Secrets of a Teenage Heiress by Katy Birchall (15)

On the first Saturday of half-term, the doorbell of our flat rang at 7 a.m.

Mum answered because she had already been up for a couple of hours – as she likes to tell everyone who will listen, she’s an ‘early bird’ who apparently doesn’t need to sleep like normal human beings.

‘Flick?’ she said softly, coming through my door while knocking, which is one of my pet hates about her because WHAT is the point of knocking if you’re just barging on in anyway?

I mumbled at her to go away and then turned over, snuggling down into my cosy duvet.

Mum and I were back on speaking terms, not that it made a huge amount of difference considering how busy she was in the lead-up to Christmas. She was constantly dashing off to meetings at the moment, and then rushing back in the evenings to change her heels into other, higher heels because she had to go to a dinner or party somewhere across London with a load of boring, important people. The Christmas Ball was also always on her mind – she kept repeating her orders and triple-checking the guest list. Even Matthew had told her to ‘chill on out’ – which he could not pull off, by the way, and once again displays the cringe-worthy gene pool from which Cal was produced.

Still, her mood had definitely improved. I knew that things had taken a turn for the better when she made a joke for the first time in weeks. A couple of days ago, I had heard down the hotel grapevine that the Editor of GQ had made a reservation for dinner, so I made sure Fritz was looking his most dapper in case we bumped into him. As Fritz came trotting out of my bedroom sporting his red velvet smoking jacket, Mum was coming through to the living room from her study reading an email on her phone. She stopped as he padded past her on the way to his bowl.

‘Are you two sneaking off to a fashion show again?’ she’d said, before returning to her email.

We may be friends again but she still hadn’t said anything about the Christmas Ball. She can be so stubborn.

‘Flick,’ she repeated, moving over to my bed and shaking my shoulder.

I batted her away.

‘You need to get up.’

‘It’s half-term,’ I mumbled into my pillow. ‘And a Saturday.’

‘Cal’s here.’

I slid my eye mask up on to my forehead. ‘Huh?’

‘Cal is here,’ she said, nodding to the door. ‘He’s waiting for you in the living room.’

‘Why?’ I asked, rubbing my eyes.

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. ‘He said that you’ve got a date.’

I groaned and sat up as she waited, perched neatly on my bed.

‘So?’ she prompted, as I reached for the clock. ‘What does he mean, a date? Are you guys . . .  seeing each other or something?’

‘EW, MUM!’ I threw my pillow at her. ‘He just said that to annoy me!’

‘All right, all right.’ She laughed, standing and holding up her hands. ‘I was just asking.’

‘Well, don’t ask in the future,’ I huffed. Then I saw the clock. ‘What the – You have GOT to be joking! Is that really the time?’

I reached for my duvet and lay back down, pulling it over my head, but Mum just pulled it straight back off again.

‘It’s rude to keep guests waiting. Come on, up you get.’

‘I don’t believe this,’ I grumbled, pulling on my dressing gown and stomping out into the living room where Cal was sitting comfortably on the sofa, typing on his laptop. Mum left us to it and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on, followed by a lively Fritz, excited for his breakfast.

‘Morning, sunshine.’ He glanced up and then returned to his typing with a small smile. ‘Your hair looks pretty.’

I felt the back of my head where it was all sticking up and narrowed my eyes at him.

‘Well then?’ I said, tapping my foot.

‘Well then, what?’ he said, without looking up.

‘What are you doing here? It’s 7 a.m.!’

‘I told you, we’re helping Chef in the kitchen today.’

Mum came through from the kitchen holding a tray of mugs. ‘You’re doing what?’

‘Helping Chef in the kitchen.’ Cal smiled, gratefully taking a cup of coffee from her. ‘Flick is keen to learn his routine. And to improve her cooking.’

Mum stared at me in disbelief. ‘Really? ’

‘It’s 7 in the morning!’ I repeated, ignoring my mum’s questioning looks.

‘Yeah, so you better hurry up or you’re going to miss breakfast prep. We’re already later than planned. Chef ’s been there ages.’ He took a satisfied sip of his coffee. ‘This is delicious, Christine. Just what we need before our day of fun in the kitchen.’

