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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

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Fic: Love is a Layered Cake (4/10)

Summary: Summer has come, and with it, the Great British Bake-Off. Sheep farmer and spinner Rum Gold is one of twelve contestants competing for the crown in the latest show. In addition to navigating the perils of televised baking, ridiculous challenges and his fellow bakers, he also has to contend with his undeniable crush on one of the judges, the beautiful and talented Belle French…

Rated: G

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[Week One: Cake] [Week Two: Biscuits] [Week Three: Bread] [AO3]

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Week Four: Pies and Tarts

In which Gold curses apricots, considers jumping into a fridge, and goes on an adventure involving noodles.

Also, Astrid gets a starring role in the show for one night only.

“It’s time to dust off the innuendo, everyone!” This was Ella’s announcement as she came into the break room early on Saturday morning. Her bright and breezy demeanour, with sunglasses nowhere in sight, was something of a shock to the gathered bakers, who were getting used to seeing her rather hungover of a morning before filming started and she had to look perfectly put together for the cameras.

“Someone’s chirpy,” Jefferson remarked.

“Of course.” Ella gave him a sweet smile. “I always enjoy any week in which I can wring the English language to within an inch of its meaning and in doing so give all the censors a heart attack. Last year during pies and tarts week we got a grand total of twenty-three complaints about the nature of my speeches. I intend to get to at least thirty this year.”

“You do realise that if you do that they’ll threaten to take you off the air,” Ursula pointed out.

“Oh darling, you enjoy it just as much as I do. You’ve been practicing your one-liners in the mirror all week.” Ella pouted, and Ursula had to concede the point.

“That is true. I suppose it’s all part of the bake-off banter. It wouldn’t be the same if we were respectable every week. Still, are we all ready?”

If pressed Gold would say that he was about sixty-three per cent ready. He was hanging all his hopes on the second day, when they would be making pies, because pies were something that he could generally make without too much bother. Of course, this was a baking competition and the simple meat pies that he made for his family wouldn’t really cut it, but he had more confidence in his abilities there than today. Pastry was one of his stronger areas, but unlike bread it could be hit and miss. Belle had said that she didn’t believe in the star baker curse, which was all very well when she wasn’t one of the bakers whom it might affect. If he got off to a good start then so much the better, but if he performed poorly today, then he would certainly be having words with Belle about her theory as proof that the curse definitely did exist.

All the same… It was a well-known fact of the bake-off that despite the increasingly difficult challenges that lay ahead of them, it was extremely rare for the person who was star baker in bread week not to make it through to the grand final of the competition. If he was going to believe in any of the strange legends that surrounded the bake-off, Gold thought that it would be better for him to believe in that one.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Emma said. “Which is not ready at all. I’ll be all right as long as the technical challenge does not involve puff pastry in any shape or form.”

“What’s wrong with puff pastry?” Lance asked. “It’s easy!”

“Are you mad, man? Puff pastry is the food of the devil! I mean, I enjoy eating a good apple turnover as much as the next person-” here the entire party broke off into laughter as the next person to enter the room was Regina, self-confessed queen of the apple turnover “-but when it comes to puff pastry, mine always comes out of a packet. I have long since given up attempting to make it.”

“No, no, no.” Leroy had come over to investigate their argument. “There’s something very therapeutic and logical about it.” It was rare for Leroy to engage in conversation with the others; he wasn’t anti-social per se but he generally spent most of his time chatting to Astrid and the other production staff whom he knew through her, and to hear the down-to-earth builder talking about baking being therapeutic was certainly an eye-opener. Then again, it wasn’t too strange. Leroy and Lance were both definitely pastry men, that had been established during the first week together, and this would be their week to shine out. Gold had enjoyed finding all the other baker’s strengths, and he wondered how things would continue to pan out as the series progressed and the things they had to make became ever more complicated. He dreaded to think what the technical challenge in the finale would be, if he made it that far.

He shook his head; it was far too early to be thinking about that yet when he hadn’t even started baking today, let alone got through the technical challenge, and there were still another five weeks to go before the finale after this one. Six more people to lose. He didn’t really want to lose anyone, apart from Zelena. They were growing into good friends and a real set of characters, and they’d all be a loss to the tent if they were to leave. He certainly didn’t want to leave himself. Now all he had to do was make sure that he didn’t.

In Belle’s opinion, pies and tarts was another crucial week in sorting out people’s strengths and weaknesses, as it was the first week that the bakers would be tackling pastry. Perhaps those who had not had huge successes thus far would come into their own today. She glanced down at her shoes as they waited outside the tent for the production to begin; she’d worn her favourite bright blue peep-toed heels and they were sinking into the soft ground where it had rained overnight. Granny took a look at her footwear and tutted with good-natured disapproval.

“I don’t know how you can even stand up in those things, let alone walk around or do anything useful in them,” she said. “Ruby’s just as bad. I would say that I thought she was a bad influence on you, but when it comes to ridiculously high shoes, I know that you’re the instigator every time.”

“It’s not my fault, Granny, I really need the extra height!” Belle complained. “The last couple of baking shows I did in the intervals between bake-offs, the producers had me stand on a box so that I didn’t look dwarfed by the other presenters!”

“Well, I’m not exactly a giant myself, but I don’t feel the need to strap miniature spears to my heels. Give me my sensible Hotters any day.”

“To each their own, Granny.”

Belle’s relationship with Granny was a long-standing one, going back long before the bake-off. She’d been at school with Ruby Lucas, and in a way, it was Granny who had inspired Belle to start baking in the first place, as she had always loved watching her best friend’s grandmother create all these amazing cakes and pies when she’d been visiting after school. Although the two girls had grown apart, as school-friends do when distance gets in the way, the lessons that Granny had taught her were still a part of Belle’s baking repertoire, and when she had the opportunity to work with the woman who had become both a personal and professional icon, she wouldn’t have passed it up for the world.

