‘But what?’ I ask.
‘Knowing Moby’s I suspect they sent it to the café on purpose so that you’d see it and I couldn’t hide it from you.’
‘Really? You think they’d be that underhand?’
‘I’ve known them to do worse.’
I think about everything Sascha has told me about Moby’s when she worked in their legal team. ‘They have a way of taking over,’ she’d said.
‘You should have told me, Ben,’ I say. ‘You should have told me right from the start but thank you anyway.’
‘Thank you?’ he says, his brow furrowing. ‘What on earth do you have to thank me for?’
‘Thank you for fighting for my little café. Thank you for persuading Moby’s to leave me alone.’
‘Sanderson Bay is not the right location for Moby’s to open up,’ he says. ‘Even after Karol Bergenstein has made it famous.’
‘They were going to build over my herb garden,’ I say. This still upsets me more than anything. I’ve had that herb garden for over half of my life.’
‘I know,’ he says softly. He places his hand gently on my shoulder and for a moment I just want to melt into him, feel his arms around me, feel his lips on mine.
‘I handed in my notice,’ he says into the silence.
‘You have?’
‘I hated that job and I was doing it for all the wrong reasons. Seeing you here in the Bay and your incredible café made me realise that we don’t have to stay in jobs we hate just to please other people.’
‘Especially if those people are dead,’ I say quietly.
‘Especially then.’
‘But don’t you have to work out a notice or something?’
He shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘They put me on immediate gardening leave. I don’t think they were very happy with me.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ I smile. ‘What with stealing furniture and stopping acquisitions.’
‘Those tables and chairs aren’t stolen!’ He laughs and for moment the tension between us splinters.
‘What will you do now?’ I ask.
‘I have no idea,’ he replies and I look up towards him, his eyes locking on mine.
‘Do you think you could ever trust me after all this?’ he asks. ‘Is there any chance we can start again?’
He looks as though he has lost everything, which in some ways I guess he has. I lean my head on his shoulder. He lied to me by omission but I’m so glad he came back and explained everything and I’m glad that Sascha and Marcus were right about Ben trying to stop Moby’s interest in The Two Teas.
The feelings I had from him right from the start haven’t gone away. If anything they’ve got stronger, but can I trust him?
‘What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?’ I ask.
‘Nothing planned,’ he replies, pretending to act casually but I can feel the tension in his body again.
‘Would you like to come to the champagne tea?’
I feel him relax and soften next to me, hear him puff out a laugh.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
30
I spend most of the next day in the hotel kitchen with Sascha, Bessie, Miranda and various members of the Knitting Club getting the food ready for New Year’s Eve.
‘Right,’ Sascha says to us all, clearly in her bossy element. ‘You’ve all been allocated specific parts of the kitchen to do your baking so try and stay in your area and make sure you clean as you go.’
‘Ready, get set, bake,’ Bessie whispers to me, parodying a popular TV baking show. I try to hide my smile as I start preparing to make the scones we’ll need for the champagne teas tomorrow.
‘What are you baking, Sascha?’ Bessie asks. Bessie is baking a “quick and easy” Christmas cake. I’d had a look at the recipe earlier, just after Mo and I got back from the cash and carry. I didn’t think it looked easy at all but Bessie is a much better baker than me. For someone who specialises in afternoon teas I’m not a great baker– scones are pretty much my limit. ‘It won’t be as good as a real Christmas cake,’ Bessie had said. ‘But it should do the job.’
‘I’m baking my infamous black bean brownies,’ Sascha says. These aren’t really Sascha’s infamous brownies at all. She managed to get the recipe off a café owner in York who has been serving them for years and the story goes that she in turn got the recipe from her best friend’s brother-in-law London. ‘I’m giving them a Christmas twist.’
‘What sort of Christmas twist?’ I ask. Unlike everyone else she hasn’t run her recipe by me, she’s just taken matters into her own hands and I hope her twist isn’t too avant-garde.
‘I’m putting little sugar holly leaves on top of them,’ she says.
‘That’s a twist I can live with,’ I reply with a smile.
My aunt is making tiny sugar cookies in the shape of angels, which we used to make together when I was younger. Every now and then I glance over to where she is working to make sure she is OK and not in pain. She is working more slowly than she used to but she seems to be all right.
Halfway through the morning Lisa arrives with extra flour, sugar and eggs to make Christmas blondies.
‘What are they?’ Bessie asks.
‘Like brownies but yellow,’ Sascha says, not looking up from the bowl of black beans she seems to be mashing to death.
‘Pretty much.’ Lisa grins as she unpacks her ingredients. ‘They use vanilla instead of cocoa powder but otherwise the recipe is similar to traditional brownies. As it’s Christmas I’m adding some crushed M&Ms to the mix – but just the red and green ones.’
‘Does that mean the other colours are going spare?’ I ask hopefully as Lisa puts a bag of M&Ms – in all colours except red and green – on the counter.
‘Sure does,’ she says as we all help ourselves.
Between baking and gorging ourselves on M&Ms the morning passes quickly and it’s not long before the glorious smell of baked goods is permeating from the two industrial ovens in the hotel kitchen.
‘So tell me how the afternoon teas will be served,’ Lisa says.
‘Well I’ll serve them on the three-tier plates as usual,’ I reply. ‘Each person will get one of Miranda’s biscuits, a blondie, a brownie and a piece of Christmas cake on the top tier. The second tier will be scones – a choice of plain, fruit or cheese – and then the bottom tier will be the finger sandwiches – I think I’m going to do ham, cheese, egg, and cucumber.’
‘And you’re making them tomorrow?’
‘Yes Mo and I will make them in the pub kitchen right before the tea takes place so they are nice and fresh. Nobody wants soggy sandwiches.’ I pause for a moment and feel the familiar sinking feeling I get in my stomach every time I think about the café and what happened and the water and smoke-damaged walls. ‘It’s not ideal…’ I say quietly.
‘It’s going to be brilliant,’ Lisa says squeezing my arm and when I look up everyone nods in agreement.