A Sprinkle of Sabotage by Fiona Leitch (bill gates book recommendations TXT) 📗

turn them on to know they weren’t working. I walked in and I immediately saw glass all over the floor where the bulbs had shattered. They’d all exploded.’

Curiouser and curiouser, I thought. It sounded like the saboteur had struck again… I cleared the tables and took the dishes back to the food truck to wash up.

‘Got any more ketchup?’ The crew member with the pockmarked face was helping himself to a sausage and bacon bap. I smiled and handed him the bottle, then peered round him as I spotted David Morgan engaged in a heated debate with Lucy. So that was who he’d been looking out for. The first AD held her hands out in a placatory gesture to calm him down, but he still looked annoyed. So of course I had to go over and find out what was going on. I lurked nearby, pretending to clear a table.

‘It was agreed,’ he was saying to Lucy. ‘No one is to enter the kitchen garden. It’s my private space. I know you’re filming in the old kitchen, but there’s really no need for anyone to go in the garden.’

‘I’ll ask around and find out who it was,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly sorry. Do let me know if it happens again.’ And she rushed off. I wandered over to the tea urn before returning to the angry house-owner.

‘You look like you need a cup of tea,’ I said, holding out a mug. He turned around in surprise.

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking it from me. He took a sip and sighed.

‘Better?’ I asked, and he gave a small smile. ‘It must be hard, having a film crew traipsing all over your lovely house.’

‘It is,’ he said, with feeling.

‘Especially when they go places they shouldn’t…’ I thought for a moment, and then smiled at him and stuck my hand out. ‘I’m Jodie, by the way. We briefly met on casting day.’

‘Oh yes, I remember. The lady who’d been here in my predecessor’s day.’ He looked at my jeans and pinny. ‘You’re the one who’s taken over from the poor man in the food truck?’

‘Yes. Between you and me, I’m relieved.’ He looked slightly horrified so I quickly clarified what I meant. ‘Not about Gino, the poor bloke. I just meant I’m actually a chef by trade, and I’m much happier cooking than acting. I heard you mention your kitchen garden? How lovely. I’d love to have a proper kitchen garden. You can’t beat using really fresh produce.’

The poor man didn’t have a chance. I turned my charm on full blast, and before he knew it he was giving me a tour of his passion project. To be fair, I would love a kitchen garden at home, but as I believe I’ve already mentioned, I have the opposite of green fingers. I am the Angel of Death when it comes to house plants. Grapes wither and die upon the vine, potatoes get weevils, and courgettes succumb to mildew when I gaze upon them. And don’t even get me started on carrots.

But I was with the home-owner, so luckily the shadow of death was averted by the bright light of his horticultural knowledge, which was gentle and soothing after the somewhat self-important busyness of everyone else connected with the shoot. David proudly showed me his perfectly straight rows of pumpkins, which were almost ready to be harvested, and his herb borders. He was very informative, and very, very thorough as I had made the mistake of saying I needed a few pointers. I was relieved when his mobile phone rang. He apologised and took the call, then apologised again as he hung up, saying duty called and he had to pop into Penstowan but that he trusted me enough to leave me to look round (which was exactly what I’d been hoping for).

‘Also, my wife and I are thinking about using the house as a wedding venue,’ he said carefully, ‘and if we do go down that route, we’ll be looking for a reliable caterer. Have a think and let me know if you’re interested.’ And with that he left. I almost shouted, Of course I’m bloomin’ interested! after him, but decided to use a little decorum and email him later.

I wandered through the garden towards the house, trying to work out where the old kitchen was. It wasn’t hard to spot; I could see large movie lights – the tungstens – set up through the window, which was quite high up from the ground. I approached carefully; I didn’t think they’d started filming yet, but if they had I didn’t want the top of my ugly mug appearing in shot. There was no noise from within, though, so I grabbed the window ledge and pulled myself up, just enough to peer into the room. It was set up as a Regency-style kitchen – very authentic, but pretty useless for actually cooking in. I let go as my arm muscles began to scream at me.

I looked down at the soft earth beneath my feet. There was a confusion of footprints in the soil, and a couple of rows of sad, trodden-down seedlings, although I had no idea what they were. There were a lot of footprints, but it looked to me like they’d all been made by the same pair of feet. The footprints led from the edge of the building, under the window, and out onto the path, meaning—

‘They jumped out of the window…’ I said to myself. But why? I planted my feet in the spot that seemed to be the most likely landing place, and looked up at the window. No one had mentioned the window being open, so if someone had climbed through, they must have reached up and closed it behind them. Maybe they’d been in the kitchen, tampering with the lights, and had heard someone coming down the corridor towards them. If there was no way out of the room without the person approaching seeing them –