It was time for them to enter the tent, and Belle unstuck her feet from the ground and followed Granny, Elsa and Ursula inside. Although they had only lost three bakers, the tent still felt emptier as the work benches were respaced each week to avoid having everyone clumped together and too many empty benches, and the gaps between everyone were getting steadily bigger. By the time they got to week six they’d all be looking rather lonely in their own little corners, and Belle sometimes found the tent quite sad to look at with so few people in it. Still, there were still nine of them here today, and plenty of work to be getting on with.

“Good morning bakers,” Ella said brightly. “Welcome to week four of the bake-off, dedicated to pies and tarts. I have been categorically forbidden from making inappropriate jokes about this, which I think is most unfair.”

“Believe me, the viewers will thank me for it,” Ursula said. “For your signature challenge this week, Belle and Granny would like you to bake a frangipane tart. It must use shortcrust pastry, and it must be open topped, but it can use any filling you choose.” She glanced over at Ella with a warning look. “Don’t say it.”

Ella just grinned. “You’ve got two hours for your topless tarts.”

A ripple of mirth ran around the tent, and Belle, for all she tried to remain as poised as possible during each week, couldn’t help but give in as well. It was all part of the show’s charm; as racy as Ella and Ursula could be, there was never any harm intended, it was just in-keeping with the ideal. There would be more than one reference to soggy bottoms before the weekend was out; it was a staple of pie week and Belle thought that the audience would be disappointed if they didn’t get a couple of the usual jokes in.

Ursula groaned. “You had to go there.”

“Of course I had to. On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

The tent burst into a flurry of activity as flour was sifted and butter cut into it. Shortcrust pastry was one of the easier pastries in Belle’s opinion, with no repeated turning, rolling and chilling involved, but as with any tart, blind-baking the pastry was crucial to ensure a crisp base that would hold its filling - at the same time this was often a stumbling block for bakers who would go on to overbake the finished product. Like with bread, timing was crucial for each stage of the baking process.

After letting the bakers get settled into their pastry-making, Belle and Granny began the rounds. Leroy was up first, making a poached pear tart that he admitted, with a sheepish little smile, was Astrid’s favourite. His dough was already chilling in the fridge and Belle had to admire the speed and skill with which he’d got it made. Astrid had said that she hoped Leroy would make it into pie week so that he could come into his own, and he showed no signs of letting her down now. Mal was using figs as her fruit of choice, Regina had decided on plums: “I don’t want to be accused of only ever using the one fruit, as much as I love apples they don’t really go with a frangipane. You need a softer fruit for that, I think.” Elsa and Lance had both gone for raspberries.

Much to Belle’s surprise, Zelena was not using a green fruit, and she almost commented on the fact as they came over to her bench to find her elbow deep in blueberries. She and Granny had started making bets on how much more green she could incorporate into her cooking without it looking strange. At least they knew that she was going to enjoy one of the upcoming technical challenges. Green would be in abundance.

“Good morning Zelena,” Belle said brightly. In the week following the baking disaster that had got Rory sent home, Belle had not been able to get the idea out of her head that Zelena had somehow had a hand in the catastrophe. She knew that it was ridiculous to assume something so heinous of the woman just because they didn’t like her and she was trying to keep an open mind as they chatted animatedly about her blueberry and lavender frangipane, but the feeling of unease had been getting slowly and slowly stronger in the intervening days. They had no proof - well, not unless they went through all the reams of camera footage from the day and found something suspect - but the ill feeling remained, and Belle was determined to keep a close eye on the redhead this week in case of any more ‘mishaps’ on the part of the other contestants. Hopefully everything would prove to be unfounded and they could continue on their culinary journey with no further disasters of the scale that Aurora had unfortunately experienced.

“You need to be careful with lavender,” Granny was saying. “You have to be incredibly precise with the amounts you use otherwise it can completely overpower the other flavours.”

Zelena listened happily, her expression open and benign, but Belle still did not trust her. They moved across the tent to speak to Gold. The production team seemed to have finally got the message and were keeping the two of them as far apart as possible now, and Belle had to say that she was glad. The man had enough to worry about without Zelena mentally undressing him all the time.

“Good morning Raymond,” Granny said. “Tell us all about your frangipane tart.”

“It’s apricot and almond,” Gold said.

“A classic,” Granny agreed. “Well, because it’s a classic, we’re expecting great things.”

“Way to make him feel confident, Granny,” Ursula remarked. “Don’t worry,” she added to Gold. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m really not sure about that,” Gold muttered. “The apricots are getting above themselves.”

He was in the middle of trying to peel the small fruits, and he seemed to be having some trouble. Although Belle didn’t believe in the idea of the Star Baker curse, she wondered if the contestants had created a self-fulfilling prophecy by going into a week expecting to do badly and therefore finding more problems for themselves.

“We’ll let you get on,” Granny said kindly, sensing his mounting frustration, and they moved on to speak to Jefferson, who was using pears and hazelnuts. One of the things that Belle had always enjoyed the most about the competition was seeing the sheer amount of different things that the contestants could come up with to flavour their creations with. It was incredibly rare to have two people making very similar things, and the depth and breadth of creativity that they showed never failed to make her smile. That was, however, one thing that she was slightly worried about with Gold. So far his bakes had all been pretty solid, but thus far he hadn’t strayed too far into adventurous territory, sticking with flavour combinations that were tried and tested and keeping things simple. There was nothing wrong with the basics, it was something that Granny had often espoused when bakers tried incredibly inventive ideas that had gone rather wrong in the execution, but all the same, as time went on and the bakes became more difficult, he might be left behind as the others came up with wilder ideas.

Once they had spoken to all of the bakers about what they were doing, Belle and Granny returned to their usual pastime of wandering the tent. A couple of contestants in past series had jokingly accused them of trying to be menacing, but even though Granny was thought of as a tough judge and sometimes difficult to please, but not even the most nervous of dispositions could ever really find her menacing.

Determined to keep an eye on Zelena, Belle made herself a cup of tea and settled on the bench at the back of the tent, next to the microwave. The redhead was behaving herself, completely absorbed in her own work and not paying attention to the other bakers, and she was beginning to think that perhaps she had been too hasty to judge her. All the same, that little niggle refused to die away, even as Ella called time on the challenge and they moved back to the front of the tent to let the production crew clean up around them before the judging began. She got the feeling that Zelena was planning something, and she wished she knew what it was.

