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Kitabı oku: «The Cosy Teashop in the Castle», sayfa 2

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2

Ellie

She pulled up, finding a parking space four houses down from her family home in Heaton. Rows and rows of brick terraces crowded around her. It wasn’t a bad place to live; the neighbours were friendly, there were coffee shops and takeaways around the corner, a park near by and a ten-minute metro ride and you were in the lively city centre of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. But today she’d had a taste of something different; a castle brimming with history in the middle of the most stunning countryside, big Northumbrian skies, open space, a taste of freedom. And she wanted to taste just a little more of it, to live it, breathe it, cook in it.

Today had given Ellie a sense of her future. Made her want the job all the more. Yet she wasn’t at all sure how the interview with Lord Henry and Joe had gone. Her inner interview-ometer was registering pretty low.

She got out of the car, walked down to number five, and wandered in for what might have been the thousandth time. Smells of polish and vegetables filled the air. She found her mum, Sarah, in the kitchen, peeling carrots. Onions, parsnips and a hunk of marble-fatted beef sat on a chopping board ready for cubing.

‘Hello, pet … So, how did it go?’ She turned to her daughter with a cautious smile.

‘Umn, I don’t know, to be honest … It was an amazing place … proper castle … big grounds. The people seemed nice.’ Well, Lord Henry seemed quietly intimidating, but he was the sort of person it might take a while to get to know. Deana, she was just lovely. And Joe, hmn, gorgeous Joe, something about him made her feel uneasy, yet he seemed okay, a bit aloof, maybe, but then it had been a formal interview. His questions had definitely been more searching than Lord Henry’s. She’d need to be far more prepared, do some full costings, a business plan and book her health and hygiene course, if there was to be a second interview or anything. If … a small word, massive implications. She plastered on a hopeful smile as her mother looked across at her.

‘Well,’ her mother’s tone dipped into school-marmish, ‘It is a bit out of the way up there. I’m still not sure why you’re looking that far out? Just think of all the fuel. How long did it take you to get there?’

‘About an hour.’ Due north up the A1, then a maze of winding lanes. She wasn’t thinking about travelling every day, she wanted to live there – the ad said there might be accommodation with the lease. But she hadn’t mentioned that yet. No point getting her mum all wound up if it wasn’t going to happen.

‘Are you sure about all this, Ellie? It does seem a bit of a whim. I still can’t grasp why you’re thinking about giving up a good office job with a reasonable salary. What if it all goes wrong? You won’t be able to waltz back into the insurance job again, you know – what with the recession and everything.’ Sarah looked up from chopping carrots, her blue-grey eyes shadowed with concern.

‘Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Oh, pet. It’s not that I don’t want you to do well. I just don’t want you to fall down with this. Get caught up in some dream and then realise it’s not all it’s supposed to be. I’d hate for you to end up with no job at all.’ She wiped her hands on her floral apron and gave Ellie an affectionate pat on the shoulder. It was as near a hug as she was going to get.

Her mother was sensible, cautious; she liked order and stability. Sometimes it drove Ellie nuts. Yes, the concern was no doubt born of love, but lately the family safety net felt like it was strangling her. When were dreams so bad, so dangerous? The two of them got on alright, but often Ellie felt very different from her mother. They viewed the world through different eyes. Ellie felt that there was something more out there in the big wide world, something she hadn’t found yet. And so what if it all went wrong? At least she’d have tried.

‘It’s not as though there are jobs on trees at the moment, Eleanor.’ Jeez, her full name was coming into action now. Mum really was toeing the sensible line.

‘I know that. But, I’d find something else if it came to it, Mum.’ She’d waitress, clean loos or something if she had to, if it all went belly-up a few months down the line.

Sarah just raised her eyes to heaven and took the slab of meat to hand.

Ellie sighed. Nanna Beryl would have understood. But she wasn’t here to back her up any more, bless her. A knot of loss tightened inside. She was such an amazing character, hard-working, fun, loving and wise. Nanna had inspired Ellie into this baking malarkey, many moons ago in her tiny kitchen flat – Ellie cleaning the mixing bowl out with big licks of the wooden spoon once the cake had gone into the oven. She had watched, she had learned, had her fill of sticky-sweet cake mix, and she had loved. She kept Nanna’s battered old Be-Ro recipe book stashed in her bedroom, with Beryl’s hand-written adaptations and extra recipes held within it. Her choffee cake was awesome – a coffee-chocolate dream: one bite and you felt you’d gone to heaven.

