Wickham Hall: Part Four - White Christmas by Cathy Bramley Page A

music with a constant dance beat that he nodded and twitched his shoulders to. He didn’t talk much, but he had a habit of winking at the camera just before slamming something in the oven.
    But when I crossed the Coach House Café, I was quite taken aback. Daniel Denton was hunched over his coffee, scowling at a coiffured redhead who was brandishing a clipboard. He didn’t look at all like his on-screen personality.
    Jenny was at my side instantly.
    â€˜Come and meet Daniel and Portia,’ she said breathlessly, grabbing my arm. ‘Isn’t he divine? And those pale eyes, so beguiling; I’ve been a total fan girl ever since he arrived. And yes, I do know he’s married, but I can’t help myself. Come and say hello and please pinch me if I say anything inappropriate.’
    I did as I was told and followed Jenny to where Portia was arranging copies of her husband’s books in a fan shape on the table.
    â€˜Will you sign one of your books for me now in case we run out?’ Jenny asked once the introductions had been made. She delved into her pockets for her money.
    I bit the inside of my cheek to hide my smile; she was so star-struck that she could barely meet his eye and her face had turned a deep shade of pink, which toned beautifully with her aubergine-coloured hair.
    â€˜Sure,’ Daniel replied flatly, picking up a black pen.
    â€˜And we’ve bought DVDs as well,’ said Portia. ‘Don’t forget to sell those too, Daniel.’
    He sighed by way of response.
    â€˜So what do you think of Wickham Hall, Daniel?’ I asked, undaunted by his lack of interest.
    â€˜Yeah, great,’ Daniel muttered.
    â€˜It is sweet,’ Portia conceded, casting a glance around the café. ‘Although, you’re lucky to get Daniel at a venue like this. We’re only here for some practice in front of a live audience. This time next year we’ll be aiming much higher.’
    Charming.
    I heard Jenny exhale through her nose and I was slightly concerned she was going to say something that we all would regret when Daniel’s chair gave a screech as he pushed it back and stood up.
    â€˜I need some air,’ he grunted before stomping out of the café.
    Jenny and I exchanged looks but Portia just smiled smoothly and handed Jenny her change.
    â€˜My goal,
our
goal,’ she corrected herself, ‘for next year is to break into the live food show circuit – London, Glasgow, Manchester. They all have a big reach and I think they’ll build his brand in a more experiential way than TV. His public need to meet him in the flesh.’
    â€˜Absolutely,’ I said. Whatever experiential meant.
    â€˜Excuse me,’ said Portia with a tight smile. ‘I’ll go and retrieve him.’
    Jenny and I watched her leave the café and scan the courtyard for her errant celebrity husband.
    â€˜He’s a bit . . . well, sullen,’ I said cautiously.
    â€˜Hmmm,’ said Jenny, biting her lip. ‘At first I thought he was just remaining aloof, like stars do, you know. He was more responsive when we had a run-through of the schedule and he was very complimentary about the ingredients for today’s dishes. He said he’d never seen such a plump goose.’
    â€˜She’s got him, look,’ I said with relief, as Portia and Daniel, hand in hand, arrived back. They looked frozen.
    â€˜Phew,’ Jenny breathed. ‘We’re supposed to be starting any minute.’
    Tickets to our celebrity chef demonstration had included a tour of the Wickham Hall Christmas decorations first so that all guests, including my mum, would arrive at the café at the same time and right on cue, at twelve o’clock, Marjorie opened the door that led from the hall’s main corridor and Daniel’s audience flocked in.
    â€˜Welcome, welcome,’ cried Jenny, extending her arms, ‘to Wickham Hall’s first ever celebrity cooking