Martin knew he could hold his own in a kitchen, assuming he was familiar with its layout, but the things Avril produced in hers were out of this world.
He and Colin had been in London for just a couple of days and already Martin and Avril had fallen into their usual habit. Martin would sit at the table in the breakfast nook chopping, grating, and mixing, while Avril moved about the kitchen doing the bulk of the cooking.
As they worked, they talked. Harry had had a call out to tow a stranded motorist and Colin had gone with his dad for old time’s sake.
“I’m so glad you’re more organised about Christmas presents than the first time you came,” Avril said, putting some peeled cooking apples in front of Martin. “Grate these, will you?”
Martin bet Avril had a food processor that could do the
