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The Cosy Teashop in the Castle: The bestselling feel-good rom com of the year
Caroline Roberts
‘Cakes, castles and oodles of charm: this book is huge fun and pure escapism’ Cathy BramleyCan Ellie bake her way to a happy ever after? A deliciously heartwarming novel for fans of Lucy Diamond and Milly Johnson.When Ellie Hall lands her dream job running the little teashop in the beautiful but crumbling Claverham Castle, it’s the perfect escape from her humdrum job in the city. Life is definitely on the rise as Ellie replaces spreadsheets for scones, and continues her Nanna’s brilliant baking legacy.When Lord Henry, the stick-in-the-mud owner, threatens to burst her baking bubble with his old-fashioned ways, Ellie wonders if she might have bitten off more than she can chew. But cupcake by cupcake she wins the locals over, including teashop stalwart, Doris, and Ellie’s showstopping bakes look set to go down in castle history!Now all that’s missing in Ellie’s life is a slice of romance – can Joe, the brooding estate manager, be the one to put the cherry on the top of Ellie’s dream?





Copyright (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2016
Cover design by Alexandra Allden © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover images © nPine / Getty Images (girl at cafe); iStock.com (http://www.iStock.com) (landscape);
Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com) (all other images)
Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
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whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008125417
Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008125394
Version 2016-07-19

Dedication (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
For my wonderful friends.
And for anyone who ever had a dream.
‘Our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them’ – Walt Disney
‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams’ – W. B. Yeats

Table of Contents
Cover (#u6e71fc1c-a8a8-5d34-87ef-84e043a9771d)
Title Page (#ua527e978-2363-5535-86a7-5622286eaf6d)
Copyright (#u18e707ed-a598-5d3b-b20a-77c29b759c2c)
Dedication (#ua60bbefe-e60c-5120-91cb-29f28479ac93)
Epigraph (#u0d1a24e5-ff35-552b-b895-d93598e8f00f)
Chapter 1 (#u0ad66f1e-5f7c-597a-9819-898d072e345b)
Chapter 2 (#uf5ab2cb7-a701-5bdc-b0f8-703c19df70fb)
Chapter 3 (#u613632c0-5573-5f29-aceb-3b36781ee074)
Chapter 4 (#u0f35e782-6995-5b4e-8e5f-f8a08832ad79)
Chapter 5 (#u8f0e4895-2a07-5f98-8f69-a60b5872bc25)

Chapter 6 (#ube5ab2ce-4cb9-5187-b006-36b31ec5ad34)

Chapter 7 (#u85cce103-3394-51d3-b75d-fe0192284ee8)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Also by Caroline Roberts (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

1 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
Ellie
Talk about flying by the seat of her pants. She hadn’t really expected an interview. The ad had caught her eye in the Journal, and well, she’d been fed up, felt messed about by her twat of an ex, her bore of a job and fancied a change – of life, scenery, postcode, you name it.
So here she was, driving her little silver Corsa up the estate driveway that was lined by an avenue of gnarled-trunked, centuries-old trees. Her stomach did a backward flip as the castle came into view: blonde and grey sandstone walls with four layers of windows looking down on her – Claverham Castle. Did people really live in places like this? Did people really work in places like this? She felt like she’d driven onto the set of Downton Abbey or arrived in some fairytale.
The woman at the huge arch of an entrance did not look like someone from a fairytale, however; huddled in a huge fleece, dark jeans and wellington boots, and having a sneaky fag. She popped the offending item behind her back when she spotted Ellie pulling up on the gravel, but the wispy trail of smoke in the cool March air gave her away.
Okay, breathe, Ellie, breathe.
A quick check in the rear-view mirror. She hoped she still looked half-decent. She found her lippie and interview notes in her handbag, and tried to convince herself exactly why she was the right person to take on these tearooms as she popped on a slash of pale-pink gloss. It had all seemed such a good idea two weeks ago when she’d spotted the ad in the local press: ‘Leasehold available for Claverham Castle Tea Rooms for the Summer Season.’ A place to escape, and the chance to achieve the dream she’d harboured for years, running her own café, baking to her heart’s content, and watching people grin as they tucked into fat slices of her chocolate fudge cake or strawberry-packed scones. A chance for change. So this was it! She sooo did not want to mess this up.
