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

demonstration. Please put your hands together for Daniel Denton.’
    I waved at Mum who’d managed to be one of the first in, and everyone began to clap as Daniel dragged himself up from his chair, raised a hand briefly and sat back down abruptly.
    Jenny’s eyes flicked over to me and I shrugged discreetly. I sincerely hoped that he would perk up when he donned his pinny, or this could be Wickham Hall’s
last
ever celebrity cooking demonstration too.
    â€˜Refreshments are over here, ladies and gentleman!’ Jenny indicated the table at the back of the room, which was laden with tea, coffee, water and a selection of Wickham Hall biscuits.
    The crowd immediately surged towards the refreshments and I noticed Portia jabbing a finger at Daniel’s book.
    â€˜Ooh yes,’ giggled Jenny, picking up her signed copy. ‘I’d better put this somewhere safe.’
    Portia looked as though she was about to erupt and shook the book harder.
    I cleared my throat and bellowed in my loudest voice: ‘And don’t be shy; Daniel will be signing copies of his new book,
Kitchen Secrets
, which will make a perfect Christmas present, or a treat for yourself.’
    â€˜Bugger,’ Jenny whispered with a grimace. ‘I was meant to say that.’
    â€˜No harm done.’ I patted her arm and made a beeline for my mum.
    â€˜Hello, Mum.’ I kissed her cheek. ‘Having a good time?’
    â€˜Best event I’ve ever been to here, love.’ She beamed. Her hair was tumbling out of its bun and she had sparkly Christmas tree earrings in. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
    I shook my head with a laugh. ‘Jenny organized this one; Daniel Denton is her contact.’
    â€˜I’m proud of you anyway.’ She pointed to her bag. ‘I’ve bought one of his books and had it signed for Steve for Christmas.’
    â€˜Oh, nice.’ I arched my eyebrows. ‘Is Steve a keen cook?’
    â€˜Well,’ Mum’s face coloured and she pressed a hand to her hair, ‘to be honest, Holly, I don’t really know. But a bit of encouragement never hurt anyone, did it?’
    I left her to her cup of tea and wandered off to find Jenny; time was ticking on and we really needed to seat the audience.
    It takes time, I supposed, to find out everything about the one you love. That’s part of the fun of those early days. Now that I thought about it, I knew all sorts of random things about Ben: he liked mustard on his sausages, often kept a paintbrush behind his ear and, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time, he was coming home in four sleeps . . .
    â€˜Psst, Holly!’ Jenny hissed at me, bringing me out of my daydream.
    â€˜What’s up?’
    â€˜Give me strength,’ muttered Jenny, dragging me into the kitchen. ‘Where’s his celebrity charisma? Where’s his stage presence? I’m tempted to grab him by the lapels of that denim jacket and yell, “Cheer up, it’s Christmas!”’
    I sucked in a worried breath. ‘I know what you mean, Jenny. But at least he’s here. I thought for one awful moment that he had left for good when he stormed off.’
    â€˜Most of the ladies have been here before to one of my demos. They’re expecting something special. And they’ve paid handsomely for a ticket. I hope this doesn’t all go belly up, chick.’
    â€˜Give him a chance, Jenny.’ I squeezed her arm. ‘He was probably up with the lark this morning to get here on time from Manchester. And from what I saw of his on-screen persona, I doubt he could keep that enthusiasm up for long. I imagine he saves the “crazy chef” routine until the last moment to preserve his energy.’
    She eyed me doubtfully. ‘But all his emails and tweets have been so chatty and bubbly.’
    â€˜He’s probably just working himself up to it slowly; I’m sure this will be the best Christmas event the Coach