Frangipane was difficult to get right with its mixture of textures, especially when using berry fruits on the top which had a tendency to exude a lot of juice and make the whole thing rather soggy. Regina, Leroy and Jefferson were definitely the frontrunners. Zelena’s had, as Granny had expected, suffered from an overdose of lavender that masked all the other flavours. Gold had also not fared too well; he’d had the bad fortune that the fresh apricots he’d used weren’t very flavoursome and whilst his frangipane sponge was very good, he had fallen into the trap of overbaking the pastry case, making it dry and crumbly. Belle gave him a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t a bad bake, not one that had put him in a precarious position for the next round - Mal and Elsa had also done badly with overbaking, and there was still the technical challenge in which everything could turn around.

All the same, she did feel sorry for him, with this disappointment coming on top of his last week’s triumph.

“I was betrayed by my apricots,” Gold muttered to Jefferson as the two of them sat in the lunch room, discussing the morning’s bake.

“That’s the trouble with fruit,” Jefferson mused, holding up a small satsuma and looking at it critically from every angle. “You can never tell whether it’s going to be good or bad until you get inside it. The flavour is impossible to determine from the outside.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “I imagine that’s true of a lot of things.”

“No, not at all.” Jefferson was fully earnest as he turned towards Gold, still holding the satsuma as if he was presenting it for Gold’s inspection. “Now, when you pick up an old bread roll, you can immediately tell from the outside that it’s hard and dry and past its best. Same for cheese, you can see where it’s gone dry and brown. Or grown a furry coat. But take this satsuma. You know how satsumas go all horrible and shrivelled up inside when they’re old?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you have no way of knowing if your satsuma is shrivelled up inside until you peel it. Until you peel it, it could be either fresh and juicy or wizened. Schrödinger’s satsuma.”

“I’m beginning to think that you and Lance have a thing about Schrödinger,” Ella said, coming over to them with a large mug of coffee. “Last week it was dough, this week it’s wizened satsumas. You should be glad that the cameras aren’t rolling in here otherwise I would be making some very terrible jokes about your word choice.”

“I didn’t think you needed an audience to make terrible jokes, Ella,” Jefferson said brightly. “You do it all the time.”

“Ah, but it’s always better when I know I have the chance of offending a little old lady in Chipping Norton with my witticisms. Chin up, Mr Gold,” she added on seeing Gold looking despondent after his performance in the first challenge. “There’s still plenty of time for things to look up.”

Gold, unfortunately, did not share her optimism, and he definitely believed in the Star Baker curse at that point in time. A lot of people were feeling the pressure this week, it seemed. It was like the difficulty had been ratcheted up a notch. Still, there was no use in getting himself down before he’d even started on the final two challenges, and he tried to see the bright side. He had certainly not fared the worst in the challenge, even though he was nowhere near the best. He wasn’t going to get sent home right now. He just had to go into the rest of the weekend with a determination to do better. Having done so well the previous week, it would be extremely ignominious to have to go home and tell Aunt Elvira that his previous glory was all undone.

They trooped back down into the tent for the technical challenge, Granny dispensing a few cryptic words of advice before she and Belle were banished from the tent. Ursula outlined the challenge.

“This afternoon, bakers, the judges would like you to make six mini pear pies. These are individual pies made with rough puff pastry and whole poached pears. You have two hours on the clock for this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold sighed as he turned over the recipe card and pulled the cloth off his allotted ingredients, reading through the instructions before getting to work. If there was one thing that he had learned during the past few weekends, it was that two hours was an incredibly short amount of time. He could see a cameraman coming towards him as he began to make his pastry so that it could have the maximum time to chill between turns, and he recognised him as Walter, who was a friendly soul and never too intrusive; Gold didn’t mind talking to him.

“I’ve never poached a pear before,” he muttered. “I hate pears. No-one in my family enjoys eating pears.”

Walter gave a snort of laughter, readjusting the steadicam on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so vehement about something.”

“Well, pears are the fruit of the devil.” Why had it had to be pears, of all the things? At least he wouldn’t be expected to sample his own creation. Across the tent, he heard Emma cursing the fact that they were using puff pastry, albeit the quicker to make version than painstaking full-puff, which involved layering butter and dough. At least in rough puff the butter was already in the dough.

“Who grates butter!” Mal moaned from the back; the recipe had provided them with chunks of frozen butter for grating into the pastry mixture, a process that required great arm strength. It was clear that this challenge was not going to go down as one of the favoured ones, and only the pastry aficionados like Lance and Leroy would get through it without too many problems. Gold just got on with it, feeling the time ticking away as he rolled and turned the pastry and put the pears on the heat, glaring at the offending fruit with such ferocity that Jefferson burst out laughing.

The final hurdle in the challenge came when the contestants had to glaze the pears and wrap the strips of pastry around them before putting them in the oven. Several people complained of their pastry falling off the pears due to the temperature, and Gold was quite sure that no-one in the tent was going to get this challenge perfect. He wedged the pastry strips on as best he could, trying to make sure that there were no glaring gaps between them, and shoved them in the oven, letting out a long breath as he rested his forehead on the edge of his workbench. When he moved away there was a sweaty smear there and he surreptitiously flicked at it with his tea towel. He hadn’t realised just how hot and bothered the challenge had made him. The mood in the tent was far less jovial than it had been in the morning, the entire atmosphere quieter and full of tension. Even Ursula and Ella were speaking to the other bakers in hushed tones, calm and reassuring. Everyone was feeling the pressure this afternoon.

Still, soon enough the pies were coming out of the ovens and Ursula was calling time on the challenge. The pies were placed on the judging table at the front and the clean-up began again. It was interesting to see the vastly different levels of success that they’d all had, and Gold wondered just who had got it right in the end.

When Belle and Granny came back into the tent at long last, it was clear that they were trying not to laugh at the disparity.

“Well, we’ve certainly got some, erm, variety here, haven’t we?” Granny said. “Shall we start?”