But bless her, she had died just over a year ago. Ellie still felt that awful pang of missing her. Hopefully she was up in heaven somewhere still cooking cakes and keeping all the angels cheery and plump. Yes, she was sure Nanna Beryl would have supported her in this, told her to go out there and give it a try. She could almost hear her voice, that golden-warm Geordie accent, ‘Go on canny lass, diven’ worry about your mam. She was born sensible, that one. It’s your life, your dream.’

And she needed this change, especially with everything that happened six months ago with that tosser Gavin. Nah, she didn’t want to even think about that. He wasn’t worth spending thinking-time on.

Ellie popped her jacket in the understairs cupboard and came back to the kitchen offering to make the dumplings for the stew. She asked her mum about her day, glad to divert the attention and questions from herself. Sarah had a part-time job at the Co-op around the corner, as well as doing a couple of mornings’ cleaning at the doctor’s surgery. They chatted comfortably. Mixing the dumpling ingredients took Ellie’s mind off things. She added dried herbs to the flour, then the suet and water, rolling the dough between her hands, circling broken-off lumps in her palms into neat balls ready to float on the stew.

Ten minutes later, the front door banged open and Keith, Ellie’s father, appeared with a loud ‘Hullo’ and a broad grin, returning home after a day plumbing and handy-manning. He popped his head into the kitchen. ‘Good day, girls! How did it go, then, our Ellie? Head chef already?’

‘Not quite,’ she smiled. ‘There’s a chance of a second interview. But I’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘Well, best of luck, bonny lass. Best of luck. Better go up and get myself changed out of these work things. Stew is it tonight, Mam?

‘Ah-hah.’

‘Great. I’m starving.’

Things had been slower for him these past few years with the recession biting hard in the building trade, but he’d do odd jobs as well as the plumbing, anything really. He had a trade – he was lucky, he often said. Ellie listened to his cheery whistle as he headed upstairs to change out of his navy boiler suit.

Jason, Ellie’s brother, sauntered in soon after, dumping muddy football boots in the hall. He was nine years younger than Ellie, seventeen to her twenty-six, and still at sixth form. In the main he tried to avoid schoolwork as much as he could, filling the gap with sport, occasionally interrupted by a crush on a new girl. This month it was Kylie of the white-blonde hair and dark roots from down the road. She was still giving out confusing signals, apparently, one minute sitting next to him on the bus to town, full of chat, the next giggling with her friends and hardly giving him the time of day.

‘Jason, boots out the back, please. Not the hall. The house’ll be stinking. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,’ Sarah shouted, catching him before he drifted off upstairs, and the aroma of sweaty teenage footwear permeated the house.

An hour and a half later, they were all assembled around the kitchen table. Jay was famished, as per usual, and shovelled his stew down like there was no tomorrow. Then a normal night in the Hall household followed: telly – sport or soaps, Coronation Street being Mum’s favourite, the boys swapping channels to any footie that might be going, general chit-chat, cup of tea, off to bed.

Ellie opted for an early night. The trip up north, the interview, had drained her. Lying there under her single duvet, within the four pink-painted walls – one cerise, three blossom, (she’d chosen the shades aged twelve) of her small bedroom, she thought about her day at Claverham Castle. Was there any chance they might offer her the lease? If so – wildest dreams – would they also offer her a room there? What might it be like, working there, living there? Her dreams felt like bubbles, floating iridescent in a blue sky of hope. But, then, wasn’t there always the inevitable pop, then plop, when you came splatting back down to earth?

Her thoughts spun on, sleep elusive. She should have been better prepared, done her homework, thought about it all more thoroughly. And, she hadn’t even mentioned half the things in the interview that she’d mentally prepped in bed the night before. Maybe her mother was right; doing things on a whim was never the best option. But something inside told her she was right to try for that interview today. She’d been so excited reading the ad in the job pages of the Journal, then ringing up, actually getting an interview, taking those steps towards her dream. She could make a go of it, given half a chance. The if dangled before her, her dream on a very thin thread, making her feel queasy in the pit of her stomach.

Concrete, steel, glass – Ellie’s working world. Tuesday, the day after her tearoom interview, and walking into the impersonal open-plan insurance office made her feel flat; just serving to remind her of how the next ten years might pan out – the most exciting prospect being a promotion to claims supervisor, more targets to push for, deadlines to beat, staff to rally.

