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‘Would I be able to amuse and delight my friends?’
‘There are free samples.’
‘We’re going.’
We enjoyed Christopher Savage’s talk immensely. It was very pleasant to be sitting in a comfortable chair in the semi-darkness while he chattered on about his great-great-grandfather, Silvanus Savage, who had founded the company, and the various members of the Savage dynasty who had in turn been philanthropists, innovators, benefactors, opium addicts and ne’er-do-wells. Then we hurried along the corridors to the Demonstration Kitchen where once again everything looked marvellously clean and efficient and there was a delightful smell of chocolate.
We put on the BVP monogrammed aprons which had been provided for us, perched on our kitchen stools and waited for something to happen.
In front of us were some squares of bubble wrap, and of course we did what anyone would do, and started popping it while we were waiting. Ken and Thelma, who were sitting opposite us started arguing about whether their dog was okay in the new kennels.
‘Popsie is very sensitive to change, you know that,’ Thelma said.
Ken huffed about for a bit, sticking his hands behind the bib of his apron and pretending he was Gordon Ramsay.
‘So what’s she going to do? Send us a text about how unsettled she is because she doesn’t get organic chicken?’
‘I’m just saying, you were the one who wanted her to go there.’
‘Yes, because Happy Doggies closed down. And Dog’s Delight banned you. After the episode with the hot water bottle and the bone. Popsie should count herself lucky. I haven’t got a private spa or someone to play with or make a fuss of me at night. Come to think of it, she has a better life than I do.’
Thelma flared her nostrils and looked towards the door, anticipating something was about to happen.
‘I don’t know what’s the delay,’ she muttered in our direction, ‘I mean I bet it wasn’t like this when your husband was in charge.’
Diana made a non-committal noise and popped a bit more of the bubble wrap.
Three crew members suddenly came crashing through the doors and placed some small bowls of melted chocolate on the benches in front of each of us, which caused a lot of excitement. And in retrospect it was probably a mistake because of course the first thing we all did was stick our fingers in and taste it.
‘Yummy,’ I said, ‘I haven’t had any decent chocolate for ages. And this is fab.’
I had another taste and so did Diana.
Thelma looked at us disapprovingly. ‘I’m glad we have a bowl each. You’ll catch diabetes if you’re not careful.’
‘I don’t think diabetes is infectious,’ I said, dipping my finger in again and swirling it round with a defiant air.
Thelma pursed her lips. ‘I think you’ll find it is. My aunt caught it from her neighbour. And she got it from her husband. He was a wonderful baker. They moved away to Eastbourne; I still miss his cakes.’
Ken had started looking in the drawers and had found a giant potato ricer which he opened and closed a few times.
‘I wonder what this is? Put your hand in there, Thelma.’
Thelma froze him with a look, and I had another taste of my chocolate.
Five minutes later, Feliz, the pastry chef came bustling in through the swing doors, followed by two underlings who were carrying metal trays, laden down with more ingredients and several plastic boxes.
‘On the table, there. No, not there. There,’ Feliz said out of the corner of his mouth and the underlings gave him wary, sideways glances.
Feliz turned a smile onto his audience. An expression which I guessed didn’t come too easily to him.
‘Chocolate,’ he boomed. ‘Food of the gods.’
We all nodded and smiled politely, and a couple of the American ladies cooed their approval.
‘And everyone loves bubble wrap, don’t they?’ he added.
We were a bit confused, but again we all nodded and agreed.
