‘Indeed. And, while I don’t wish to criticise your taste in music, you were listening to some truly depressing stuff.’
Dylan returned and, as Charlie threw the ball once more, Becky decided to make the most of her client’s visit to mend some fences.
‘Look, we were going to head into town soon.’ She pointed towards the living room and a stack of books on the coffee table. ‘We have books to return to the library. Why don’t we go to Sweet’s and I’ll treat you to a slice of the best cake in town?’
In her experience, there were few people who could stay peeved with someone who was offering them free cake.
Charlie glanced at her and gave a small shrug. ‘Sounds fair.’
She pointed at his top. ‘You’re welcome to shower here and I can run your things through the quick wash and dry.’
‘No, don’t worry. I can shower and change at the gym.’
‘You have a change of clothes at your gym?’
‘Yeah, in my locker. And they give you towels.’
‘Where on earth do you go to the gym?’
‘Tyler’s.’
Tyler’s was the most exclusive gym and spa in town. It was the sort of place where hand dryers and paper towels were rejected in favour of Egyptian cotton flannels which disappeared into a marble-lined chute after a single use. Becky suspected the monthly membership fee was more than her mortgage payment.
She shook her head. ‘Yet another example of how dreadful your life is, Charlie.’
‘Hmn?’ He was absorbed in making Dylan’s day by continuing the game of throw-fetch and joining in with the toddler’s exuberant clapping.
Becky smiled and shrugged the chip off her shoulder. Anyone who made her son that happy could go to whatever gym they wanted.
She waited until Dylan was busy fetching and tapped Charlie on the back. ‘We’ll meet at Sweet’s in an hour. I can introduce you to Ronnie. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’
Chapter 10
Sweet’s Cakes was starting to empty of the morning coffee break traffic when Charlie arrived. He paused under the shade of the candy-striped awning to admire the window display which was as spectacular as always: a sea battle between a pirate galleon and a navy ship, complete with exploding cannons, swashbuckling on the decks and marzipan crew climbing the rigging. The Jolly Roger seemed to flap and snap in the breeze as sharks circled both ships, rising out of a frothy sea of blue icing.
Inside the shop, Ronnie looked up from her tea, spotted Charlie and expressed her first impression with her usual subtlety. ‘A man with a beard which can only be described as “disturbing” is staring at the window display. Please tell me that’s him because I don’t want to think there’s another Wild Man of Borneo wannabe on the loose in Compton.’
‘Yep, that’s him.’
‘Holy crap! What have you got yourself into this time?’
‘Ron—’
‘And an artist! Ugh! They’re all useless. Trust me. I dated a few of the losers in art college.’
Becky waved to attract Charlie’s attention and turned back to Ronnie. ‘Despite what some of his recent, less than sober behaviour might suggest, he’s one of the good guys.’ Charlie opened the door and Becky hissed a final warning at her friend. ‘So be nice!’
‘I’m always nice,’ she said, extending her hand towards Charlie at an angle which left it unclear as to whether he was supposed to shake it or kiss it. Charlie eyed it warily and Becky sympathised. One of Ronnie’s rings was topped by a large silver thistle design which looked like it could draw blood.
‘I’m Ronnie, Becky’s best friend. Good to meet you.’
Charlie wrapped his fingers around her rings and shook her hand. ‘I’m Charlie. Nice to meet you too.’
Becky silently noted his choice of name as she popped more cake into Dylan’s gaping jaws. She gestured towards Ronnie and said to Charlie, ‘Ronnie owns this place.’
Charlie took another look at Ronnie. ‘You’re Sharon Sweet?’
‘The one and only.’
Charlie gestured to the window. ‘Your displays are amazing. You’re the best artist in town.’
Becky watched with amusement as Ronnie grew two inches past her usual five foot nothing under the sunny light of Charlie’s sincere adoration and then tried to be modest.
‘I do my best,’ she said. ‘And I suppose the interns have to take some credit for the displays.’
She moved to retake her seat, but Charlie got there first and pulled out her chair. Ronnie paused, her eyebrows raised, but recovered quickly, sitting down and nodding at Charlie as he pushed her seat towards the table as if he had been her butler for years.
‘I’ve always wanted to meet you,’ he said to Ronnie as he took the last chair at the table. ‘There was a castle, a couple of weeks ago.’ He gestured towards the window. ‘It had stained glass. How did you do that?’
Ronnie opened her mouth to answer, but Becky cut in. ‘Charlie. The next time Ronnie’s putting together the display, why don’t you come down here and help?’
Charlie’s mouth formed a large O in an expression most commonly seen on the face of children on Christmas morning.
The women exchanged glances. Ronnie received the telepathic message from her friend and getting to her feet, said, ‘Sure. Why not?’ She winked at him. ‘And if you think my creations look good, wait until you try some. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Charlie watched her disappear behind the counter. He drummed his fingers on the table and frowned.
‘Everything OK, Charlie?’ Becky asked.
‘Yeah, great. I just … You know Sharon Sweet! How did that happen?’
‘Um, well, about a year after I moved down here from London I was working a wedding and, twenty-four hours before the ceremony, the bride decides she hates the cake and must have a new one.’
‘That’s insane.’
Becky shrugged. ‘That’s the Comptons. Anyway, Ronnie was working in a bakery over in Wolston and she was the only one who would help me. She made the most amazing cake and the bride loved it. Unfortunately, she sneakily used her boss’s kitchen to make it and he fired her.’
Charlie raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t this story supposed to be about how you became friends?’
‘Of course it is,’ said Ronnie, reappearing at their table carrying a tray laden with tea and various slices of cake. ‘I’d been making cakes on the side for months and getting the boot was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hated working for those twats and had been meaning to start up my own place for ages. Becky helped me sort all that stuff out—’
‘By “that stuff” she means small, inconsequential things like drawing up a business plan, getting a loan, finding premises, getting renovations at cost, sourcing second-hand equipment—’
Ronnie sat down and held a hand up in front of Becky’s face. ‘The poor bloke asked for a story, not a sermon.’ She sighed and turned to Charlie. ‘I opened this place a year later.’
Becky raised her teacup towards her friend. ‘And she’s never looked back.’