The other staff there were fine, to be fair. Her ally, Gemma, the only one she could trust with the truth about the interview and why she’d taken a day’s holiday, collared her at the coffee machine.

So? How was it?’ her friend uttered in hushed tones. She knew how much this interview meant to Ellie, and had volunteered a few days ago, half-jokingly, to become a waitress for her should it all come off. Gemma was a townie through and through, and dreaded the thought of leaving the city for anything.

‘It went okay-ish … I think,’ Ellie whispered back, taking a plastic cup in hand, positioning it and pressing the button. ‘It’s hard to tell. There’s someone else lined up for it, though, I think.’

‘Ah, but you never know. Good luck!’ Gemma smiled encouragingly right through to her blue-grey eyes. She was tall with a lean, boyish figure and platinum-blonde hair cut in a short, choppy style.

‘I’m just waiting for …’ Ellie started.

‘Morning, ladies.’ Weasly William, a colleague in their claims team, shuffled up beside them, making Ellie jump.

‘Morning, Will,’ Ellie replied. Gemma just raised her eyebrows. He always seemed to appear just when you were chatting about something you shouldn’t: sex or alcohol, in Gemma’s case. She was sure he did it on purpose. Her theory was, and this had been giggled over on many a night out, that he was either a spy for the management, a perve, or just fancied the pants off Ellie.

Anyway, his presence cut their conversation short.

‘Right, then, I’d better get back to work,’ Ellie said cheerily, taking her coffee with her.

‘Catch you later, El. Full details at lunchtime. I’ll get us a Krispy Kreme.’ Gemma grinned.

Back in from work, her feet throbbing from the walk from the metro station to the house – not ideal in two-inch heels on uneven pavements with a gaggle of commuters.

Her mum shouted from the lounge as Ellie’s feet hit the welcome mat, ‘There’s been a call for you.’

Ooooh. ‘Oh, okay, who?’ She sounded calmer than she felt.

‘Joe, somebody-or-other … Uhm, Ward, I think.’

A lump tightened her throat. So this was it – the decision. The rejection. She’d be staying at the insurance office for the foreseeable future, then.

‘Any message?’ Deep intake of breath.

Ellie was frozen in the hall, her mum behind the closed door of the living room, by the muffled sound of her voice.

‘Just, could you call him back? He’ll be there until six. I’ve jotted the number down on the pad.’

Deeper breath. She glanced at her wristwatch. OH MY GOD – she only had ten minutes left to ring him back. She wanted to know, but it was almost better not to. At least now, not knowing, there was still the slightest possibility that she might be in with a chance. Her stomach lurched. She was planted to the spot.

Right, Ellie May Hall, her mind gave her a kick, keep to the 3 Cs – cool, calm, collected. She kicked off her stiletto shoes, wriggled her toes. The relief was fabulous. And now for the phone. All this fannying about had already lost her, she glanced at her watch again, two minutes.

‘Okay, then,’ she spoke aloud to herself, in her best calming tone. ‘Let’s do this thing.’ She grabbed the notepad, pen, handset. All she had to do was dial the number. Gulp.

She didn’t want to. What if she broke down, couldn’t reply at the ‘Sorry, but’ bit?

And there was this horrid nagging thought that this would be the last time she would hear Joe’s voice, and then she could forget about ever seeing him again. And why did that matter? It was weird, unsettling. And now there were only seven minutes to go … He might have left a bit early … JUST BLOODY RING HIM!

So she did.

Dial-a-dream coming up … or was it Dial-a-disaster?

0-1-6-6-5 … every punch on the handset seemed to impact on her heart.

The dialling tone. Her pulse quickened.

‘Good afternoon, Claverham Castle, Deana speaking.’

Aah, Deana, a friendly voice.

‘Hello, Deana. It’s me, Ellie … umn, about the job. Umn, I think Joe called earlier, when I was out at work.’ She was babbling, she knew; it always happened when she was nervous. ‘Anyway, is he still there? Could you put me through?’

‘Yes, I think he’s still in the office. Give me a sec, Ellie, and I’ll transfer the call.’

The longest pause, it felt like her dreams were holding their breath. Then his mellow tone, ‘Joe Ward speaking.’ He sounded formal.

‘Oh, hello … you asked for me to call back. It’s Ellie … about the tearooms.’

‘Ah, Ellie, yes,’ his tone softened. Was he just preparing her for the blow? ‘Right, well …’

Another second of agony.

‘We’d like to see you again, for a second interview.’

