She stepped through the back door into the kitchen where Dara was up to her elbows in flour.

“Hello,” Paula said. “Chris said you could use some help.”

“Yes, we had another group last night, Swedish tourists. Thankfully they wanted to be on the road promptly this morning, so they didn’t stay up too late talking and they were happy to have an early breakfast.”

“What can I do?” Paula glanced around. There was not a dish in sight and the big wooden table was totally clear except for a large metal contraption clamped to one end. Chris would have cleaned up. He was the one hot on that.

“You can start mincing the vegetables.” Dara waved at some covered bowls lined up on the sink. “I’ve peeled them.”

Paula lifted the tea towel from the enormous bowls to reveal huge piles of vegetables.

“Besides my usual batch, I’ve had an order for six dozen pasties from the hay company. Evidently they have some tour on today and they’re providing the farmers with lunch.”

“I did say I wanted to learn. Making lots should help.” Paula chuckled to mask the trepidation she felt at the sight of that many vegetables.

“You’ll be sick at the thought of a pastie before you leave here.”

Dara pushed at her hair with the back of her hand and grinned. Usually, her fine dark hair was brushed back from her face and flowed loosely down her back but today it was pulled tightly into a ponytail. Paula envied the marvellous bone structure that allowed Dara to wear such a severe style and still look amazing. Except for the blotch of flour on the end of her nose, she looked as if she’d just stepped out of the salon.

“What’s the best way to tackle this?” Paula rolled up her sleeves.

“Oh, sorry. You use the mincer.” Dara nodded towards the apparatus attached to the table. “I prefer that to a food processor. It requires some effort though. Stop if you get worn out. My winding arm always aches after I’ve done a lot of mincing.”

Paula carried a bowl to the table and eyed the large object with its metal arm enclosed in a worn wooden handle. Poking out another side was a tube with holes which protruded over an empty bowl. She peered inside the mincer at the large screw-type mechanism and then picked out a piece of potato, dropped it in the hole and turned the handle. The potato bobbed up and down but didn’t go through the mincer.

Dara appeared beside her. She wore a brightly coloured vinyl apron over her black t-shirt and black jeans. “You’d better put this on.” She dropped the top of another apron over Paula’s head with a grin. “That little bump of yours will be covered in grot by the time you’ve finished.”