Her heart was banging away in her chest as she opened the car door. She stepped out with a pretence of confidence, aware of the woman still standing at the top of the steps. Sploosh! She felt a gloopiness beneath her feet, looked down. Shite! Her black suede stilettos were an inch-deep in mud and an attractive poo-like blob had landed on the right toe area. So much for first impressions.
She tried a subtle shoe-scrape on the grass verge, plastered a smile on her face and made her way to the castle entrance. A biting wind whipped at her honey-blonde hair, which she’d carefully put up in a topknot back at home in Newcastle-upon-Tyne this morning. Her black trouser-suit teamed with silky lime-green blouse was no match for the freezing cold. She hugged her arms around herself and headed for the door: a vast wood and iron creation – no doubt designed to keep out hairy, aggressive Border Reivers centuries ago.
The lady raised a cheery smile as Ellie approached, ‘Hello, you must be here for the interview with Lord Henry.’
‘Yes.’ She reached out a trembling hand in greeting. ‘Yes, it’s Ellie Hall.’
‘Nice to meet you, Ellie. I’m Deana.’ The woman shook her hand warmly. She had a kind face, looked in her early fifties, with grey hair that hung in a grown-out bob. ‘I’m Lord Henry’s PA, well dogsbody really. S’cuse the attire, casual at the moment till the open season starts again. It gets bloody freezing here. Come on through, pet.’
Ellie relaxed a little; she seemed friendly. She followed Deana through the massive door to a stone inner courtyard, the sky a square of azure above. Wow – it was like some Disney set. And then into a circular stairwell that wound its way upwards – Sleeping Beauty or Rapunzel could well be at the top of that.
‘There’s no guests here at the moment,’ Deana spoke with a gentle Northumbrian lilt. ‘We close until Easter. So it’s quiet. Come the spring, it’ll be buzzing again. Well, kind of crawling,’ she added with a wry grin, as though visitors were a necessity to be put up with rather than welcomed.
Ellie was offered a seat on a chair with a frayed red-velvet pad, positioned outside a closed door, which she imagined must be for Lord Henry’s office. She could hear muffled voices from inside, formal tones.
Deana asked if she’d like a cup of coffee while she waited, said she wouldn’t be long, and then disappeared back down the stairs. Ellie gathered her jacket and her nerve; it was bloody draughty there in the corridor.
Various artefacts stared down at her from the stone walls: black-and-white photos of the castle, the stuffed head of a weasel, or so she thought – ginger, hairy, teeth-bared, it looked pretty mean – a pistol in a glass case like something Robin Hood might whip out: ‘Stand and deliver’. This was so unlike her white-walled, MDF-desked insurance office, she felt she’d been shuttled back through time.
A scraping of chairs brought her out of her reverie. Footsteps, the door opening, and out came a plump middle-aged lady, dressed smartly in a Christmas party jewelled jumper kind of way, thanking the gentleman for his time, adding she hoped she would be back soon. She smiled confidently (almost smugly) as she spotted Ellie sitting there. Lord Henry, for that’s who she thought the man must be, was smiling too. ‘Yes, lovely to meet with you again, Cynthia. I’ve been impressed with your work for us in the past, and we’ll be in touch very shortly.’ His tones were posh and plummy, the vowels clearly enunciated. It all seemed very amicable, and very settled. Ellie felt her heart sink. Was she just being thrown in the applicant mix as a token gesture?
Deana appeared at her side with a tray and coffee set out for three – perhaps she was staying for the interview. She ushered Ellie into the wood-panelled office.
Well, this was it. Ellie took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Now that she sensed she hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of getting the tearoom lease, she suddenly realised how very much she wanted it. It was what she’d been dreaming of for years whilst stuck answering call-centre queries for insurance claims in a vast, impersonal office. She absolutely loved baking cakes for friends and for family birthdays. Her football party cake for her Cousin Jack had gone down a treat, and a champagne-bottle-shaped chocolate cake that she did for Gemma, her close friend at work, had led to a flurry of special requests. Oh yes, she’d offer to fetch the doughnuts and pastries for the office at morning break, standing in the queue at the baker’s savouring the smells of fresh bread and cakes, wishing she could be the one working in the bakery instead.