‘Why, thank you, Callum.’ She smiled. ‘How wonderful that you’re spending the day with Chef.’ She passed me a coffee. ‘I’m really impressed.’

Cal looked very pleased with himself as Mum went back into her study.

‘You’re welcome,’ he whispered.

‘Can you PLEASE stop telling people we are dating?’ I hissed back. ‘First the entire school, and now my mum. Are you purposefully trying to bug me?’

A wide smile spread across his face. ‘Is that a trick question?’

I stuck my tongue out at him and then locked myself in the bathroom to shower and get ready. Just as I was pulling my trainers on in the living room, a text came through from Sky.

Aha! Perfect timing. Although, seriously, does no one sleep around here?

‘Sky wants to hang out so it looks like I’ll have to take a rain check on the kitchen,’ I said chirpily.

‘No way.’ Cal laughed. ‘That’s what got you in trouble in the first place. You can’t just drop everything for Skylar Chase. Say you’re busy. She’ll understand and I’m sure she won’t be heartbroken at missing your company.’

‘But –’

‘No buts,’ Cal said sternly. ‘It was generous of Chef to allow us to shadow him for the day. We’re not cancelling. And if you try to escape then our deal is off and you can kiss goodbye to Ethan Duke and the Christmas Ball. Didn’t you hear what your mum said? She’s genuinely impressed with you. Your plan is working.’

I sighed. There was nothing worse than Cal Weston being right.

‘I guess we can ask Chef,’ Cal said, when I showed him the message, looking as surprised as I felt at her question. Of all the things in London that a famous pop star could do on a day off, hanging out with two younger teenagers in a hotel kitchen was a peculiar option. But, then again, Skylar Chase wasn’t your average pop star.

When we got to the kitchen, I couldn’t believe how busy it was. Everywhere you looked, someone was cooking, preparing any kind of breakfast food you can think of, from bacon and eggs, to pastries and fresh fruit salads. I waved at Sasha who was whisking scrambled eggs by one of the stoves. She grinned broadly at me.

‘Right, my pretties,’ Chef said, bustling over to us and moving us out of the way of the immaculately dressed waiters who were coming in to take trays of food up into the dining room. ‘You stand over here and watch the magic happen.’

‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, taking in all the activity.

‘A while,’ Chef said, patting one of his cooks on the back as we passed him arranging almonds on a croissant with great precision.

‘And it’s like this every day?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He put his hands on his hips. ‘How do you think breakfast gets on the table? By elves?’

‘I just didn’t really think about it.’

‘And why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he said, sharing a knowing look with Cal. ‘The menus take a lot of hard work. I have to create new dishes, search for the right suppliers, hunt down the perfect produce.’ Chef smiled. ‘I love it, of course.’

‘You don’t just have a set menu?’ I asked, watching one of his cooks slide some poached eggs so cautiously on to a plate, you’d think he was handling priceless diamonds.

‘It changes day to day –’

‘Day to day?’ I repeated, astonished.

‘Of course.’ Chef shrugged, as though that was normal. ‘The menu is seasonal so it depends on what we have each day. We have a few staple dishes but sometimes the catch isn’t what we were expecting –’

‘Catch?’

‘Fish,’ Cal explained, sneaking a pastry.

‘So,’ I said slowly, working this all out in my brain, ‘the fisherman might not have caught the right fish?’

‘In which case, the menu changes and I can add a dish or come up with a new recipe depending on what he has caught.’ Chef nodded.

‘Isn’t that difficult?’

Chef ’s eyes lit up. ‘Absolutely! But I love coming up with new recipes; that is my passion. I like a challenge.’

‘Chef gets his inspiration from everywhere,’ Cal added. ‘He’s been inspired by people, music and sometimes even architecture.’

‘He’s right,’ Chef insisted, when I shook my head in disbelief.

‘Architecture can inspire . . . a new recipe? How is that even possible?’

Chef tapped the side of his head. ‘Use your imagination. The structure, the shapes, the colours, the atmosphere the building creates. One of my favourite dishes was inspired by Westminster Abbey.’

‘You see?’ Cal smiled. ‘The kitchen is a lot cooler than you think.’

I was almost impressed by the whole thing but then Cal had to go and say, ‘The kitchen is a lot cooler than you think,’ and ruin it. How he thinks it’s acceptable to make these lame comments in public is beyond me.