‘You would?’ Her tone was slightly incredulous. She wanted to laugh, for some weird reason.

‘Yes, this Thursday, if that’s at all possible.’

Two days.

‘Would you be able to make it for eleven a.m.?’

She would. Of course she would.

‘Yes, of course.’ She’d have to play a sickie, but she’d do it, needs must. Gemma would cover for her, for sure. ‘That’ll be fine.’ Oh My God, she’d have to prepare herself more this time, apply immediately for a course for her food and hygiene certificates, and find some other evidence of how fantastic she might be … but what? Oh well, she had two days to think about it. Google was going to get a lot of hits.

‘Well, that’s good. We were impressed with you at the interview.’ It sounded like he was smiling.

You were?

‘And we just want to find out a few more details. Check your experience, perhaps get a couple of references, that kind of thing.’

Ah, the one second of elation was replaced by a sinking feeling at his last words. She wondered if Kirsty at the café would give her a reference, make her sound more experienced than she was.

Mum poked her head out from the living-room door, eyebrows raised. Ellie made a small thumbs-up gesture and then tilted her head sideways with a jerk, indicating the phone call was still ongoing, as if to tell her to disappear.

‘Right, well that’s settled, Ellie. We’ll see you on Thursday at eleven, then.’

‘Yes … and thank you.’ She hung on the line, heard the click and silence. It wasn’t a yes by a long way, but it was a definite maybe. Impressed – the word swum in her mind. And she’d thought all she’d done was gabble on like a loony at the interview.

She did a little dance into the lounge, where Jason lay draped across a sofa and her mum was making a pretence of watching the telly, ‘Well, then?’

‘It’s a maybe,’ she sung, ‘Guess who’s got a second interview?’

Jason managed a nod and the word ‘Cool’. Mum was more cautious, ‘Well, that’s good news, pet,’ adding, ‘Now don’t get your hopes up too high,’ with a knowing smile.

Ellie was undeterred, skipped out into the hall, punched the air and then wondered how the hell she was going to keep up the good impression with virtually no experience and no qualifications to show for herself. Her skipping slowed.

3

Ellie

Sickie pulled, she was heading north again. Ellie turned off the A1, away from the trail of lorries and cars, driving one-handedly at times, the other securing the cake box that sat on her passenger seat as the lanes got more winding. The box contained the choffee cake, Nanna Beryl’s special recipe, that she had created last night. A batch of cherry-and-almond scones, baked fresh at six-thirty this morning, were nestled in a tub in the foot well.

She’d thought and thought about how she might impress Lord Henry and Joe, but with her ‘on paper’ lack of experience, the only thing she could come up with was to take a sample of her baking along with her and suggest a spot of ‘afternoon tea’ at eleven o’clock. It was her best shot.

Ellie had turned to Nanna’s recipe for ‘choffee cake’ in her hour of need, mixing and baking, and decorating it with fat curls of white and dark chocolate and those lovely dark-chocolate-covered coffee beans (her own tweak on the original recipe). She had been up until the early hours, as the first attempt hadn’t risen as well as she wanted. Her mum appeared in the kitchen in her dressing gown and slippers, bleary-eyed, wondering what the heck her daughter was doing at one o’clock in the morning still cooking; she had thought they were being burgled. Oh, yes, she was an intruder bearing a palette knife and chocolate buttercream, Ellie had joked.

Anyway, there she was driving rather precariously along the lanes, whilst securing her precious cargo. There was no way she was going to risk the whole lot sliding off the seat, down into the foot well, ending up a smashed mess.

She was on a long straight now and she relaxed a little. The panorama panned out ahead of her; sheep were scattered across rolling green fields, clusters of small villages, the foothills of the Cheviots. Cattle were languidly grazing, the odd shaggy head lifted and gazed across their domain. Could it be her domain? For a city kid she was curiously drawn to the countryside. When she was smaller the family used to come up for picnics to the Ingram Valley once or twice a year, park the car on the chewed-down grass of the river bank and spend the day in shorts and T-shirts paddling in the icy brown waters, damming up a small pool area. Finally coming out, to be wrapped in towels when the shivers struck, to munch away on cheese-and-ham sandwiches and packets of Mr Kipling angel slices or mini apple pies (her mother had somehow missed the baking gene). They’d often track down some other kids along the river bank and have a game of bat and ball or rounders, if there were enough of them. Then, the hour back down the road to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, tired and happy, leaving the sheep and the bracken in peace once more.