Deana set the coffee tray down on a huge mahogany desk, which had a green-leather top. It looked big enough to play a game of snooker on. She smiled encouragingly across at Ellie, then left the room.
Lord Henry had a slightly worn, aristocratic appearance. He looked in his sixties and was dressed in beige corduroy trousers, a checked shirt and tweed waistcoat. He stood to greet her from the other side of the desk, offering a slim hand, shaking hers surprisingly firmly, ‘Lord Henry Hogarth. Please, have a seat, Miss …’ he paused, the words drifting uncomfortably.
Great, he didn’t even know her name. ‘Hall, Ellie Hall.’
‘Well, Ellen, do make yourself comfortable.’
She was too nervous to correct him.
He poured out two coffees and passed her one, pouring in milk for her from a small white porcelain jug. She took a sip; it was rich and dark, definitely not instant, then she sat back in the chair, trying to give the air of cool, calm and collected. She was bricking it inside. She hoped her voice would work normally. As Lord Henry took his seat on the other side of the immense desk, she tried out the word ‘Thanks’. Phew, at least she could speak, though she noted that her pitch was a little higher than normal.
‘So, how long have you worked in the catering industry, Miss Hall?’ He leaned towards her, rubbing his chin, his brown eyes scrutinising.
She froze, ‘Ah … Well …’ About never. Seat of the pants didn’t even cover it. What the hell was she doing here? ‘Yes,’ she coughed into her coffee, ‘Well, I’ve had a few years’ experience.’ Baking at home, for friends, birthday cakes, cupcakes, Victoria sponges and the like, not to mention her ‘choffee cake special’. And, yes, she made the tea and coffee regularly at the insurance office. ‘I have worked in a restaurant.’ Saturday-night waitressing as a teenager at the Funky Chicken Express down the road for a bit of extra cash. ‘And I have managed several staff.’ Where was this coming from? She had trained another waitress in the art of wiping down tables. Though, she had filled in that weekend for her friend Kirsty at her sandwich bar, when Kirsty’s boyfriend went AWOL.
Ellie thought that had planted the seed. She’d loved those two days prepping the food, making up tasty panini combinations – her brie, grape and cranberry had been a hit. She’d warmed to the idea of running her own company after that, spent hours daydreaming about it, something that involved food, baking ideally, being her own boss. That, and her nanna’s inspiration, of course, lovely Nanna. Ellie remembered perching on a stool in her galley kitchen beating sponge-mix with a wooden spoon. Nanna had left her over a thousand pounds in her will – it would give Ellie the chance to cover this lease for a couple of months. Give her the time to try and make a go of it. She was sure Nanna would have supported her in this venture. Ellie would have loved to have turned up at her flat for a good chat about the tearooms and her ideas to make the business work, over a cup of strong tea and a slice of homemade lemon drizzle. But someone else was living there now, the world had moved on, and Nanna too. She really missed her.
Ellie managed to smile across at Lord Henry, realising she ought to say more but not quite sure what. How did you capture those dreams in words?
‘And if you did take on the lease for the tearooms, Miss Hall, how would you propose to take the business forward?’
‘Well …’ Think, think, you’ve been practising answers all night, woman. ‘I’ve had a look at the current income and expenditure figures, and I’m certain there’s room for improvements. I’d bake all my own cakes and scones. I’ll look carefully at pricing, staffing levels, costs and the like, offering good-quality food at a fair price for the customer, and keeping an eye on making a profit too. But, most of all, I want to give people a really positive, friendly experience so they’d want to come back … And, I’d like to try and source local produce.’
Lord Henry raised a rather hairy grey eyebrow. It sounded stilted, even to her.
At that, there was a brusque knock on the door. It swung open. ‘So sorry I’m late.’ A man strolled in. Wow, he was rather gorgeous, in a tall, dark-haired and lean kind of way. He offered an outstretched hand to Ellie as he walked past her chair and acknowledged Lord Henry. He looked late twenties, possibly early thirties. ‘There was a problem with the tractor,’ he offered, by way of explanation, ‘She needs a major service, but I’ve got her going again for now.’
He had a firm grip, long fingers and neat nails.
‘Miss Hall, this is Joseph Ward, our estate manager.’
