stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall, her legs rubbery and almost giving way. Her whole body shook with rage. Stealing boring old day-to-day recipes, as Felicity had done before, was one thing, but stealing this one was something else. This recipe was the one she used to remember her grandma, the one the whole family ate at Christmas with a toast to Gran first. Esme had thought long and hard about sharing it and it had taken her ages to be able to do it. Only this winter had she finally reached the point where she wanted other people to taste it and feel the sense of love and care it imparted, rather than holding onto it as if she was holding on to the memories of her gran. To hear Felicity passing it off as her own grandma’s recipe was low. Esme bit her lip to stop the tears from falling and anger tightened her hands into fists. Should she march in and confront Felicity or let it go? Her heart pounded, her temper causing her brain to freeze. As a strong sense of injustice took over, without thinking, she raised her hand and knocked.
‘Come in,’ said Sasha in a loud clear voice. ‘Oh, Esme, can I help you?’
Esme paused in the doorway, unsure what to say. She couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard or that her body seemed to be acting of its own accord. ‘Sasha, I … The triple-layer chocolate chestnut cake Felicity just told you about – that recipe’s not hers, it’s mine—’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Felicity replied, shooting up to standing, her face a picture of shocked indignation, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. ‘How dare you accuse me of—’
‘You must have overheard me talking about it yesterday. You stole it!’ Esme turned to Sasha who was also now standing.
‘Sasha, I came here tonight to tell you about my grandma’s recipe for a double-layer chocolate chestnut cake – to see if we could use it in the Christmas show,’ Felicity squeaked in outrage, but Esme ignored her. ‘It’s from a cookery book that’s been handed down through my family. It’s got all our favourite recipes in. I wanted to share this one because Gran was – it’s so special.’
Felicity sat back down and found a tissue in her bag before pressing it to her nose, pretending to cry. ‘How can you say that, Esme? You know it’s not true.’ In support, David, the director, glowered at Esme.
‘Esme,’ Sasha began calmly, her face placid. There wasn’t even a hint in her eyes that she was shocked or finding this remotely uncomfortable. Esme was. She felt decidedly uncomfortable and she had a horrible sinking feeling she should have thought this through before barging into Sasha’s office letting her fiery temper take over. ‘Are you saying that Miss Fenchurch has stolen your recipe for a … what was it?’
‘A double-layer chocolate chestnut cake,’ Esme replied as confidently as she could, though her stomach burned. Her eyes were drawn to the deep green scarf Sasha had fastened around her neck. It was floral and pretty, and at odds with her cold, harsh demeanour.
Felicity sobbed. ‘Sasha, this is absolutely outrageous. And mine is triple-layer anyway.’
‘You’ve just added one, that’s all,’ Esme blurted. ‘The recipe is the same.’
Sasha glanced from Felicity to Esme, her face expressionless. ‘Esme, you’ve made a very serious accusation here. Are you sure you want to continue with this conversation? Is it possible you’ve made a mistake and this is purely a coincidence?’
‘No,’ Esme said, quickly, her voice rising. In the back of her mind something told her to stop and think but it was too late, her mouth was still opening and the words flowing out. ‘That recipe was from my grandmother’s cookbook. Hers is the only recipe I know of with the addition of maple syrup and a method of chilling the batter.’
‘Do you have the recipe book with you, to prove that it’s yours? I assume that as you were coming to see me this evening to pitch the idea you brought it.’
‘Yes,’ said Esme, pulling her bag from her shoulder. This would prove her right. She reached into her bag, fumbling around inside, spilling the contents onto the floor. Her hand trembled as with a sickening dread, she realised she’d left it next to the kettle last night after showing Leo something. Running late this morning, she’d forgotten to re-pack it. Esme raised her eyes to heaven and gave a silent prayer, hoping this wouldn’t go against her. From the corner of her eye, she caught Felicity’s face. A sly smile spread across her plumped-up lips and she held a tissue to her eyes to hide it.
‘Do you have it with you?’ asked Sasha. ‘It would be useful to have a look at it.’
Esme bit her lip as a flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘I’m afraid I left it at home.’
Felicity scoffed. ‘Probably because there is no book. You seem to lie about everything, Miss Kendrick. Is Esme even your real name?’
‘Now, now,’ interrupted David, putting a hand on Felicity’s arm. ‘I know you’re upset, Felicity, and justifiably so, but let’s not get personal.’
‘Personal?’ she shouted, clutching her chest. ‘This is very personal to me, David. That woman is accusing me of lying to the whole world. If this got out, it would be a PR nightmare for me and the studio, and I would be left with no option but to sue. I have to protect my reputation.’
Esme’s mouth flew open, irked by Felicity’s overacting. ‘I’m not the liar here, you are. You did steal it. You overheard me say I was going to pitch it and then you jumped in before I could. You must have been lurking by the coffee machine when you listened in to us chatting.’
‘Lurking? How absurd,’ laughed Felicity, brushing her hair away from her face so they could see her full shocked expression, but Esme detected a hint of concern in her voice. ‘You have no proof of that, do you?’