In the end Leroy came first, and considering the discussions on puff pastry that they’d been having the day before, Gold couldn’t say that he was particularly surprised. Gold himself was sixth; not great but not completely terrible either. Mal was at the bottom; the majority of her pastry had slid off the pies in the oven and they’d ended up as poached pears sitting in little puddles of puff pastry. Belle and Ursula were consoling her in one corner of the tent as Gold got ready to leave for the evening, hoping that Sunday’s showstopper would bring a better enough performance to guarantee his safety for the next week.

“Feeling confident about tomorrow?”

Gold jerked out of his reverie on hearing Zelena’s voice beside him, and he found her leaning on the workbench next to him, a smile on her face that would be called pleasant if it weren’t so hungry. He looked around desperately for an exit but he was somewhat hemmed in, and any attempt to escape would be incredibly obvious. That was the trouble with the tent, there were no doors, well, except for the doors on the fridges. He weighed up the potential drawbacks of diving headfirst into a fridge to get away from his conversation partner and decided that it was really too much of a risk. The only way to get rid of Zelena would probably be to give her what she wanted, otherwise she’d just persist. Unfortunately, right now it looked like what Zelena wanted was to take one of his kidneys.

“As confident as can be expected,” he said in answer to her question, inching away from her along the bench. She followed him.

“You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were avoiding me,” she said, her tone obviously trying to be playful but succeeding only in sounding menacing. “We’ve never really got to know each other properly.” Gold just stared at her like a deer in the headlights, and she seemed to smirk at his discomfort. “There’s something about you, you know, that makes me wonder. You certainly showed us all last week. What other hidden talents have you got squirrelled away?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gold said coolly, taking another measured step away from her. Zelena just laughed.

“There’s really no need to run away,” she said. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m really not so sure about that,” Gold murmured. “Are you like this with everyone?”

“Of course not. Just the people I find interesting and want to get to know.”

“I can assure you I am incredibly boring and you don’t want to get to know me.” He’d almost managed to get the workbench between himself and Zelena but she grabbed his hand.

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

Gold looked down at her hand and tugged his wrist away from her vice like grip.

“Let go of me, please.”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“Please let go.”

“Hey, Gold, are you coming? We’re going to be late.”

It was Emma whose intervention saved him; she was standing at the entrance to the tent with Jefferson, Elsa and Lance, and even though Gold had no idea what he was supposed to be late for, he grabbed the out with both hands and feet and wrenched himself out of Zelena’s hold, making his way down towards the group with as much speed as his cane could give him.

“You ok?” Emma asked under her breath. “She looked like she was about to eat you alive.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who got that impression,” Gold replied faintly. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You’re welcome. We were going to go and get Chinese, there’s a great place down the road from the hotel; Elsa discovered it. You’re welcome to join us.”

Gold nodded, still shaken from the encounter with Zelena. “Please.”

The group left the tent together and Gold glanced back over his shoulder at Zelena. If looks could kill, well, the four of them would be dead several times over from the amount of venom in her stare.

“There is something about that woman that I really don’t trust,” Elsa said once they were in the cab heading for the restaurant. “She just seems so calculated and scheming all the time. I mean, if one of us had a problem with our bake then we’d all chip in to help each other out, wouldn’t we? It’s part of the beauty of bake-off that even though it’s a competition, it’s so friendly, not cutthroat at all. But I really don’t think you’d get any kind of assistance from her. The opposite, in fact.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, for all the world lost in thoughts of Zelena and the worrying aura that she consistently presented. “From what I overheard from the judges chatting earlier, Belle’s not entirely convinced that she wasn’t responsible for Aurora’s catastrophe last week.”

“When did you overhear the judges chatting?” Elsa exclaimed. “Have you got any more juicy tidbits? Were they discussing who’s going to leave this week?”

“Woah, woah, calm down!”

“We can’t calm down!” Jefferson was just as excited at the prospect of clandestine gossip from the judges as Elsa was. “You have to tell us these things! You can’t just say that you overheard the judges chatting and then not elaborate!”

“I did elaborate, I said that Belle was suspicious of Zelena!”

“Yes! And?”

“And there is no and! That was it!”

“How did you come into this knowledge in the first place? Where were you?”

“I was on my way to the bathroom, if you must know. They put Granny and Belle in that little cubby hole room along the corridor from the break room. Maybe so that they’re not in the break room putting us off our lunch when we’re trying to relax before going into nerve-wracking technicals. Anyway, the door wasn’t closed properly and that was what I heard.”

“Well, that’s definitely news to squirrel away,” Jefferson said. He seemed rather gleeful at the prospect and Emma and Lance gave him a sceptical look.

“You’re getting way too into this,” the other man said.

“But it’s exciting! You never get to see all the gossip and behind the scenes back-stabbing on the actual programme! We’re right in the thick of it now!”

Jefferson and Elsa were still trying to get non-existent information out of Emma by the time they arrived at the restaurant, and Lance and Gold let the three of them get on with it. It was a pleasant evening and the food was, as promised, excellent. It was strange; Gold had never really thought about socialising with the other bakers outside of the tent, even though those who were from places too far away to go home daily were all in the same hotel a couple of miles from the filming location. They had their breaks together in the house obviously, but those tended to be taken up with discussing the events of the day so far, the conversation topics never straying too far from baking. Well, except when Jefferson was concerned as the man could turn his attention to absolutely anything at a moment’s notice. But out here, away from the pressures of knowing that the cameras would be back on them soon enough, it was easier to think of his fellow contestants as friends rather than a bunch of strangers he was just getting to know in fits and starts as they competed against each other. They could have been any group of people out for a meal together. True, they didn’t look like the most typical group of people given the disparity in their ages and looks, but they all got on well, which was the main thing. He stirred around the noodles on his plate, listening to Lance and Elsa argue over which of the major animation studios was the best. He’d learned more about these people in a couple of short hours than he had in three previous weekends in the tent, and he found it sad that they would eventually all be going their separate ways as they gradually left the tent and went back to their day jobs.

