‘Ah!’ Adrienne threw back her head, auburn curls tumbling down her back. ‘What a wonderful description. We’ll make a chef of you yet, Hannah.’ Her gorgeous green eyes glowed and for a minute it was easy to believe that she might actually be one of the fae, but Hannah felt as if she’d snapped up the best prize in the world. She’d got it right in the circle of cooks.

Still beaming, Adrienne addressed the whole group. ‘Sauce A is from a well-known wholesaler in Tralee, and Sauce B is actually the second one Hannah made.’

Surprised but also delighted, Hannah blushed with sheer pleasure. It was a complete revelation. She’d genuinely never before believed that there could be such a distinction. If she were honest, she’d always thought her sister made a bit of a fuss about sourcing authentic ingredients and cooking everything from scratch. No wonder everything Mina made always tasted so good. She always went the extra mile because she cared and it had puzzled Hannah because cooking from scratch was potentially dangerous – look at her first attempt at hollandaise with grainy orange lumps. So many things could go wrong and you might end up with a roomful of starving guests or looking useless. That wasn’t in Hannah’s DNA. She was the reliable one. But maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

‘I think you can tell the difference and how easy it is to make, when you take the time and the trouble for something that tastes so much better. Using the freshest, most wholesome ingredients makes all the difference.’ She straightened, her face softened, and she added with a wink, ‘And there ends today’s lecture.’

‘OK, I get the message,’ said Jason with a good-natured thumbs-up.

Adrienne patted him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t think that gets you out of the fine. That’ll be another euro in the jar.’

‘Fairy nuff,’ said Jason, cheerfully dropping the coin into the jar.

‘OK. Now with the egg whites, we’re going to make meringues.’

Alan groaned. ‘Oh no, my nemesis.’

Fliss winced. ‘Mine too. They always crack and fall apart.’

‘Hurrah!’ crowed Izzy, rubbing her hands together. ‘Something you’re not good at. Meringues are the only pudding I can make. If you ever come to my house, it’s the only pudding you’ll get.’

When Hannah approached her bench, Conor was drying up the utensils ready for the next round of cooking.

‘Thank you,’ she said, not looking up. England Hannah was back in charge. She felt almost schizophrenic around Conor, flopping between being completely wet and useless, and being overtly brash and taking charge. She much preferred it when Ireland Hannah was in the house.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Are you set?’ asked Conor, closing the front door behind them.

‘Let me just check,’ she said, delving into her rucksack. Phone, purse, tissues, paracetamols, spare socks, extra T-shirt.

‘What have you got in there?’ he asked.