The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of France - Book 3

The Cotswolds Cookery Club: A Taste of France - Book 3
Alice Ross

‘One of the best stories I’ve read in a long time…I can’t wait to read the other two!’ Stacey Rebecca (NetGalley reviewer)Too many men spoil the broth…?Kate Harris has enough on her plate! Life is constant juggling act between raising her three young children and running a busy Veterinary Practice in the Cotswolds. But with her passion for all things French, especially the mouth-watering cuisine, the cookery club with her three best friends, Connie, Melody and Trish is the perfect escape…Now the foursome has been given their biggest challenge yet! Yet, with her husband Andrew’s increasingly secretive behaviour, the unexpected reappearance of her dishy ex-boyfriend, Gregg, and an unexpected culinary challenge from her daughter’s nursery, Kate decides it’s time to take charge of the disparate ingredients of her life and transform them into the perfect pot-au-feu!Fans of Milly Johnson, Caroline Roberts and Jill Mansell will love this heart-warming read.The Cotswolds Cookery Club is a story told in three parts. A Taste of France is part three.

Too many men spoil the broth…?

Kate Ellis has enough on her plate! Life is a constant juggling act between raising her three young children and running a busy veterinary practice in the Cotswolds. But with her passion for all things French, especially the mouth-watering cuisine, the cookery club with her three best friends, Connie, Melody and Trish, is the perfect escape…

Now the foursome has been given their biggest challenge yet! Yet, with her husband Andrew’s increasingly secretive behaviour, the unexpected reappearance of her dishy ex-boyfriend, Gregg, and an unexpected culinary challenge from her daughter’s nursery, Kate decides it’s time to take charge of the disparate ingredients of her life and transform them into the perfect pot-au-feu!

Fans of Milly Johnson, Caroline Roberts and Jill Mansell will love this heartwarming read.

The Cotswolds Cookery Club

A Taste of France

Alice Ross

ALICE ROSS

used to work in the financial services industry, where she wrote riveting brochures about pensions and ISAs that everyone read avidly and no one ever put straight into the bin. One day, when nobody was looking, she managed to escape. Dragging her personal chef (aka her husband) along with her, she headed to Spain, where she began writing witty, sexy romps designed to amuse slightly more than pension brochures.

Missing Blighty (including the weather – but don't tell anyone), she returned five years later and now works part-time in the tourism industry. When not writing, she can be found scratching out a tune on her violin, walking her dog in wellies two sizes too big (don't ask!), or standing on her head in a yoga pose. Alice loves to hear from her readers.

You can get in touch with her via Twitter: @aliceross22

Contents

Cover (#ub93a1e8c-238f-571f-a46c-95ec172b25b2)

Blurb (#u3c4372e7-ae77-5ba7-aaa8-2d5db099dd5a)

Title Page (#u5db3f41b-957f-50f3-a899-4608106bdfed)

Author Bio (#u44a0a998-8e41-55c7-a6b4-18390ea21b51)

Chapter One (#ubabc37b1-d6c8-5aa5-9321-16a337d319e6)

Chapter Two (#ue0bb8bda-3329-577c-bc60-52593045a0b2)

Chapter Three (#u1998df2b-4785-55a1-9872-49bccb48b2bd)

Chapter Four (#uf174ed1c-9fe2-582b-89d2-1642e146ee61)

Chapter Five (#uf6762eeb-da1e-5784-b01c-64b21aa8ab3a)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#ua3aefc6b-7495-56a8-9bdb-a566b24f4035)

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, darling?’

‘You smell.’

In Mulberry House, in the idyllic Cotswold village of Little Biddington, up to her elbows in withering suds at the kitchen sink, an appalled Kate Ellis opened her mouth to tell four-year-old daughter, Jemima, not to be so rude; that making such accusations could hurt people; that it simply wasn’t polite, or British, or acceptable. But she didn’t. Because, raising one arm from the murky water in which it had been immersed for what seemed like hours, she executed a quick whiff of her armpit and discovered she really did smell – of body odour, with a hint of vomit.

Returning her hand to the cloudy depths and continuing her scouring of cereal remains, which clung to the Thomas the Tank Engine bowl with limpet-like determination, Kate attempted to recall the last time she’d managed to squeeze anything remotely resembling personal hygiene into the melee that was her life.

And failed miserably.

It certainly hadn’t been yesterday. That had zipped by in one big, vomit-mopping blur. The twins – Mia and Milo – given a choice between eating a dreaded vegetable or sharing anything, would normally opt for the dreaded vegetable. Yesterday, however, they’d demonstrated remarkable magnanimity for two-year-olds in perfectly apportioning a nasty tummy bug.

Awaiting indicators of the areas in later life in which her children might excel – music, art, sport, etc – Kate had discovered that, as vomiters, Mia and Milo would undoubtedly be snapped up by Olympic scouts and deemed to be The Next Big Thing – specialising in the Projectile category.

Older sibling, Jemima, though, had remained unimpressed. Descending the stairs with a bulging bag in one hand, Mr T the teddy in the other, and a clothes peg clamped to her nose, she’d tossed around nasally words like “disgusting”, “gross” and “repulsive”, before announcing her intention to move into her friend Cecilia’s house.

Kate hadn’t blamed her. Rather than the never-ending chaos which ensued in her home – bickering, wailing and screeching, against a background of seemingly self-multiplying cereal-encrusted bowls, a mountain of odd socks, and a constant stream of surprises floating in the toilet bowl – Cecilia’s residence presented a calm, relaxing haven, filled with classical music and colour coordinated toy boxes with printed content lists stuck to the front.

Not for the first time, Kate wondered whether, if someone had been kind enough to give her pre-pregnant self the heads-up on what it was really like having children, she’d have bothered. Of course she loved them. The first time she’d laid eyes on them, fresh from the womb, their little scrunched-up faces inset with tiny currants for eyes and perfect rosebuds for lips, her heart had squeezed so hard it had hurt, and a fierce, primal need to protect them had swept over her. A need which remained as strong as ever today. She would scale icy mountains, cross rapid rivers and walk through fire to keep her children safe.

But, if anyone asked her – hand on heart – if she actually liked her kids, she’d have to reply that she honestly didn’t know.

Concluding it must be part of the bowl’s design, Kate abandoned the persistent cereal, picked several plates from the towering pile on the bench and dropped them into the uninviting water. With her Marge Simpson washing-up brush she began attacking what looked like baked beans remains, while glancing across at Jemima at the kitchen table, intent on her colouring-in.