Gold knew that he was not the best at friendship; given his isolated location and the demanding nature of his life, it was hard to keep in contact with people and besides, he had always been content with just Bae, Aunt Elvira and Mr Dove for company. They were all he needed, really. But all the same, he still found himself wondering at the possibility of keeping in touch with his new-found friends after the series had finished. He could hope, at least. He was amazed that they had adopted him into their friendship in the first place, odd one out as he was, but they were open and accepting, never once making comment on his limp or his nervous demeanour, and they had certainly helped him out as far as Zelena was concerned. He remembered the look that she had been wearing when he’d been rescued this evening and it sent a shiver down his spine. He felt like he needed to watch his back, but at the same time, he got the feeling that the people sitting around the table would be watching it for him as well. It was reassuring.

It was late by the time they returned to the hotel and Gold remembered that he hadn’t checked in with Bae. It was a Saturday, he and Aunt Elvira would still be up watching Match of the Day, so he sent a quick text.

Going ok so far. I think.

Bae’s reply was almost immediate.

You’re late. Everything ok?

It’s fine. I went out to dinner with some of the others.

*faints* OMG Dad you have a SOCIAL LIFE now! I’m telling Aunt E.

Gold rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, collapsing back onto his bed and wondering what the following day would bring. With any luck it would be a little better fortune than today’s bakes had had.

“Good morning bakers, and welcome to the second day of our pies and tarts week which will, unfortunately, be focussed on pies.” Ella gave an overly dramatic sigh at the prospect of being unable to make quite as many jokes as she had done the previous morning.

“Considering the number of complaints we’ve probably clocked up already, this is likely a good thing,” Ursula pointed out. “Today is showstopper day, and as usual, Belle and Granny are looking forward to seeing you pull out all the stops as you create a three-tiered pie. Now, the pies must share some kind of common theme that links them all together, although exactly how you go about this is up to you. You can use any pastry you like, and any filling, sweet or savoury, but the pies must be able to support themselves and must have at least three tiers.”

“You have four and a half hours on the clock. On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold had to wonder when in his life he would ever need to make a three-tiered pie. He’d never even made a three-tiered cake before, and he really doubted that anyone would want a tiered pie instead of a cake at their wedding, which was the only time he could think of people wanting multiple heights of baked goods. Nevertheless, this was what the judges wanted, so it was what he was going to give them, and he set about creating the first batch of hot water crust pastry that would form the basis of his pies. Looking around the tent, it seemed that everyone else had had a similar idea - hot water crust pastry required no blind baking and was very sturdy, unlikely to lose its shape or collapse under the weight of the other pies on top of it. This was going to prove to be one of the busier challenges, Gold could already tell that from the amount of ingredients that were piled up on everyone’s benches. With three different pies and different fillings to make, there would be no space to sit and think about everything that could go wrong, like there had been during bread week. Gold supposed that this was a blessing in a way as it would take his mind off stewing pessimistically, but at the same time he was already panicking about getting everything done in time. He’d practiced as much as he could, but ultimately he worked long hours and making bread (easy and life-long practised) or cake (extremely quick in comparison), was far more tempting a task after the day’s herding was over. Still, Aunt Elvira and Bae had given the seal of approval to the pies that he had made, and he was hoping that he could win the judges over too. Having been star baker the previous week, it was clear that they were expecting something spectacular from him today when they came over. The little star badge pinned to his apron suddenly felt rather heavy.

“Hello Mr Gold,” Ella said brightly. “What are you making today? It all looks very… meaty.”

“Ella, please.” Belle shook her head in despair. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Love me.” Ella beamed beatifically.

Belle just rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Gold. “Tell us about your three pies.”

“I’m making Christmas-themed pork pies,” he replied. “I know it’s not exactly the right season for it, but I’m hoping that by the time it actually gets to Christmas I’ll have them perfect.”

“Please don’t tell me that you’re going to put sprouts in them,” Ella said. “I’ll have to disown you if that happens.”

“There are no sprouts,” Gold assured her. “The bottom one will be filled with layers of pork with a sage and sausagemeat stuffing. The middle one is layered with bacon and a herb stuffing, and the top one has cranberry sauce and onions.”

“They sound delicious,” Granny said. “I’m looking forward to seeing how they turn out.”

They left him to cross over to Jefferson, who was going above and beyond the call of duty and was attempting to create a four-tirered pie inspired by the four seasons. Belle praised his ambition but was rather concerned about how he was going to get it all done in the time, which was something Gold was wondering about his own creation. Emma was at the bench in front of him this time and she turned to exchange an incredulous look with him when she too heard the extent of Jefferson’s prospective bake.

“I thought three was pushing it!” she exclaimed. “I don’t think there are enough sausages in the world to create that many pies.”

“Sausage pies?”

“Yeah, Henry loves them. They’re kind of like toad in the hole, but in a pie instead of Yorkshire puddings.”

“Right…”

“They taste amazing!”

“I’m not saying that they don’t, I’ve just never come across the concept before.”

“Well, now you have. Although I must say, yours are making me really want a full Christmas dinner when I get home tonight. Graham’s going to think I’ve gone mad.”

Gold just shook his head in good natured despair and returned to the more pressing task of lining the pie tins with his finished pastry, trying to ensure that it was an even thickness all the way round, not so thick that it wouldn’t cook but not so thin that the filling might leak out through it. The cameras kept coming around at various points and he tried to keep up the easy chatter that the other contestants did so well, telling the crew what they were doing at any given point, but even after three weeks in the tent, he didn’t think that the awkwardness would ever really fade away, and they left him alone for the most part. Whilst there were still nine of them in the running, they had plenty of other, slightly more eloquent candidates to choose from, so Gold just got his head down and focussed on his pies and the heady aroma of herbs and onions that was enveloping his workbench. He heard Jefferson exclaiming that he really didn’t have enough room for all his pies on his workbench and lamenting that he might have to start filling them up on the floor, which Belle pointed out was incredibly unhygienic and should he do that, she would not be sampling the finished product for fear of food poisoning. It was only once the pies were in the oven that he had any time to sit and think, and to that end, he settled himself on the floor beside his oven to watch their progress for a while, stretching out his bad leg in front of him. Truth be told, he was hiding. After Zelena cornering him the previous evening, he wanted to avoid any kind of contact with her at all, and if she couldn’t even see him, then so much the better.