‘Hello.’ Ellie smiled nervously. Another interrogator.
The younger man looked back at her with dark-brown eyes, his gaze intent, as though he were trying to suss her out. Then his features seemed to soften, ‘Joe, I prefer Joe.’ A pointed glance was exchanged between the two men. Ellie sensed a certain tension, which had nothing to do with her. Joe sat down, angling his seat to the side of the desk. There was something about him that reminded her of the guy off Silent Witness, hmm, yes, that Harry chap, from the series before, with his dark-haired English-gentleman look. He must be over six foot, on the slim side, but not without a hint of muscle beneath his blue cotton shirt, which was rolled up to the elbow and open at the neck. He looked smart-scruffy all at once.
‘Sorry if I interrupted you there. Please carry on where you left off.’ His voice wasn’t upper class despite his appearance, having the Geordie lilts of her home town. He smiled at her.
On closer inspection she noted that his eyes were a deep brown with flecks of green. Her mind had gone blank. What the hell had she been talking about?
‘Local produce?’ Lord Henry prompted.
‘Oh, yes, I’d certainly look to use the local farmers’ markets and shops to source good local food.’
‘Hmn, sounds a good idea,’ Joe nodded.
‘Well, Mrs Charlton, the lady who’s been running the tearooms announced her departure rather suddenly,’ Lord Henry took up, ‘She’s had the lease here for the past twelve years and we were rather hoping she would be back to start the season again in a month’s time. With Easter being at the end of March this year, we would need somebody quickly. Would that be a problem for you?’
‘No, at least I don’t think so. I’d hand my notice in at work straight away. I’m meant to give a month, but the company owes me some holiday, and I believe they are usually quite flexible.’ Did that actually mean Lord Henry was interested in her? What about Supercook Cynthia from earlier?
‘So, what is your current position, Ellie?’ Joe looked right into her eyes as he spoke, unsettling her. He wasn’t going to miss a trick, was he? Damn, and it all seemed to be going so well.
Deep breath, how to phrase this one? ‘Ah-m, well, I have been working as an insurance administrator. But, as I was explaining to Lord Henry, I have been building up my experience in the catering industry over many years. My friend owns a bistro, where I regularly help out.’ Fill in sandwich bar here. ‘And I have worked at a local restaurant.’ Funky Chicken, as a waitress, the heckler in her mind added. She was losing her nerve rapidly.
‘I see.’ Joe was mulling her words over, rubbing his fingertips across his chin, definitely unconvinced.
‘Ah, right. Well then. I see.’ Lord Henry was cooling too.
‘And what formal qualifications do you have in catering, Ellie?’ Joe.
She began to feel sick. None, I have none. Her voice came out small, ‘I haven’t anything formal other than the standard health and hygiene requirements.’ Liar, liar pants on fire. Well, she’d be getting those as soon as possible. ‘Much as I’d have loved to, I haven’t trained professionally as a chef.’ A lump stuck in her throat. She knew she shouldn’t have come, what had she been thinking? The dream was slipping away …
‘But,’ she had to grasp at something, tell them how much this meant to her, ‘I want this more than anything. The admin, the insurance role, that’s just a job, a means of earning money. But I’m passionate about my baking. I cook fabulous cakes and pastries and scones. That’s not just me saying it, either, my family, my friends are always asking me to bake for them. I can make soups and quiches. I’ve wanted to run my own tearooms since I was a little girl.’ The words were gushing out now. ‘Just give me a year. Give me this season and I’ll show you. I can turn the business around, pay you a good lease, and attract more people to the castle to do the tours that I notice you do. We could plan themed open days. I could cook medieval-style food,’ She wasn’t even sure what kind of food ‘medieval’ might be. ‘Try cream-tea afternoons. Link up with local charities, host a fundraiser, a summer fete. Halloween, why not? It looks spooky enough here.’ She ran out of steam then.
Joe was giving her a wry smile. She wasn’t sure if he liked what he heard or was thinking that she was totally bonkers. Where had all that come from? She hadn’t actually thought of any of it till now; it certainly wasn’t what she’d been rehearsing in her head all night. Some last-ditch chance at getting hired, probably. A final fling at her dream or else it was back home. Home wasn’t so bad, to be fair. Her mum and dad were great, but it was a narrow life, living in a brick-built semi in Heaton, and working in an office block in the suburbs of Newcastle. She couldn’t afford her own place. Well, not now anyway. That particular dream had been ransacked by Gavin-bloody-tosser-Mason. She needed this so badly, this new start. And a castle, surely, wasn’t a bad place to begin.
