Daisy James - Christmas Secrets at Villa Limoncello

To my amazing family for all their help and support, and for taste-testing the Christmas recipes I know it was hard work but someone had to do it!

To my sister Hazel, and my friends Elaine, Gill and Sue for listening to my story ideas and providing such fabulous, unstinting encouragement.

Is that the smoke alarm, again? asked Izzie, reaching for a mistletoe-bedecked tea towel to flap at the safety device that had squawked at her with increasing regularity all afternoon.

No, its the doorbell this time! Meghan giggled. Dont worry, Ill get it. Jonti mentioned that he might pop over after work to bestow us with his gastronomic wisdom.

Great. Just when I thought the day couldnt possibly get any more stressful, Mr Parisian Patisserie himself decides to grace us with his presence!

While Meghan ditched her apron and skipped off to answer the door, Izzie cast an eye around the kitchen, surprised that she, the supposed Queen of Control and Neatness, had presided over such culinary clutter. The place looked like a scene from the Great Christmas Cake Explosion!

Cooking utensils and baking ingredients littered every available surface, from whisks to wooden spoons, from sultanas, raisins and cherries to oranges with their zest removed and miniature bottles of brandy that shed bought to add flavour to the home-made mincemeat but which had ended up in their coffees as the stark reality of what she had agreed to hit home. Not only had that days variations on the humble mince pie been a disaster, but yesterdays attempt at making gingerbread snowmen had looked more like a brigade of zombies in the middle of a world apocalypse, and Wednesdays stab at a luxury twist on an English trifle had tasted like toxic washing-up liquid. Wherever her talents lay, they were not at the end of the artistic spectrum labelled culinary.

She turned her back on the mess and slumped down onto her over-stuffed leather sofa and sighed. Last Christmas blared from the radio Meghan had insisted should accompany their Christmas bake-athon when shed arrived to injection a dose of much-needed optimism into Izzies festive cake-baking fiasco. She hoped that now Jonti was here he would offer his advice on how to produce at least one batch of mouth-watering Christmas goodies before she left for Villa Limoncello the following day, where shed promised to partner Luca on the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course.

Ah, Luca.

Her stomach performed a delicious somersault of pleasure as a snapshot of his smiling face floated across her vision and she relived a few delicious moments of her summer sojourn in the terracotta-roofed villa in Tuscany. It was exactly that image that had caused her to jump at the chance to go back, to take her place at his side as he demonstrated the intricacies of Christmas-themed Italian patisserie whilst she tried to do justice to the British version for a group of avid foodies.

Except, judging from her efforts so far, she feared disaster. She glanced down at her hands, covered in plasters where she had scraped her fingers on the grater or whilst slicing a lemon. Who would have thought that baking a few festive treats could be so dangerous! Give her a square of fabric, a pair of pinking shears and a glue gun any day! Why couldnt she have suggested that Luca handle the patisserie part and she demonstrate the intricacies of handmade Christmas decorations? That way she could have slipped into her comfort zone of all things fabric- and sequin-related, and spent her days guiding their discerning guests in the art of wreath-making, table decorations, home-made advent calendars, glass bauble painting. But she couldnt renege on her promise now, because this might be the very last course Villa Limoncello was going to offer.

Darling! exclaimed Jonti, leaning forward to hug Izzie and place two regulation air-kisses on her cheeks. Oh my God! Whats happened to your hair? Am I missing something? Is extreme bouffant the new Christmas craze? Im sorry, Izzie, dont take this the wrong way, but you look like a copper-headed Medusa on speed!

Then, before he had chance to draw another breath, his bleached blonde eyebrows shot up his forehead and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Whats that awful smell?

That, Jonti, is the fragrance of Christmas cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, orange zest

No, I think youll find that is the aroma of a kitchen catastrophe. Mmm, caramelised pastry with a side order of seared sultanas

Oh my God! The mince pies!

Izzie rushed into the kitchen, grabbed the oven gloves and yanked open the door to the oven her previously pristine, still-packed-with-polystyrene oven that hadnt been sullied with any kind of food preparation in the eighteen months she had lived there until that week. A baptism of fire, you might say! She still had to get to grips with the controls which looked more like the dashboard of the Starship Enterprise than a cooker with an instruction manual it would take a professor in engineering to understand.

She pulled out a tray of burnt-to-a-crisp mince pies and dropped the whole chargrilled mess onto the wire cooling rack, sending a cascade of dried cranberries to the floor. How could she have so seriously underestimated her skills as a pastry chef?

Grab a seat, Jonti, Ill make us some coffee. Meghan smirked, reaching for the kettle as though Izzie couldnt be trusted to even boil water.

What festive treats were you aiming for here? asked Jonti, peering over the top of his multi-coloured glasses at the mince pies as though they were lumps of smouldering dynamite.

Today is the Marvellous Mince Pie Marathon, said Meghan, spooning coffee into three mugs. Theyre Izzies St Clements Sizzlers, with orange and lemon zest in the pastry.

And these?

Mince pies with a custard and crumble topping.

Mmm, said Jonti sarcastically, prodding the blackened tartlets. Im not sure what Luca was expecting from a woman who lived on toast and coffee for two years! And what, may I ask, is in this bowl? It looks like something those guys from Avatar would eat for breakfast.

Its frosting. I was going to use it to decorate the gingerbread stars I made yesterday, but I think I might have used too much blue food colouring. I thought it said four tablespoons.

How many Great British Christmas bakes have you said youd showcase?

Five one for each day of the course.

Izzie stretched her lips into a smile and surreptitiously crossed her fingers behind her back as Jonti took a sip from the skinny latte Meghan handed to him, then ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip as he contemplated the enormity of the task ahead. Despite his quirky sartorial appearance faux snakeskin trousers, orange winkle-pickers and the craziest Christmas jumper Izzie had ever seen she noticed that his immaculately styled, bleached-blonde quiff was wilting, and there were smudges of tiredness encircling his piercing blue eyes.

Guilt nipped at her heart working in the most famous cathedral of consumerism in London during the festive period would take its toll on even the most energetic of personalities. It was Friday night and there was nothing Jonti liked better than to relax with a Dirty Martini and have a good old gossip with Meghan about the shenanigans of their various Harrods colleagues. It was testament to their friendship that hed sacrificed his night out on the tiles in return for one of her famous limoncello cocktails and a slice of overcooked pizza.