Was I fighting hard just to stand still? she thought.

And then there was Jim. Even though the thought of him filled her with rage, if she were honest part of her still stung from his rejection. The things he had said, had implied, had undermined her confidence to the very core. How could she have been so utterly taken in by him—used by him? After discussing him further with Gwendoline, she saw that what she had thought was love was only manipulation—it was a game that he played with any woman who could be of use to him.

She began to think of her London life. She used to think that success was becoming a head chef, whatever the price. But perhaps she should also think of the cost.

Isn’t happiness an equal part of success?

Fortunately, life was too busy to dwell on it. She had her plan, and it was better to stick with it. Once she was back in London, she was sure to snap back into it.

With only a few days before the contest finals, Audrey called everyone to a meeting in the kitchen.

“We need to discuss the next round of the contest—it’s just around the corner, and I have no idea how we’re all going to use the same kitchen. I suggest we claim two hours each.”

“How are we going to compete against one another, after everything we’ve been through?” Nell said.

“Every man for himself!” Zelda laughed. “Or rather every woman for herself. I think we need to uphold the essence of the contest and each give it our best.”

“I agree,” Gwendoline said. “Although I have to admit that I’m not so keen on presenting on The Kitchen Front anymore.”

They looked around at her.

    “Why ever not?” Audrey asked.

“I’m thinking about taking on a job in a proper top restaurant.” She grinned.

“Where?”

Gwendoline put her hands on the table. “I suppose I ought to come clean. I’ve thought of a terrific new business plan: to open a restaurant here in Fenley. There’s been nowhere to eat here since the Wheatsheaf closed, and with the army arriving in Fenley Hall next week, there’ll be plenty of business.”

“But how will you open a restaurant?”

“And with what money?”

Gwendoline clasped her hands in front of her excitedly. “I’ve been speaking to the owner of the Wheatsheaf’s empty premises, and since he’s unlikely to have any more tenants, he’s letting me rent it for a song.”

“What a terrific idea!” Nell cried.

“I’ll do a little decorating, sort out the kitchen, and then open in a month or two’s time. I thought we could specialize in wartime Cordon Bleu,” Gwendoline said, winking at Zelda.

Audrey folded her arms. “But what about my pie business? I thought you were helping me?”

“We could merge your pie business with the new restaurant and relocate production to the new premises. The kitchen there is large, and it has great storage. You could solve the problem you have with expansion, and we could label the pies with the restaurant name. Everyone will know about us, from Middleton and other local towns to London, even.”

Audrey thought this through. “It does sound like a good idea. Everyone needs restaurants these days to escape the rations.”

“How do rations work in restaurants?” Nell looked puzzled. “Do you have to hand over your ration book?”

It struck Zelda that Nell had probably never been in a proper restaurant in her life. “No, it doesn’t use any rations to go to a restaurant. That’s the beauty of them. They’re a great place for people to go when they’re out of rations or need a special treat.”

    Gwendoline piped up, assuming her Ministry of Food stage voice, which made everyone laugh. “When the government decided to ration food, they realized that restaurants, canteens, and so forth were going to play a big part in how the nation was going to feed itself. A lot of people get a meal or two at work factories and canteens, like the one Zelda worked in at the pie factory, and people in towns and cities can go out for lunch—sometimes dinner, too. Restaurants are more popular than ever, mainly because they don’t use anyone’s rations.”

“But don’t restaurants have to ration supplies?”

“Restaurants buy their ingredients from special wholesalers, who get the food that the Ministry of Agriculture deems available. One week, it could be pigs’ liver, and all the restaurants served by that wholesaler have to do what they can, making it into patés, pies, and parfaits. The next week it might be tinned sardines.” They all looked at one another, remembering Gwendoline’s woeful sardine roll starter.

“But isn’t that terribly unfair to people who can’t afford to go to restaurants?” Nell muttered.

“The Ministry of Food put a cap of five shillings on a three-course meal so that most people can afford it, and most restaurants charge less than that. The cap is there to stop the top London hotels from being exclusive—rations are about feeding the country, not just the rich.”

Zelda leaned forward. “The Dartington used to get around it by charging a fortune for cloakrooms and drinks. Some of the big restaurants have a table charge, too, just to keep the right kind of clientele. I suppose, if they produce top-notch cuisine, it’s only fair that they can charge a little more.”

“Some restaurants charge far less,” Audrey said. “The British Restaurants serve meals for only nine pence!”

“But the British Restaurants aren’t run as businesses,” Gwendoline corrected her. “They’re canteens run by the government or volunteers to make sure everyone gets a good meal. They used to be called Community Feeding Centers until Mr. Churchill deemed it too depressing. He thought up the name British Restaurants himself. There are a lot of them in cities, especially bombed-out areas.”

    “But, Gwendoline,” Audrey cut in. “Precisely how do you intend to make money, with all the five-shilling rules and British Restaurants cooking meals so cheaply?”

In her element, Gwendoline took a deep breath. “First of all, we’re going to provide upmarket food for army officers and the local well-to-do. With my work and connections, a new restaurant is bound to cause a stir. We’ll be far more upmarket than the British Restaurant in Middleton, affordable for a weekly outing, providing gourmet food at a reasonable price.”

Audrey sat pondering. “Well, it sounds like a plan of sorts. Why don’t you make some more plans, and we’ll see how it could work, shall we?”

“Oh, Audrey,” Zelda said. “You needn’t be so flat about it. It’s a great idea, and it solves all your problems, too.”

Gwendoline looked eagerly around at them all. “I thought we could all join together, use our collective cooking skills. What do you think, Nell? You’re one of the best cooks in the county.”

Nell looked ecstatic. “I’d love to join, if Audrey can spare me. It sounds like it might be a bit of fun. Don’t you think so, Audrey?”

“Well, I’ll have to think it through,” Audrey conceded. “But it does seem to make good business sense.”

Gwendoline’s eyes glistened with excitement. “What about you, Zelda? You could be our head chef? Haven’t you always wanted your own Cordon Bleu restaurant?”

Zelda shrugged. “I’m afraid London awaits. After the small problem has been, well, organized, I’ll be heading back.” She glanced at her bulging stomach. “In any case, I’ve already been in touch with the management at the Ormsley Hotel, and they tell me there’s space for me to start as an assistant chef immediately. From there, I’ll work my way up.”

    “But, d-don’t you want to join us?” Nell’s voice was small, stammering.

“Your restaurant sounds like a simply marvelous idea, but I need to get back to the top city restaurants.”

Gwendoline leaned across the table. “But you could be working in the Ormsley for years before they give you the chance to become head chef, and even then…Can’t you see that it’ll be easier for you to get a job as a head chef if you’ve already been one? This might be the opportunity that gives you that step up.”

“I’m not sure that working in a provincial village will impress anyone.” She tried to keep the dismissive tone out of her voice. What did these people know about life in London? “No one in London has even heard of Fenley. It would be like I’d gone to the moon.”

There was a moment of silence, only the quiet tick of the clock.

The other three looked demoralized. Perhaps her words had been a bit thoughtless, disparaging.

“But you’ll be fine without me,” she said, in a vain attempt to restore spirits.

“We would be better with you,” Gwendoline said quietly.

It had not escaped Zelda’s attention that she’d been offered the job of head chef at their new restaurant, when any one of the others could have done it. There was no denying that she had the best experience in restaurant cooking and would make a massive success of the place.

She swallowed hard.

After all they’d done for her, a small voice in her head kept asking a question she had never considered.

Am I letting them down?

Audrey