‘Of course, it’s not about the kitchen itself.’ Chef clapped his hands together. ‘It’s about the people in it.’

He began to point to various people around the kitchen, describing what each of their specialities was or what they were training to do, before claiming with a chuckle that he was going to test me on it later to check that I had been listening. Which would be unfair because there’s no way I’d pass a test – not that I hadn’t been listening, but because there were SO many members of his team and so many different components and departments to the kitchen.

I mean, one guy, Liam, was just in charge of the herbs. HERBS. That was Liam’s job role, to look after all the herbs.

I only know the name of one herb.

‘Really? Which one?’ Cal laughed when I made that point to him. Chef had rushed off to taste test some hollandaise sauce, instructing Cal not to let me near the baking cupboard while we waited for him.

‘Parsley.’

‘That’s it? Parsley? You seriously can’t name any other herbs?’

‘All right, Herb Guru, name some.’

‘Coriander, basil, rosemary, sage, mint, thyme . . .’

‘And this guy is in charge of all those?’ I interrupted, pointing at Liam, who was tending to some weird sort of plant. ‘Isn’t that more like being a gardener than being a chef ?’

‘Not at all,’ Chef corrected, returning and catching the end of our conversation. ‘The right herb can transform a dish.’

‘Flick has a lot to learn when it comes to cooking,’ Cal informed him, stealing another croissant from a tray and taking a large bite.

‘Excuse you, but I am an excellent cook!’

Here’s the thing: I am a terrible cook. My brain cells just don’t seem to connect when it comes to the kitchen. I have tried to cook, like the time with the pizza, but I always get bored or distracted, so I figure it makes more sense to let other people cook for me and then the building won’t get set on fire or anything.

I don’t know what it is with Cal, but the way he says things always makes me want to argue with him. Maybe it’s because he’s always so sure of himself – I just want to prove him wrong, even if I actually have no idea.

Which is how I found myself announcing that I was an excellent cook to a kitchen full of professional chefs.

Cal put his croissant down and rubbed the pastry crumbs off his hands.

‘You think you’re an excellent cook?’ he asked with a mocking smile.

You see what I’m talking about? Who wouldn’t want to wipe that stupid smile off his face?

‘Yes. I am.’

‘OK then.’

‘OK then, what?’

He gestured at the stove next to him. ‘OK then, cook. We’d love to see your signature dish.’

I opened my mouth to explain that we didn’t have time for cooking when we were supposed to be learning, but everyone suddenly fell silent and stopped what they were doing to stare at who had just walked into the kitchen.

Skylar Chase.

She came clacking across the floor to us in her very high heels, smiling at all the chefs as she passed. I’d asked Chef earlier if she could come join us and he’d given his approval, as well as offering me the unwelcome information that he often sang her songs in the shower.

‘Hey,’ she said cheerily, a wave of expensive perfume hitting me as she pulled me into a hug. ‘It feels like ages.’

I pulled away to see Cal frozen to the spot, his mouth slightly open as he stared at her. Chef took off his hat and took her hand to kiss it.

‘Miss Chase, what an honour to have you in my kitchen.’

‘It’s an honour to be here, thank you for letting me come see it,’ she enthused, looking around her as all the kitchen staff stared in awe. One chef had paused midway through drizzling treacle over a pancake and the plate was now overflowing. Sky’s eyes landed on Cal, who was frozen to the spot, and she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘Hi, I’m Sky. You must be Cal. I’ve heard lots about you.’

Cal spluttered a hello, practically choking on his own spit and providing me with plenty of ammo should he ever feel the need to tease me about anything ever again. At least I didn’t lose my mind in front of celebrities.

OK, fine, so there was that time when I shouted ‘JAW’ at Ethan Duke. But that’s different.

Chef ordered one of the cooks to pull up a chair for Sky, and then told her that she was about to witness something spectacular.

‘Flick is going to whip you up something. She is a self-professed excellent cook.’

Everyone’s eyes turned to me.

‘No, no, no. Surely Sky would rather you, the head chef of Hotel Royale,’ I emphasised, ‘cook her a delicious breakfast fit for royalty.’

