Esme paused in the doorway, unsure what to say. She couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard or that her body seemed to be acting of its own accord. ‘Sasha, I … The triple-layer chocolate chestnut cake Felicity just told you about – that recipe’s not hers, it’s mine—’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Felicity replied, shooting up to standing, her face a picture of shocked indignation, but there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. ‘How dare you accuse me of—’
‘You must have overheard me talking about it yesterday. You stole it!’ Esme turned to Sasha who was also now standing.
‘Sasha, I came here tonight to tell you about my grandma’s recipe for a double-layer chocolate chestnut cake – to see if we could use it in the Christmas show,’ Felicity squeaked in outrage, but Esme ignored her. ‘It’s from a cookery book that’s been handed down through my family. It’s got all our favourite recipes in. I wanted to share this one because Gran was – it’s so special.’
Felicity sat back down and found a tissue in her bag before pressing it to her nose, pretending to cry. ‘How can you say that, Esme? You know it’s not true.’ In support, David, the director, glowered at Esme.
‘Esme,’ Sasha began calmly, her face placid. There wasn’t even a hint in her eyes that she was shocked or finding this remotely uncomfortable. Esme was. She felt decidedly uncomfortable and she had a horrible sinking feeling she should have thought this through before barging into Sasha’s office letting her fiery temper take over. ‘Are you saying that Miss Fenchurch has stolen your recipe for a … what was it?’
‘A double-layer chocolate chestnut cake,’ Esme replied as confidently as she could, though her stomach burned. Her eyes were drawn to the deep green scarf Sasha had fastened around her neck. It was floral and pretty, and at odds with her cold, harsh demeanour.
Felicity sobbed. ‘Sasha, this is absolutely outrageous. And mine is triple-layer anyway.’
‘You’ve just added one, that’s all,’ Esme blurted. ‘The recipe is the same.’
Sasha glanced from Felicity to Esme, her face expressionless. ‘Esme, you’ve made a very serious accusation here. Are you sure you want to continue with this conversation? Is it possible you’ve made a mistake and this is purely a coincidence?’
‘No,’ Esme said, quickly, her voice rising. In the back of her mind something told her to stop and think but it was too late, her mouth was still opening and the words flowing out. ‘That recipe was from my grandmother’s cookbook. Hers is the only recipe I know of with the addition of maple syrup and a method of chilling the batter.’
‘Do you have the recipe book with you, to prove that it’s yours? I assume that as you were coming to see me this evening to pitch the idea you brought it.’
‘Yes,’ said Esme, pulling her bag from her shoulder. This would prove her right. She reached into her bag, fumbling around inside, spilling the contents onto the floor. Her hand trembled as with a sickening dread, she realised she’d left it next to the kettle last night after showing Leo something. Running late this morning, she’d forgotten to re-pack it. Esme raised her eyes to heaven and gave a silent prayer, hoping this wouldn’t go against her. From the corner of her eye, she caught Felicity’s face. A sly smile spread across her plumped-up lips and she held a tissue to her eyes to hide it.
‘Do you have it with you?’ asked Sasha. ‘It would be useful to have a look at it.’
Esme bit her lip as a flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘I’m afraid I left it at home.’
Felicity scoffed. ‘Probably because there is no book. You seem to lie about everything, Miss Kendrick. Is Esme even your real name?’
‘Now, now,’ interrupted David, putting a hand on Felicity’s arm. ‘I know you’re upset, Felicity, and justifiably so, but let’s not get personal.’
‘Personal?’ she shouted, clutching her chest. ‘This is very personal to me, David. That woman is accusing me of lying to the whole world. If this got out, it would be a PR nightmare for me and the studio, and I would be left with no option but to sue. I have to protect my reputation.’
Esme’s mouth flew open, irked by Felicity’s overacting. ‘I’m not the liar here, you are. You did steal it. You overheard me say I was going to pitch it and then you jumped in before I could. You must have been lurking by the coffee machine when you listened in to us chatting.’
‘Lurking? How absurd,’ laughed Felicity, brushing her hair away from her face so they could see her full shocked expression, but Esme detected a hint of concern in her voice. ‘You have no proof of that, do you?’
‘Do you have any proof, Esme?’ asked Sasha. ‘Who were you chatting to?’ She was so calm Esme wondered if she was a robot and the scarf hid a central control panel. How could anyone be so numb to another’s suffering? Esme chewed her lip, the tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t risk Helena getting into trouble.
‘I’d rather not say,’ Esme replied, but even she knew it sounded feeble.
‘May I suggest,’ said David, the colour draining a little from his ruddy cheeks, ‘if that’s the case, we forget about this whole dreadful business. Esme has no proof and I’m sure that if there are any … similarities, as Sasha said, it’s simply coincidence.’
Esme’s mind whirled around. This wasn’t right. Felicity should be apologising to her, not the other way around. ‘Do you think we both have grandmas who left us cookery books then, David? Sasha, I know I forgot the book, but you must believe me. I haven’t made this up.’
Sasha glanced at Felicity then back to Esme. ‘Esme, you’ve accused a colleague of lying and stealing ideas. This is very serious.’
‘It’s slander and harassment,’ added Felicity who stood up to leave. ‘I will not sit here being insulted by this – this – liar any longer. Either sort it out, Sasha, or I walk.’ She marched to the door.
‘Now, wait a second, Felicity.’ Sasha rose from her chair. ‘Let’s not do anything rash.’ She turned to Esme, her face was softer, but her voice remained cold and matter-of-fact. ‘Esme, I’m sorry, but without any evidence you need to withdraw your complaint and apologise to Felicity.’
Esme sat frozen, staring wide-eyed and bewildered. Slowly, she shook her head. It wasn’t just her being cheated here, her grandma was too, and she wouldn’t stand for it. ‘No. No, I won’t. I know I don’t have proof with me. I left the book at home by accident. If you let me go and get it—’
‘Absolutely not,’ Felicity shouted from the door. ‘I mean it, Sasha. Unless this is resolved now, I walk. I don’t want to, but I will. I’m not lacking for offers, as you know.’
Sasha hesitated and Esme knew what was going through her brain. Without Felicity and the ratings she brought, the whole network could go down. Her show, Felicity Fenchurch’s Fabulous Feasts, was the only way they were keeping up with the other channels. ‘Esme, I’m sorry,’ Sasha continued. ‘I think we need to get this sorted out now. I’m very surprised you didn’t bring the recipe with you if you were going to pitch it. Felicity could simply have a similar recipe. If you apologise to her, we can put this all behind us.’
Still at the doorway, holding a tissue to her eyes, Felicity’s voice was almost childlike as she said, ‘Even though this unfounded accusation has damaged our relationship beyond repair, Esme, I’m a professional and if you apologise, I’ll try and move on.’
Could she apologise? Could she say she was wrong and back down now? Was she even sure she was right? Esme took a deep breath but her mind was made up. Sometimes you had to be strong and stand up for yourself. It’s what her gran had taught her and she wouldn’t back down now. The secret ingredient and method were too similar, she wasn’t mistaken. Esme’s shoulders and neck hurt from the tension, even her legs ached, but she shook her head again. ‘I’m sorry, Sasha,