‘I know it’s a late edition, Sasha, but I really think my granny’s triple-layer chocolate chestnut cake will be just the thing. Chestnuts are always big at Christmas and nothing screams indulgence like a chocolate cake. And what makes mine special is the addition of a secret ingredient – maple syrup. And a slightly unorthodox method of chilling the batter before baking. It’ll be revolutionary.’ Felicity smiled and bright white teeth gleamed in the dull office light.

Esme couldn’t believe what she was hearing. These were the same things – the same words – she’d used when describing her recipe to Helena yesterday. Felicity must have overheard them and now she was passing off the recipe as her own. An unpleasant feeling grew in Esme’s stomach.

‘I’m really not sure,’ replied Sasha, in cool professional tones. ‘We’ll need to drop something else and it’ll have to fit into that timeslot. I really don’t fancy redoing the entire schedule.’

‘Of course. I was going to suggest we drop the chocolate orange tart. It’s so last year anyway and with some clever cut shots from David this will be sublime.’ She smiled at David who glowed at the compliment. Felicity crossed her long legs and Esme, with heat rushing through her body, spotted the red sole of a Louboutin.

‘And,’ pitched in David, ‘I just love that it’s her granny’s recipe, don’t you? People love sentimental cooking. It’ll be a bestseller for sure.’

‘Okay then,’ replied Sasha, nodding. Her grey hair was cut into an elfin crop and her deceptively youthful face remained passive. ‘Fine. We can do it.’

Esme stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall, her legs rubbery and almost giving way. Her whole body shook with rage. Stealing boring old day-to-day recipes, as Felicity had done before, was one thing, but stealing this one was something else. This recipe was the one she used to remember her grandma, the one the whole family ate at Christmas with a toast to Gran first. Esme had thought long and hard about sharing it and it had taken her ages to be able to do it. Only this winter had she finally reached the point where she wanted other people to taste it and feel the sense of love and care it imparted, rather than holding onto it as if she was holding on to the memories of her gran. To hear Felicity passing it off as her own grandma’s recipe was low. Esme bit her lip to stop the tears from falling and anger tightened her hands into fists. Should she march in and confront Felicity or let it go? Her heart pounded, her temper causing her brain to freeze. As a strong sense of injustice took over, without thinking, she raised her hand and knocked.

‘Come in,’ said Sasha in a loud clear voice. ‘Oh, Esme, can I help you?’