Alice Ross - The Cotswolds Cookery Club - a deliciously uplifting feel-good read

‘Obviously thinks he’s on to a good thing,’ tittered Melody. ‘I’ll have to have words with Tilly about kissing on a first date.’

‘Don’t you dare,’ said Connie, making her way to the doors and watching Eric trot along after Tilly as she strutted around the garden. ‘This might well be the making of him.’

‘Let’s hope so. He’d enjoy life so much more if he wasn’t afraid of his own shadow. Let’s leave them to it and I’ll give you a quick tour.’

A “quick tour” – due to the vastness of the property – took thirty minutes. Connie had never been in such a huge private house before, but despite its impressive proportions and grandeur, she had to agree with Melody – for two people and a little dog it did seem excessive.

They finished in the garden, where the dogs now lay on the terrace basking in the sunshine. Eric opened one sleepy eye at their arrival, but otherwise seemed uncharacteristically at ease.

‘Take a seat,’ said Melody, indicating a wrought-iron table and chairs overlooking the extensive lawn and Olympic-sized pool. ‘Lunch is all prepared but I’m terrified to bring it out. I’d obviously had one glass of wine too many when I jumped in and offered to host the next meeting. And now I’m having a fit about it. My cooking is nowhere near as good as yours.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ tutted Connie. ‘The club’s not about one-upmanship. It’s about enjoying ourselves, trying new recipes and sharing tips. Now go and get it. I’m starving.’

‘Only if you promise to give me your absolute honest opinion.’

‘I absolutely promise.’

As Melody scuttled back into the house, Connie sat down and scanned her surroundings. Crikey. This really was how the other half lived. But something told her Melody wasn’t all that enamoured of the lifestyle.

Her host returned a few minutes later.

‘I’d love you to try these.’ She set down a tray on which sat two terracotta dishes of pan-fried prawns, a basket of crusty bread and two glasses of fizzy pink liquid with a strawberry anchored to the rim.

‘This looks incredible,’ exclaimed Connie, as Melody placed one of the dishes in front of her.

‘Pan-fried prawns with chilli, lemon and parsley. Plus a strawberry bellini to wash them down with.’

‘Excuse me while I pinch myself. Today is just getting better and better.’

‘Don’t say anything until you’ve tried them. Or, in fact, until tomorrow. If I haven’t given you food poisoning, then you have my full permission to gush.’

‘I’m going to be gushing any second now,’ giggled Connie, tearing off a piece of bread from the chunk she’d removed from the basket and dipping it into the juice in the bowl. ‘Yep,’ she confirmed, popping it into her mouth. ‘I am definitely gushing. That is sublime.’

Melody grimaced. ‘Honestly?’

‘Honestly,’ confirmed Connie, spearing one of the butterflied prawns. ‘The flavours are amazing. They burst into life on the tongue.’

‘Gosh. Thank you.’ Melody sat down and took a sip of her bellini. ‘I know I sound pathetic but I really don’t want to be the weak link in the club.’

Connie chewed her prawn, savouring the heavenly mingling tastes of the Mediterranean. ‘Impossible,’ she declared when she’d finished. ‘On so many counts. First, because I’ve never tasted prawns like that in my entire life. And second, because there are no weak links. We’re all in it together.’

Melody didn’t look convinced as she stabbed a prawn with her fork and swirled it around in the oil. ‘The thing is, I’ve never been good at anything. I’ve never had a chance to be. From being seven, my mother dragged me around the beauty circuit. And that was my life for the next twelve years.’

‘Goodness.’ Connie picked up her drink and sat back in her chair. ‘That sounds glamorous.’

Melody shook her head. ‘Anything but. Of course, you think it’s great when you’re seven – all the attention, the sparkly frocks, people telling you how pretty you are all the time. But as I grew older, I saw another side to it. The bitchy, competitive side. Not to mention the pressure to look perfect all the time. By the time I’d reached sixteen, I was desperate to pack it all in; to concentrate on my exams and train to be a dietician. But my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She’d set her heart on my becoming Miss Bristol. And believe me, when my mother has set her mind on something, you don’t argue.’

Connie chuckled. ‘It must have been exciting, though. All the travelling about, all the different competitions.’

‘Not really. One backstage area is much like another. And we never stayed anywhere. We couldn’t afford it. We just did the show, then drove home.’

‘And how did you do in the Miss Bristol competition?’

‘Won it when I was eighteen. My mother was ecstatic. I had a year of trotting around opening supermarkets and smiling until my jaw hurt. And that was it. The achieving of all my mother’s ambitions and none of my own.’

‘But surely you could still have trained as a dietician,’ pointed out Connie, setting down her glass and breaking off another piece of bread.

Melody wrinkled her nose, still toying with her prawn. ‘In theory. But because I hadn’t had a chance to study for my exams, I didn’t have the grades. I thought about evening classes, but I didn’t have the confidence. And, if I’m honest, I never really considered myself clever enough. Instead, I took a job on the cosmetics counter in a big department store in Bristol and worked there for seven years, until I married Malcolm. As the fairy tale goes, he whisked me away from it all.’

‘Blimey,’ puffed Connie, whose own life seemed remarkably dull by comparison. Not that that was unusual. Her life seemed dull compared to that of your average earthworm. ‘Where did you meet Malcolm?’

‘On the cosmetics counter. He came in looking for a new aftershave. I served him. After that, he came in every day for a week on the pretence of wanting something or other. Then he asked me out. And I said yes – despite him being double my age.’

Connie cocked an astounded eyebrow as she picked up her fork and stabbed another prawn.

Melody shook her head. ‘I know it sounds like a huge difference, but we get on so well. All the other guys I’d been out with had been my age, and only ever interested in getting hammered. Malcolm was different. Interesting. He made me laugh. We did all the usual stuff: cinema, walks, going out for a meal. When I asked him what he did for a living, he told me he worked for a software company. It wasn’t until I’d been seeing him for four months that he fessed up to owning the company. By which point we were head over heels in love. Not that anyone believes me when I tell them that. Everyone – including the whole of Little Biddington, from the way most of them snub me – thinks I’m the archetypal dollybird who sank her claws into a rich, older man.’

‘I don’t think that. I can see how much you love Malcolm by the way your face lights up every time you mention him.’

Melody flushed. ‘I know. I can’t help it. I love the bones of him. But I want him to be as proud of me as I am of him.’

‘I’m sure he already is.’

‘I’d like to think so. I don’t want him to think the same as everyone else – that I’m just after his money. Which is why I’d have preferred a smaller house. And why I’m desperate to do something for myself. Pay my way. Because I’ve always had to exercise to stay in shape, I trained as a fitness instructor a few years ago and I’ve approached the Residents’ Committee to ask about doing classes in the village hall – Zumba, Pilates, that kind of thing.’

‘Sounds like a great idea.’