Her little Corsa wound its way down into the valley below, through a small village: stone cottages, a village pub, a friendly nod from an old man with his dog. She’d bet they all knew each other around here. Turned off at the sign for Claverham Castle.

That was when the nerves hit.

How the hell was she going to convince them that she could run a successful teashop and afford to pay the lease, when she wasn’t even sure of it herself? She didn’t even have any qualifications. She’d been chatting with Kirsty at her café, and she knew some of the basic health-and-hygiene and food-handling requirements from when she had worked there that time. And then there was the health and safety side of things to consider, customer service, staff issues – it seemed a bloody minefield. If she hadn’t spent half the night baking these bloody cakes, and the thought of her mother’s ‘I told you so’ ringing in her ears as she landed back at Fifth Avenue, then she might have turned around right there and then.

Thankfully her optimistic alter ego took over, in fact the voice in her mind sounded very like Nanna Beryl’s, ‘You’ve got this far, girl, keep going. Just try your best and see what happens’ and the warm flicker of her dream gave her the courage she needed to drive on. Turning into the castle driveway, she slowed instinctively to take it all in this time. Crocuses and snowdrops lined the grassy verges, making way for the tight yellow-green buds of daffodils just about to bloom; she’d hardly noticed these a few days before. Tall gnarled trees lined the track, dappling the road with shadows and light. Then the majestic outline of the stone castle itself, curls of smoke from a couple of its chimneys, the turrets along the rooftop. It was regular in shape, four storeys high with the main door bang smack in the middle and four square towers securing its corners; like a castle a child might draw. She wondered briefly what might have happened between its ancient walls, what trials and tribulations – the joys, the pain, loves, births, deaths?

And her own little bit of history about to unfold, would she ever be back? Was there a glimmer that her future might be here, for a while at least? What would it feel like to come here every day to work, to be baking cakes and scones, prepping sandwiches and soup in the kitchen, serving customers, dealing with Lord Henry, Joe? Her heart gave a tentative leap. If only she’d get the chance to find out.

She parked up, gave her hair a quick brush, then twisted it into a loose knot and popped it up in a clip at the back of her head. The last thing she wanted was a stray strawberry-blonde strand attaching itself to the chocolate buttercream of her pièce de resistance. She’d decided on wearing a dark-grey trouser-suit with flat black suede shoes this time – the high heels having proven tricky before, and she was going to have to carry the choffee cake and scones.

There was no sign of Deana or anyone at the front steps, so she would have to carry the goods all by herself. She took one last look in the rear-view mirror, slashed a little gloss over her lips. She’d have to do, it was ten to eleven, so she’d better get out and get on with it. Deep breath. Car door open. Check for muddy puddles – all clear. Phrases she’d practised were whizzing through her head, the likes of ‘I am organised’, ‘a team player, with leadership skills too’, ‘able to take the initiative’, ‘sole responsibility of bistro/café’, ‘good business mind’ (passed GCSE in business studies, got a B no less). Walk round car. Open passenger door. Hang the bag of scones from wrist. Lift cake box very carefully. A slow shift of the hip to close the passenger door. Proceed with caution to castle steps.

The main door was closed. There was an old-style bell button apparent, but how the hell was she going to press it without dropping the cake? She was starting to feel flummoxed when a crack appeared between the two heavy wooden doors. A gruff male voice said ‘H’lo?’ The crack widened to reveal a young man with a gappy grin and shorn-short hair, dressed in camouflage-style jacket and trousers.

‘Hello, there, it’s Ellie.’ She was just about to add that she was here for an interview when Deana appeared at the lad’s shoulder.

‘Ah, Ellie, lovely to see you.’ She was smiling broadly. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, James, let her in. And maybe give her a hand with that box. You can see she’s struggling.’ Deana’s tone was bossy but not unkind; it seemed the young man needed help to understand what was required of him. Though he looked adult physically, there was something in his face, his eyes, that suggested to Ellie that his mind wasn’t quite as advanced.

He made to grab the box. Ellie didn’t want to reject his help but urged, ‘It’s a cake, be careful with it. Please hold the box flat, thanks.’

He nodded, holding the box like a fragile gift, his eyes lighting up at the word ‘cake’.

Deana smiled again, ‘If it’s to be cut and there’s any left later, we might just save you a bit, James, if that’s alright with Ellie?’