‘Nah, I’m happy for you to cook me something,’ Sky said, sharing a mischievous smile with Chef. ‘What’s on the menu?’

I racked my brain for anything that I had ever made before. The list was short. I glanced back at the treacle now spreading in a pool across the work surface.

‘Pancakes,’ I squeaked. ‘I can make you a pancake.’

‘I love pancakes.’ Sky laughed.

On instruction from Chef, Sasha hurried over with a frying pan and all the ingredients I’d need, lining them up neatly.

‘Good luck!’ she whispered as she placed down the bowl of flour.

‘I need it!’ I whispered back.

‘No conferring with Sasha,’ Cal said, finding his ability to talk again. ‘And no googling the recipe. Pass me your phone so there’s no cheating.’

I slapped my phone into his palm and then put on the apron that Sasha passed me. I hesitated at the next piece of apparel handed over.

‘Really?’ I asked Chef, dangling the hair net from my finger.

‘Really.’

I rolled my eyes and then shoved it on my head, letting Sasha help me tuck in all the bits of hair round my face and looking daggers at Cal as he burst out laughing.

‘It suits you,’ Sky declared through giggles.

Ignoring the lot of them, I rolled up my sleeves and began to attempt a pancake, while the rest of the kitchen got back to work and Chef got back to bossing them all about. Regaining his composure, Cal started asking Sky about her latest album, leaving me to get on with it without the pressure of the two of them watching the process.

Miraculously, I remembered how to make the batter and couldn’t help but feel extremely proud of myself as I poured some of it into the hot frying pan.

‘Very impressive!’ Sky cheered as I stood aside to let her and Cal admire it. ‘Now, flip it.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ I said, grabbing the handle of the pan with both hands and tossing the pancake with gusto.

Unfortunately, it was a little bit too much gusto. The pancake flew high into the air, over my head and landed with a splat on Chef ’s head.

I gasped and Sky clapped her hand to her mouth. The whole kitchen froze as we waited for Chef ’s reaction.

‘What?’ he said finally, looking round at his staff. ‘You guys don’t like my new hat?’

We exploded into a fit of giggles and applause, as Chef did a twirl.

‘I stand corrected,’ Cal said, still laughing, ‘you can cook . . . something.’

‘Wow.’ I put down the pan triumphantly. ‘Did you just admit you were wrong? Has that ever happened in your entire life?’

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Looks like I’m going hungry.’ Sky sighed, watching Chef remove the pancake from his head and throw it in the bin. ‘I better go upstairs and get some breakfast in the dining room.’

‘It will be the best breakfast you ever had!’ Chef yelled across the kitchen, as Sky got ready to leave.

‘I don’t doubt it.’ She smiled.

‘It’s been nice talking to you,’ Cal said quickly. ‘Hope the tour is a big success.’

‘Thanks. Hey,’ she said, flashing him a gleaming smile, ‘you should come to my party if you’re free. It’s before I fly back to LA.’

Cal gulped. ‘Huh?’

‘Flick’s coming, if she’s not still grounded. You should come too. Right, Flick?’ she said, turning her attention to me. ‘Don’t you think he should come?’

‘Um –’

‘It’s OK,’ Cal said quickly, reading my expression, ‘thanks for the invite, though.’

‘Well, feel free to come along if you change your mind.’

Sky waved and breezed back through the kitchen, thanking the team for having her before disappearing up the stairs.

I felt awkward as Cal began clearing up the pancake ingredients. I tried to think of something to say to break the uncomfortable atmosphere – something like how the party would be rubbish anyway and he wouldn’t be missing out. But something stopped me as I formed the words in my brain and I felt . . . guilty. Maybe because he’d been nice about my spectacular culinary skills.

‘Hey,’ I said quietly, picking up the butter, ‘you should come.’

He lifted his eyes to meet mine but didn’t say anything.

‘I’m serious,’ I insisted, sensing his confusion. ‘You should come to the party.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ I shrugged.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yeah. It will be . . . fun. BUT,’ I added sharply, making him jump, ‘on the condition that you stop making that stupid joke about us dating.’

‘Deal.’

He smiled at me and I smiled back.

‘Right, then.’ He rolled up his sleeves. ‘You hungry?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He grinned, taking the butter from me. ‘Because I make a mean pancake.’