Page 12 of A Scottish Love Story
Ciaran grinned and warned her that he was looking forward to an enormous, tasty meal.
Roxie had decided to cook roast pork, partly because she enjoyed it herself, especially with the trimmings. It reminded her of their New Year’s dinners at home. Memories of her father were still fresh and raw. She would always miss him. She just hoped that time would lessen the pain. It was always going to hurt, though, she knew that, having lost her mum. She wondered if Tommy had been back to visit the grave. She felt a pang of regret that she was too far away to visit herself.
She frowned and gave herself a mental shake. She had a great deal to be thankful for. She was enjoying getting to know Mrs Amynta Baxter. She had looked up her unusual name and discovered it meant ‘protector’. Whether she was that or not Roxie didn’t know, but she was certainly kind as well as generous. They had had several long, comfortableconversations, in a similar way to those she had enjoyed with her own mother, exchanging views on a variety of things. Since they had fallen into the easy way of chatting together and allowing their talk to drift from one subject to another without constraint, Roxie realised how much she had missed her mother’s company, and gentle guidance. She was determined to do her best to prove her capabilities as Amy’s companion and helper, especially with the knowledge she’d not been Ciaran’s choice for the job. She was more settled than she had ever thought possible away from Willowbrook.
She had not explored much of the surrounding countryside yet, but even on the cold, dull days of November she enjoyed the views of the surrounding hills, especially when the winter sunset gilded their purple outline with a rim of gold. She loved walking round the garden too. Iris’s husband, Joe, came to help keep the garden tidy, cutting grass and weeding in summer, and planting the vegetables in spring. It was a long garden and the bottom third was an orchard with wild flowers in the summer. Amy had told her they had planted lots of different bulbs so there would be snowdrops, daffodils, crocus, primroses and bluebells in the winter and spring. Amy said she had wanted something of interest or colour all the year round. Roxie smiled to herself at that description because even in November there were shrubs like the golden Choisya and variegated holly, periwinkle, and all the shades of green, as well as Robinia with glossy reddish leaves on the ends of many of the branches. Among the fruit trees she had seen a rowan, although the birds had eaten most of the red berries. There were still a few lingering orangey-red crab apples clinging to the branches and many more for the birds still on the ground. In the spring there would be apple and pear blossom, and plum too, so long as late frosts didn’t damage it. Around the flower garden the viburnum was already clothed with smallclusters of pinkish flowers, reminding her of a Christmas tree with lots of candles.
It was later than Roxie had expected by the time she heard the car turning into the drive. The table was set and the soup was ready to serve, along with hot garlic bread. The batter for the Yorkshire puddings was ready to pour in as soon as the fat was very hot; they would be cooked by the time Amy and her son had washed their hands and eaten their chicken soup.
Ciaran did not take long before he was helping his mother get seated at the table and joining her.
‘There’ a lovely smell in here and I’m more than ready to sample your cooking, Roxie,’ he said with a grin.
Roxie was pleased to see they both ate up their soup with relish.
‘Mmm, that was really good,’ Ciaran said, ‘I’ll collect up the soup plates.’
So Roxie brought a bowl of apple sauce, followed by a pile of hot plates, and then a large table mat, which she placed in front of Ciaran. On this she set down the roast on the blue-and-white ashet, as Amy called the meat dish.
‘Mmm, this looks wonderful.’ Ciaran eyed the roast of pork. ‘I see you’re giving me a job to do, Roxie.’ He tapped the top of the pork with the flat blade of the carving knife. It sounded satisfyingly hollow and Roxie gave a sigh of relief when he said, ‘The crackling sounds crisp, exactly how I like it.’
Roxie met Amy’s eyes and they exchanged a smile as he set about carving the juicy meat onto the plates while Roxie brought the creamed potatoes and a dish of crisp golden roast potatoes, buttered carrots, a smaller dish of Brussels sprouts and another of peas.
‘Help yourselves while everything is hot,’ she said. ‘I’m bringing the gravy and apple sauce, oh, and a dish of stuffing balls. I’m not sure whether either of you like stuffing, but I lovesage and onion, especially with pork. We always had it at home for our New Year’s dinner.’
‘We both like it, Roxie. You have gone to a lot of trouble, my dear.’ Amy beamed at Ciaran. ‘This was worth waiting for, wasn’t it, son?’
‘It was indeed.’
‘There’s still Yorkshire puddings to come. They’re best left until the last minute,’ Roxie said. ‘I didn’t put them in the oven until I heard the car turn into the drive.’ She retrieved the beautifully risen puddings and swiftly tipped them onto another serving dish, then carried them to the table with a jug of steaming gravy.
‘Ah, super! You’ve made my day, Roxanne Carr. If this lot tastes half as good as it looks and smells, you must be a far better cook than you are a driver.’ There was a decided twinkle in his blue eyes and Roxie knew he was baiting her, but it was his mother who protested indignantly.
‘How can you talk such nonsense, Ciaran? Roxie is a far safer driver than you are, and she has an advanced driving certificate to prove it, too.’
‘Oh, Mum! Roxie knows I was only teasing.’
‘I know you’re never going to let me forget driving over that big stone on your drive,’ Roxie said drily.
‘I know you better now so I reckon I’m allowed a little teasing. I have to admit I’m in genuine admiration of your cooking skills, though. Did you qualify as a chef, or something?’
‘Nothing like that. I come from a long line of farming families and my grandmother and my mother encouraged me to cook as soon as I could stand on a stool and hold a bowl and spoon.’
‘Well, you’ve certainly made a good job of this. It’s delicious. I’m going to have another slice and some more crackling. So, you must have cooked quite a bit, then?’
‘After Mum died, and I changed my mind about going to university, I cooked for my father and my brother, Tommy, and all his friends when they came. Dad encouraged me to attend the Young Farmers’ Club too. I had always enjoyed stock-judging and cattle-dressing. He had coached me in those himself, but we had some good coaches for cookery and handicrafts too, so I learned a lot of different ideas from them, and I began to enjoy experimenting. I had a go at most things, even judging the sheep, although we never kept sheep at home. The only thing I didn’t seem to have an eye for judging was poultry. I was hopeless at that.’
‘You never told me all this, Mum!’ Ciaran said, almost crossly. ‘You must have known?’
‘I didn’t know Roxie was such an excellent cook as this. We are getting to know each other as we go along. She was surprised to hear I had been a teacher before I married your father.’
‘Mmm, but you knew all about farming before you became a teacher, and you said you always loved country life,’ Ciaran said. ‘Roxie could have been from the bright lights of the city for all we knew.’
‘Ah, for allyouknew! I did know where her interests lay. I tried to tell you I needed some lively company. I still have an enquiring mind and an interest in what is going on in the world. You must admit, Ciaran, you were convinced I should have one of the older women. That’s why I stopped discussing details with you.’
‘Donald and Jenny both tried to tell me you’d appreciate someone younger,’ Ciaran said in a subdued tone. ‘So, what else should I know about you, Miss Roxanne Carr?’ he asked with a smile, but she didn’t miss the glint of challenge in his blue eyes.
‘I don’t think there’s much else to tell.’