“Ah, the classic oven watch.”

Gold startled to find Ursula crouching down beside him and nodded half-heartedly.

“I see. It’s not so much a desire to see what’s in the oven as to not see what else is in the tent.”

“More who else is in the tent.”

“Well, with any luck her pies will turn out terribly and she’ll get the boot,” Ursula said brightly. It was telling, Gold thought, that they all knew who they were talking about without any names being mentioned. Unfortunately, Gold didn’t think that was likely. The trouble with Zelena was that she was pretty good at what she did, and since this was a baking competition, it would have been very obvious that different motives were at work if she were to be sent home when there were other, worse bakers in the tent. Mal and Elsa hadn’t had a great weekend and today was going to be crucial for them to remain in the running.

The timer beeped and Gold reached up onto the bench to silence it and grab the cook’s thermometer that would hopefully tell him if his pies had reached the maximum temperature to show that their filling was fully cooked on the inside. He couldn’t fit all three in the oven at once so he was going to have to cook the final, smallest one after the others had finished baking; he only hoped that he would have enough time. Ursula patted his shoulder and got back to her feet, letting him get on with it as she went over to investigate how Jefferson was getting on with his own monstrous concoction. Gold trusted in Jefferson’s superior skills, but at the same time the chaos going on at the other man’s workbench was rather disconcerting. His pies had reached temperature, thank god, and he shut the oven to given them another five minutes in order to get a really good golden-brown finish.

He’d just put the final pie in the oven and was letting the larger ones cool when he heard an exclamation from the back of the tent and everyone’s attention snap in that direction, with the cameras and crew all heading over towards Mal’s workbench. He grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet to see what all the fuss was about, and was alarmed to see flames on Mal’s workbench. She was flapping at the blaze with an oven mitt, which really wasn’t helping, until Lance had the bright idea of using a spatula to scoot the burning tea towel into the sink and put out the fire with water. Once the panic had calmed down and they’d established that there was no need to get the fire brigade out, it became clear what had happened. Mal had been attempting to make a three-course meal pie, including a lemon meringue pie on the top, and she’d had a slight accident with the blowtorch whilst trying to cook the meringue. She gave a sigh.

“I have been accused of being a dragon in the past,” Gold heard her mutter as she went about salvaging her pie, “but I’ve never actually got to the stage of breathing fire before. This is incredibly embarrassing. I’m an arson investigator for God’s sake!”

Time continued to tick by and as pies began to assemble on the workbenches, Gold received his first real view of the competition. Jefferson’s creation was indeed enormous; Ella commented that she could probably live in it if she hadn’t eaten it first. Mal’s was looking somewhat haphazard and slightly charred on the top thanks to her misadventures with the blowtorch. Lance’s looked amazing; the crusts of the pies were beautifully decorated with delicate pastry shapes and the entire thing was a rich golden brown that made Gold want to bite into it with gusto straight away. He looked at his own offering, which he didn’t think was too bad, even if he did say so himself. The pastry of his topmost pie was a little darker in colour than the rest of the pies as it had taken longer to cook than he’d expected, and there was a little leakage on the top where the cranberry juice had spilled out of the seam between the sides and the lid of the crust, but over all, he was happy with what he’d produced.

Ursula called time on the challenge and the clean-up and artistic photography began, that agonising wait before the judges began calling them up when all they could do was sit there and look around at what everyone else had created.

Finally the judging began. Gold was the first to be called up, and he immediately came upon a problem. His bake was too large and heavy for him to carry one-handed, and too precarious for him to risk not using his cane.

“Hey, let me.” Elsa dashed round from the bench behind him and picked up the creation easily, bearing it up to the table at the front, and Gold followed on gratefully.

“Well, it certainly looks tempting,” Granny said. “A little bit uneven, but still a nice colour on each of the pies.”

They cut into the pies, tasting each one and proclaiming the verdicts. A little dry, but well-filled and tasty. Gold was happy with that; he’d done enough to be safe, he thought, and he could definitely live with that. Ursula carried his bake back to his bench and he sat back to watch the rest of the judging; there was nothing else he could do to affect the outcome now. Mal and Elsa had both struggled in the challenge again; all of Elsa’s pies had managed to leak and catch on the sides, and having been absent for two weeks, Mal’s accident-prone streak had returned with a vengeance. It would probably come down to the two of them, and Gold would be sad to see either of them leave. Both were strong personalities within the tent, and Elsa had become a good friend over the last few weekends.

Gold had to admit that Leroy’s tower of pies was incredibly impressive. The crisp pastry crusts showed no signs of leakage anywhere, and they were all baked to golden perfection. Each pie was topped with shiny glazed fruit - apricots, apples and cranberries on the top. A trio of pork pies complimented perfectly by the layers of sharp fruit, or so Granny and Belle said when they had sampled a small piece from each of the tiers. Despite the obvious success of his creation, Leroy was looking unaccountably nervous, and Gold turned his head on one side as he tried to work out what was going on in the man’s mind. He had never seen Leroy in the least bit nervous before; he was always reliably in the middle of the field producing things that were not exactly spectacular but were solidly baked and tasted great even if they did not look like masterpieces. This was the first time that Gold had really seen Leroy pull all the stops out, but even so, he and Astrid had already said that pies were his speciality. Perhaps he was feeling the same kind of nervousness that Gold had felt last week, during his own strength. But his judging was ostensibly over and he’d done very well, certainly the best of all the bakes that had been judged so far.

“There’s one finishing touch I need to put on,” he mumbled, and with a speed and grace that belied his stocky build, he darted forward and placed a little square of card atop the glazed cranberries, crowning the towering concoction with a small velvet box before he turned to Astrid, bowing low. “Astrid, will you marry me?”

Without exception, everyone in the tent’s attention turned to Astrid, standing out of sight of the cameras at one side. All the steadicam operators swung around to find her beaming despite the tears that were pouring down her face.

“Of course I will, you hopeless romantic!”