They were staring at her, an awkward silence forming around them. Then Lord Henry stood up, indicating that it was time for her departure. ‘Well, thank you for taking the time and effort to come all this way, Miss Hall.’
There was no ‘We’ll be in touch very soon’ like good old Cynthia had. Though Joe did add, ‘We’ll let you know something in the next week or so. We do have several candidates to see and there may be second interviews.’ He stood up, his hand outstretched. His fingers clasped warmly around her own.
‘Yes, we’ll be in touch.’ Lord Henry gave an inscrutable smile.
Out in the cool corridor, Deana caught up with her. ‘Do you want to have a quick look around the kitchens, the tearooms? Get an idea of what you’re in for?’
‘Okay, yep, that’d be good.’ Go on, just dangle that carrot, show her everything she was about to lose.
They wound down the stone stairwell. She could almost imagine an old witch up at the top with a spinning wheel; all ready to prick the girl’s finger, send her to sleep for a hundred years, and then there’d be her knight in shining armour galloping in to kiss her awake again. It happened like that in fairytales, you see, oh yes, those heroic men would hack down a forest just to get to you. Where were all the heroes nowadays? She sighed – she’d obviously been fed too many Disney movies as a child. Back out to the courtyard again and in through a heavy wooden side door that opened with a creak into the kitchen. It was big, very big, with rather drab mushroom-grey-painted walls; you could cater for a function easily from here. Weddings and parties were flitting through her mind. It had obviously been designed for bigger things than a tearoom. She wondered if it had been the original castle kitchen, but there were no signs of anything pre-seventies, really, no old ranges or copper kettles, no Victorian bells lined up on the walls for the staff (Downton was still flitting around her head), just practical stainless-steel work surfaces, a two-sided sink, huge oven, modern microwave, fridge, chest freezer and dishwasher.
Deana waltzed through, pointing out the various equipment, apologising for the general state of the place, explaining that Mrs Charlton, the previous lease-owner, had left in a hurry at the end of last season, only recently announcing that she wasn’t coming back – some family crisis, apparently.
On closer inspection the walls were a bit greasy-looking, and the convection fan had a layer of tar-like grime; it needed taking down, scrubbing and bleaching. But Ellie didn’t mind a spot of cleaning.
There was a narrow passageway leading from the kitchen. Deana set off, Ellie following her through to the tearooms themselves. Now this was back in time, a real contrast to the kitchens. History smacked you in the face – high stone walls, leaded windows, a massive fireplace; they’d need whole tree trunks, not logs, on that grate. A huge pair of antlers was fixed high above the hearth; that would have been one hell of a scary deer, like something out of the ice age. Deana was chattering on about how different it was when the visitors were there.
‘Are they real?’ Ellie asked, looking up at the antlers.
‘Replicas, I believe, but the originals were from a real animal, fossilised. Can’t tell you when they were dated, but, yeah, that would have been a brute of a beast, wouldn’t it?’
‘You’re telling me!’ It was like Bambi on steroids.
The corridor had taken them from twentieth-century kitchen – it hadn’t quite reached the twenty-first yet, back to some sixteenth-century vault. Well, the tearooms certainly had character: reams of it. There were about ten dark-wood tables with chairs, their floral-patterned seat pads frayed. It was an amazing place, but it all looked rather unloved.
Even so, she could picture it there with the fire on, posies on the tables, the smell of home baking, friendly waitresses in black skirts, white blouses and frilly aprons, and herself cooking away in the kitchen, doing plenty of Nigella spoon-licking, having to test all the cakes personally, of course – Ellie’s Teashop.
Back in the car a few minutes later, she realised she was trembling. Maybe it was just the Northumberland March chill. Or perhaps it was the fear that this was the last she might see of this place. She wanted this so much.

2 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
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 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
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 pallet 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.
‘Well, I thought you might like to actually taste my work, rather than me just tell you about it.’ Cos there isn’t much to tell. ‘Give you an idea of what I might be serving in the tearooms, should I be lucky enough to obtain the lease.’
