Second Thyme Around Read Online Free PDF Page A

thought they wanted a half-decent chef.’
    ‘And I really don’t think my cottage would be suitable,’ said Perdita. ‘It’s tiny, not at all convenient, and the kitchen is …’ How to describe the dank, irregular space with little light and almost no working surface? ‘Primitive,
to put it politely. And minute – not big enough to boil an egg in.’
    ‘It sounds perfect ! After all, most viewers have tiny kitchens; why are cookery programmes always set in ones the size of barns?’ The maker of several such programmes tossed this rhetorical question into the air.
    ‘Really,’ Perdita persisted valiantly, ‘my kitchen is not suitable.’
    ‘Couldn’t we just look at it?’ asked David Winter.
    ‘Of course, if that’s what it takes to convince you.’ Perdita suddenly felt as tired as everyone else looked. ‘But I promise you, you’ll be disappointed. It’s tiny, it’s dark and it smells of damp. But I’ll take you there if you insist.’
    ‘Don’t you usually visit your aunt at lunchtime?’ said Lucas.
    Perdita wondered briefly how on earth he knew that and then realised that anyone could have told him. ‘Well, actually it’s her bridge afternoon, so I’m not going to today.’
    ‘I expect she’s got a lovely big kitchen,’ said Lucas, with enough despair in his voice to inspire reluctant sympathy even in Perdita.
    ‘I’m not having her involved in this,’ she snapped, to hide it. ‘And anyway, she’s not my aunt.’
    ‘So we can go and look at your kitchen.’ David Winter sounded pleased. ‘I’ve got such a good feeling about this.’
    Perdita groaned. ‘Promise not to cry when you see how wrong you are?’
    ‘If we’re going, let’s go,’ said Lucas impatiently. ‘Even though it’ll be a complete waste of time. Janey, Greg, you know what you’ve got to get on with. I’ll come with you, Perdita. Now for God’s sake, let’s stop farting about.’
    For a moment Perdita considered refusing to take him, but then decided that her van might be just what he needed to bring him down off his pedestal.
    ‘Now, listen to me, Lucas,’ said Perdita, when she’d
cleared the front seat of rubbish and Lucas had clambered in. ‘You will absolutely hate my kitchen. I’m not fond of it myself, and I don’t ever do any cooking, but it’s not my fault. It’s you who want to be on television, not me, so don’t blame me for any of this fiasco. OK?’ She switched on the ignition, and, reliably, the van failed to start. Lucas sat in silence while she tried another couple of times. ‘Now would you mind getting out and giving me a push? There’s a slope here. I can bump start it.’
    Without a word, Lucas got out.
     
    Perdita disappeared into the coal shed and came out with a large key. As she did so she heard mutterings of ‘adorable’, ‘perfect’, and ‘don’t you just love those diamond panes?’ issuing from the carload of television people. Her heart sank. Her cottage, which did look gorgeous from the outside, had seduced them. She would never now convince them that it wasn’t their ideal location.
    ‘It’s a bit cramped in the hall,’ she said, opening the door and going in first. She led the way into the sitting room so that the half-dozen people could all get in through the front door.
    The sitting room was the one place Perdita had made comfortable. There was a large wood-burning stove in the stone fireplace, and weak November sunshine shone in through the windows, catching a small collection of copper items, including a kettle, which stood around the fireside. It also highlighted the dust, which stirred and danced in the draught.
    The floor was stripped, and the wide, pale boards ran diagonally across the room. The window embrasure was deep and stone, and what furniture there was reflected the period of the house.
    ‘But it’s charming!’ declared David Winter.
    ‘You haven’t seen the kitchen,’ said Perdita doggedly. ‘It isn’t charming, it’s