From what little he knew of Leroy before this week, Gold would have thought that ‘hopeless romantic’ would be the last words used to describe him, but today’s events had proved him spectacularly wrong. Astrid rushed across the tent and threw her arms around her fiancé, covering him with sloppy kisses, and the tent erupted into applause and cheers, until a polite cough from Ursula reminded them that they were in the middle of the showstopper judging and they probably ought to get a move on.

“Be careful, you two,” she said. “Remember that this is a family show! We don’t want to be getting complaints from Ofcom. We’re probably already on the watchlist for the amount of tart jokes Ella made yesterday.”

“It wouldn’t be Bake-Off without double entendres and proposal pies.” Ella gave a happy sigh. “Congratulations, you two.”

Astrid pecked a final kiss to Leroy’s bald head and together they carried his triumphant pie back down to his workbench, and Emma brought up her sausage pies.

“I really don’t know how I can top that now,” she said. “I mean, Granny’s a national institution but I don’t think that asking her to marry me will work in my favour.”

“You never know.” Granny winked. “I wasn’t always a granny, you know. I’ve seen all sorts of things in my time.”

Gold did not doubt that. Granny’s solo cooking show, which had been running for longer than the bake-off, was filmed in her own kitchen at home, a vast room which had an antique crossbow mounted on one wall, a weapon that the entire country had unanimously decided that she definitely knew how to use, and almost unanimously decided that she had killed someone with.

The judging came to a close, and the contestants were left to their own devices as the tent was cleaned up and reset for the final announcement of who would not be going through to the next round. Gold didn’t think that he needed to worry - his performance had not been as good as last week but he didn’t think that he had disgraced himself either. It was going to come down to a choice between Leroy, Lance and Regina, who had all performed well throughout the weekend.

Naturally, the only topic of choice in the tent was Astrid and Leroy’s very new engagement, with everyone flocking around them to admire the ring and ask about the circumstances of the proposal.

“That was very brave,” Jefferson was saying to Leroy. “What would have happened if she’d said no?”

Leroy shrugged. “Then she would have said no.”

“He knew I was going to say yes.” Astrid laughed, and rested her head against Leroy’s shoulder with a happy sigh. The rest of the production team had accepted that they weren’t going to have her help during the reset and had given in with good grace, carefully manoeuvring themselves around the crowd that had gathered at Leroy’s bench. “I’ve been asking him when he was going to propose properly for months and he’s always said that he was waiting for the right moment. I never dreamed that it would be now.”

“Yeah, I’d have been a bit stuck if I hadn’t survived this long,” Leroy muttered.

“I had every faith in you,” Astrid said. “You’re a fantastic baker.”

It was this compliment that made Leroy blush, his smile going from ear to ear and lightening a face that was usually dour. It was clear that for all his grumpy demeanour, the two were clearly completely smitten with each other, and Gold had high hopes for their future marriage.

It was clear, however, that not everyone in the tent was as happy with this turn of events as the rest of them were. Zelena was not part of the group and could be found in deep conversation with one of the cameramen in one corner of the tent. From the pout on her face and the way her arms were folded, it was clear that she was complaining about something, and as much as Gold did not want to be anywhere near her, he was morbidly fascinated to find out what she might be saying. Emma caught his eye, nodding in Zelena’s direction, and together they crept a little bit closer under the guise of eating Emma’s leftover sausages.

“I just think it’s so unfair,” Zelena was moaning. “I mean, he clearly only did it for attention. If he comes away with the star baker crown now because of this, then I will complain to the producers about favouritism and publicity stunts.”

“Kind of rich considering what she’s been trying to pull,” Emma muttered, thinking back to their encounter with her after the technical the previous evening. “Leroy waited until Granny and Belle had finished judging his bake before he added the proposal, it’s hardly going to affect how it looked or tasted when they were looking at it, is it?” She shook her head. “I really do worry about her. One of these days I think that she’s going to go too far and something catastrophic is going to happen. To think, she was so sedate last week that I had high hopes for her enthusiasm for chaos being dampened, but she’s back to her old tricks this week. With vigour.”

“Well, it’s almost over now,” Gold said, trying to bring Emma’s brooding back to a lighter place. “Tomorrow is another day and all that.”

“Yes, next week is another week, with all sorts of potential for things to go wrong. Sometimes I wish that we could get rid of people by popular vote.”

“That would be fraught with danger,” Gold said.

“I know. But Granny and Belle can’t boot her off without due cause and her baking is good all the time. She’s always safe and coming back next week to slowly spread all kinds of poison.”

“Well, if the production crew knows what’s good for them then they won’t take any notice of her.” For all Gold sounded calm and wise, he was feeling the exact opposite, and he was just as worried about what Zelena might start getting up to as Emma was. More so, since he seemed to be the object of her twisted affections. Why had she set her sights on him, of all people? There wasn’t anything particular special about him, and if she was a black widow type then she would be sorely disappointed if she was planning to seduce him and murder him to inherit his estate; certainly he owned a lot of land and livestock but farming was hard work and by no means the most lucrative of professions. Perhaps she’d singled him out as the weakest in the pack, that was more likely. All the same, he really didn’t know what she was hoping to achieve other than giving off some pretty stark weirdo vibes. They were all going to have to keep a strict eye on her for the foreseeable future. Perhaps if their fears compounded further, they could rope in Ursula and Ella for assistance. They’d proved themselves more than willing to help out the bakers in the past, and this had the makings of being something far more sinister than a simple baking problem.

There was no more time for deliberation; the tent had been reset and they were being shepherded down to sit in the centre ready for the judges’ return. Both Granny and Belle were smiling broadly as they entered with Ella and Ursula.

“Well, bakers, I think we can safely say that this has been one of the more exciting weeks in the bake-off,” Ursula began. “What with proposal pies and the tent almost being set on fire.”

“Yes, we’re considering installing a sprinkler system,” Ella added.

“According to you, all we have to do is have a rainstorm,” Ursula pointed out. “Still, in spite of the triumphs and the mishaps, there has been some blindingly good baking going on today. Belle and Granny almost came to blows when they had to decide who was star baker.”

“We should have let them fight it out and charged an entry fee for spectators. It would bring a whole new dimension to the bake-off.”

Ursula just rolled her eyes, not bothering to make any kind of response to Ella’s suggestion.