They were nodding as though that were a good idea, so Ellie warmed to her theme, ‘Well, anyone can say they’re a good cook or baker, but as my Nanna always used to say, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating”.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Lord Henry.
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door and Deana reappeared with a tray laden with a teapot, cups and saucers, the scones piled enticingly on a plate, with a mountain of butter in a dish beside them, forks, tea plates, the works.
‘Thank you, Deana,’ Lord Henry’s tone was warm but still formal.
Ellie took this as the cue to unbox the choffee, spotting that Deana had thought to bring both a cake slice and large knife. ‘Wow!’ Deana exclaimed convincingly, despite having already seen the cake, ‘That looks amazing. You lucky devils.’ She grinned at the two men, in a show of envy.
Thank you, Deana. Ellie appreciated the support.
‘Well, I’d better be on my way. Enjoy. It looks delicious.’
Ellie sliced the cake carefully. It was deep, moist and very chocolatey. The chocolate-coffee frosting was more or less intact, as were the chocolate curls and decorations, even after the zig-zag journey. ‘Would you like to try some?’
Her hand was trembling a little as she placed a slice onto a tea plate.
‘Certainly,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Yes, please,’ Joe added.
‘Choffee cake,’ she announced, ‘A favourite family recipe.’
The ‘mmns’ that accompanied their eating cheered her, though she had no appetite and hadn’t taken any for herself, her stomach still suffering from the nerves that had gripped it for days now. Joe poured them all some tea.
The two men sat back in their chairs after polishing off the slices of choffee. Then the more intense questioning began.
‘Right then, Ellie, what do you know of the health and safety and good hygiene requirements for running a catering outlet?’ Joe. ‘And do you have the relevant certification to show for this?’
Gulp! Hold your nerve, girl.
‘What experience do you have of dealing with and managing staff?’ Lord Henry.
‘How will you keep an eye on the accounts side of the business?’ Joe.
‘Have you taken any business advice?’ Joe.
Questions were fired like bullets. She tried her best to answer honestly yet positively. It was like an interrogation, far more searching than last time, and Ellie’s initial confidence surge from the high of the cake-tasting was plummeting fast. But she did have some kind of answer for every question: the nights spent fretting had meant she’d already gone over much of this in her mind, and she’d done a lot of research in her breaks at work. Yesterday, she had also got in touch with the small business advisor at her local bank for advice. Google had helped no end, too, and what she didn’t yet have in the way of certification she’d already got her name down to take as soon as possible – her only white lie of the interview.
By the end of all the questions her head was spinning, she felt drained and was wondering once again how the hell she ever thought she could run a teashop? Having a dabble on Google, getting some advice and making a decent choffee cake didn’t amount to a lot.
The interview drew to a close after she’d had the chance to ask some questions herself. She’d remembered to ask about the terms of the lease and how that worked. How long it would be for? (One season, initially, as a trial, from Easter through to the end of October.) And she asked if there were any tearoom staff expecting to return to their jobs from last year? She’d need help with waitressing at least. There were two apparently: Doris and Nicola. Ellie thought she saw Joe’s face look a little strained as he mentioned Doris.
As they stood to shake hands, the interview drawing to a close, Ellie felt utterly exhausted.
‘Thank you for taking the time to come along today,’ Lord Henry’s words and thin smile were unreadable – Ellie reckoned he’d make a great poker player.
Joe’s dark eyes held a flicker of warmth as their hands connected in a farewell grasp. ‘The cake was delicious,’ he said encouragingly. She managed a hopeful smile back. She stared a second too long, lost to the green flecks amongst the intense deep-brown of his irises, then stood back as his grip released.
Cool, Calm, Collected – her mantra back in place. ‘Thank you very much for asking to see me again,’ she managed, ‘I look forward to hearing from you.’