‘Yes, of course. I thought it might be a good idea to show Lord Henry a sample of the kind of things I’d like to be baking for the teashop.’

‘Hmn, now that sounds good.’

They followed Deana into the courtyard and then into what seemed to be her office on the ground floor. It was small and crowded with files and paperwork.

‘Can I have a peek?’ Deana asked.

‘Yep, go ahead.’

Deana got James to lower the cake down onto her desk, then Ellie lifted a corner of the lid. They all peered in.

‘Wow! That looks amazing. Well, there goes my diet if you get the job. I’ll not be able to resist. It looks a darned sight better than anything Cynthia brought out at the end of last year when she was standing in, I must say.’

James stood there gazing in, eyes wide. He looked like he might actually drool.

‘I’m sure there’ll be some spare, James. Just ask Deana later,’ Ellie said.

He grinned widely, showing the gap in his front teeth.

‘Right, I’ll just give Lord Henry a call and see if they’re ready for you yet,’ said Deana.

Ellie felt the nerves tightening inside her. The clock on the wall said five to. James was standing quietly.

‘Thank you, James. Why don’t you go and see Colin in the yard. He had some wood for you to chop for kindling.’

The young man nodded and left, with a last longing look at the cake box. Once he was out of earshot, Deana began to explain, ‘He’s a nice lad. Lives in the village. He had an accident on one of the farms when he smaller, never been quite the same since. He’s a hard worker, mind. Lord Henry likes to give him some work when he can.’

That seemed a nice thing to do. Her opinion of Lord Henry lifted. He didn’t seem quite as scary.

As Deana dialled through, Ellie looked around the office. There was a portable gas heater that looked like something out of the seventies; she seemed to remember Nanna having a smaller version in her flat years ago. A romantic novel was open, pages splayed face down, on the antique wooden desk; it looked as though Deana had been reading just before Ellie had got there. There was also a mobile phone, a computer monitor, a small framed photo of what looked to be Deana and her husband, and a half-empty cup of coffee with a pink lipstick mark on the rim. Behind Deana’s head, on the wall, was a pen-and-ink print of the castle in former days, and a stuffed red squirrel in a glass box. The room was a curious combination of old and new.

‘Just letting you know that Ellie Hall’s here.’ Some muffled words came back down the line, ‘Okay, I’ll send her up, then.’

Deana gave a small thumbs-up signal, then placed the handset down.

‘You’re on. Good luck, pet. Can I give you a hand up those stairs with that cake? And I’ll make a fresh pot of tea and coffee and bring them up after, shall I? I assume you’ve brought the cake and scones to try, they’re not just for looking at?’

‘Yes, that was the idea. Thanks, Deana, that would be lovely. Perhaps if you can take these scones, I’ll manage the cake.’ She didn’t want any accidents at the last.

‘Of course.’

Ellie sensed that she had someone on her side. Back across the courtyard they headed up the stone tower, Deana first, to the second-floor study again. Ellie took each step cautiously. She was glad of the black polo neck she’d popped on under the grey suit, and the cerise-pink scarf gave her a splash of colour as well as warmth – she was learning.

Well then, this was it, Round Two.

‘Good luck.’ Deana’s smile was warm and genuine as she knocked on the office door, opened it, and gestured for Ellie to go in. Ellie tried to look her most confident, smiling as she placed the box carefully on Lord Henry’s desk. Both he and Joe raised their eyebrows inquisitively. Joe then gave her a small grin. She felt a little flip inside. Deana said she’d be back with some tea and coffee, taking the scones back with her to plate up. The two men stood up at the same time. They were roughly the same height. Lord Henry shaking Ellie’s hand first, ‘Good morning, Ellen.’

‘Morning.’ She still didn’t have the nerve to correct him. Then she turned to Joe.

‘Welcome back,’ the younger man’s tone was warm as he took her palm in his own for a second or two, which gave her a weird, tingly feeling, probably just the nerves. ‘Did you have a good journey?’ he continued.

‘Oh, yes, fine.’ She held back a grimace; if only they could have seen her wrestling with the cake box around the corners. ‘Except for some interesting cake-balancing in the lanes at the end,’ she added, deciding to break the ice with some humour.

‘Aah, I see.’ Lord Henry smiled.

‘Hmn, I hoped there might be something along those lines in there.’ Joe was smiling too.

Yaş sınırı:
0+
Hacim:
303 s. 6 illüstrasyon
ISBN:
9780008125394
Telif hakkı:
HarperCollins
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