“However, they finally made their minds up based on the performance in all three challenges across the weekend. This week’s Star Baker is Lance.”

The competitors applauded heartily; it was definitely a well-deserved win. Lance had been a strong contender throughout the show so far and it was great to see his dedication rewarded.

“As you know, we can’t take everyone with us,” Ella continued. “I always hate this part. The baker who will not be joining us next week is Mal.”

“We’d like to make it clear that this is in no way a result of the blowtorch incident, and we’re very sorry to see you leave,” Belle said.

Gold was sorry to see Mal leave as well; he would miss her frankness and somewhat cavalier approach to baking. As they all gathered together to congratulate Lance and commiserate with Mal, Gold went over to Leroy and Astrid.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win; I know this was going to be your week.”

“Are you kidding?” Leroy was still grinning in spite of missing out on the Star Baker title. “I’m going to marry Astrid! I’ve won the jackpot!”

Gold had to laugh at the unfailing optimism. Yes, those two were going to be absolutely fine. He made his way back over to the main crowd, who had started to disperse. Zelena had already left, citing wanting to get onto the motorway before the traffic got too bad, and no-one mentioned the fact that the traffic on a Sunday evening at seven o’clock in that part of the country was likely to be non-existent and let her go without another word. Mal and Regina had also vanished, leaving a small group chatting animatedly. It really was telling just how much more vibrant the tent became ‘after hours’ so to speak, in Zelena’s absence. The runners rushed about taking mics off and pulling out the judges and Lance for pieces to camera, and finally, Gold had the opportunity to talk to Belle alone. She was standing at one of the windows to the tent, staring out with a fond smile on her face.

“Something interesting going on out there?” he asked.

Belle waved him over, pointing out Mal and Regina outside, holding hands. “It seems that Leroy and Astrid’s isn’t the only relationship that’s moved onto the next level today. I’m glad that there’s some consolation for her, even if she is going home.”

“We’ll certainly miss her animation,” Gold said. “And everyone loves a good real-life romance story.” He moved away politely as Mal leaned in to kiss Regina’s cheek.

Belle turned to him, still smiling, and for the first time, Gold realised that they were on the same page. There was something in the curve of her lip, something in her bright blue eyes as she held his gaze unwaveringly.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I certainly do.”

Gold shuffled awkwardly, completely at a loss for how to proceed. If this was Belle announcing her interest in him, which he was sure it was, then he was completely screwed. What did he do now? He couldn’t exactly call Aunt Elvira for advice, and besides, her advice would probably come straight out of Ella’s book and be something along the lines of ‘ravish her on the nearest workbench’, adding in various foodstuffs depending on how adventurous she was feeling at the time.

“I do, too,” he finally managed to say, his tongue tripping over the words and making him look even more of an idiot that he already did. “I should, erm…” Oh God, what should he do? His natural instinct was to run in the opposite direction, but he didn’t want her to think that he wasn’t interested in her or that she had scared him off. He was interested. He was also terrified, not of Belle but of the entire idea of romance in the first place.

Thankfully, Belle seemed to have understood, and she touched his arm gently.

“You’re a good man, Raymond Gold, and I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too.”

“Good.” Belle’s smile was merry, a little smirk. “I’m glad to hear that we’re both reading from the same songsheet.”

Gold nodded. “I think we are.”

They were left in silence again, neither of them really knowing what to say next, but it was not uncomfortable, and Gold had managed to stop his internal panic. Belle patted his arm and moved away to talk to the others.

“Till next week then, Mr Gold?”

“Till next week, Belle.”

He looked down at his shoes for a long while, wondering if that had really just happened, the dull ache in his ankle telling him that yes, he really was awake and yes, that had really happened. Till next week. Belle liked him and was entertaining some kind of romantic thoughts towards him. It was more than he could have dreamed of, and he didn’t want anything to mar this perfect moment. Eventually though, he had to leave the tent to go and catch his train, but her words and her little smile stayed with him throughout the long journey back to Scotland. It was already dark by the time he arrived home; Dove had taken care of the sheep in his absence and was being treated to hot cocoa and scones in the kitchen, with Aunt Elvira happily yakking on nineteen to the dozen. Gold knew that he really ought to go in and rescue his farmhand, but at the same time, he knew that as soon as he entered the house he would be met with a barrage of questions, and right now he wanted just a few more moments to savour the events of the day.

The front door opened and the sheepdogs rushed out to greet him eagerly, Bae following not too far behind.

“So how’d it go?” his son asked.

“The tent nearly caught fire and there was an on-screen proposal of marriage,” Gold said blithely, as if such things happened every day. Bae’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“You lied to me about the existence of Santa Claus.”

“That doesn’t count. Santa Claus is a universal lie and finding out about it is a rite of passage for every child. At least we managed to keep up the illusion for longer with you because you don’t have any siblings to break the news early. But I am not lying about the fire or the proposal.”

“Who set who on fire? Who proposed? Who accepted? Did they accept?”

“All in good time, Bae. You’ll find out when the series airs.”

“That’s months away! Hang on.” Bae’s eyes narrowed again and he gave his father a sage look. “Are you telling me all this because you don’t want to admit that you got kicked out?”

“Your lack of faith in me is wounding. No, I did not get kicked out. I was solidly middling for the entire weekend and am safely through to dessert week, god help us all.”

“Well done.” Bae paused. “Are you coming inside or not?”

“Yes, I’m coming in.” He decided that it would be best to keep his interactions with Belle to himself for now; he didn’t think that he could handle the Spanish inquisition from Elvira at this point in the night.

But it gave him confidence. He was going back next week, and Belle was looking forward to speaking to him again. That had to account for something, and Gold found himself thinking forward with anticipation, rather than trepidation, and he slipped off into heady dreams of Belle, bread, and crème brulée.

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Next time: The bakers tackle desserts, blowtorches are banned and then reinstated, and Gold sees an entirely new side to Belle…

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Mini pear pie recipe here

Gold’s apricot frangipane recipe here

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Dwarf Star #GBBO AU #Fic: Love is a Layered Cake #Dragon Queen in the background

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