4 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
Joe
Well, he hoped Lord Henry wasn’t going to be a stick-in-the-mud about this one … That cake was bloody delicious. She could cook, she seemed organised, had good ideas for the future of the business, she was intelligent, hardworking … and, she was pretty. Yes, she was attractive, wasn’t she – lovely green eyes and that honey-blonde hair piled on top of her head. He wondered what it would look like loose, how long it would be? Christ, what was the matter with him, thinking about her looks? Anyway, that was all beside the point, though being attractive would certainly help draw in the clients. Definitely be more damned appealing than that Cynthia-bloody-Bosworth woman, with her hips that stuck out at right angles to her body: she could probably use them as trays. And, it wasn’t as though they’d had a queue of applicants for the job.
Oh, but Henry could be so bloody-minded and set in his ways, insisting on carrying on with the ‘same old’ just because it had always worked alright. Alright? Didn’t he want anything to work better? Joe felt that for the past four years he’d been trying to drag his boss kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century, when in fact Henry was only just getting used to the twentieth century. He’d only just managed to persuade him to get Deana a computer three years ago. There had been paper ledgers and everything was being handwritten, which wouldn’t have been quite so bad if Lord Henry’s handwriting had been legible in the first place. Deana had done her best to get the administration in order, but Joe had realised that much of the paperwork had been left to flounder when Lady Hogarth had passed away.
One of the earliest tasks that Joe had set himself was to set up a website and get the castle some internet presence – other than the tourist information centres and the occasional drive-by, no one really knew they existed – which was probably how Lord Henry preferred it. But the castle needed income, and quickly, if it was going to survive. A chap called Michael, from a marketing company in the nearby town of Alnwick, had helped set up the website and designed some new brochures and adverts to attract the tourists. Trying to get Lord Henry to realise that most businesses these days had a web presence, and to commit some funds to that, was like drawing blood from a stone, but he and Michael got there in the end.
Everything seemed a battle, but over time Joe had learned how to handle Henry – introduce the idea and the reasons why it would be beneficial, for example, why they should take Ellie on, and then leave Henry to it, so in time he began to think it was his own idea after all. The ‘gently, gently’ approach seemed to work, and ‘slowly, slowly’ … but they didn’t have a lot of time with this one, Easter was less than three weeks away. The tearooms would need a freshen up before opening, staff would need to be in place, deliveries supplied … There was a massive amount of work to do in a short time.
‘So what do you think?’ Joe put the question out there as the two of them sat in the study after the interview.
‘Hmn, I might just have another slice of that cake. It was rather good, I must say. But I do still have one or two reservations. She seems very young and there is a real lack of experience there.’
‘But the cake’s pretty damn good, isn’t it, and the scones? She’s proved she can cook. I can always advise if there are any management issues. At the end of the day we need good food, good service and a clean venue. And if the food is right, then people will come along, recommend us and come back. That’s what we need.’ He was sticking his neck out. But he really didn’t want to be dealing with Cynthia, her grumpy attitude and her tasteless lumpy cakes. She’d covered a couple of weeks last year when Mrs Charlton had taken a fortnight off for a bunion operation. And in that short time she’d managed to upset the waitresses, Doris and Nicola – though upsetting Doris was an easy enough thing to do – not to mention a couple of their regular customers.
‘Ellie is pleasant, she seems well organised, a hard worker, ambitious, with some good ideas too,’ he continued.
Lord Henry gave him a sour look. Dammit, he realised he’d overstepped the mark. New ideas were always suspicious to Henry. They were not tried and tested.
‘And how will a young girl like that manage the staff?’
‘She’s worked in a team for a long while, and seems to have managed well when she had responsibility for her friend’s café. And anyway, it didn’t take Cynthia very long to upset Doris and Nicola, did it?’
‘Hmmn,’ was the answer he got. Then Lord Henry started with, ‘Cynthia doesn’t need to give notice.’
‘Well, that’s only because she’s unemployed at the moment. So that’s the best reason to take her on, then, is it?’ He couldn’t hide the hint of sarcasm in his tone. ‘Look, I think Ellie will be good. I like her,’ were Joe’s final words on the matter.
Lord Henry merely pressed his lips together.
There was no more to be said just now, so Joe got up to leave. The older man was never going to make a decision that quickly, not with the girl just five minutes out of the room. Joe was already by the door. He turned, saying, ‘We can’t leave it too long, Henry. We’ve interviewed them both twice now, and it’s not as though there’s a queue of applicants. Easter is just over three weeks away, and I don’t know how to cook a batch of scones, do you?’ He challenged his boss with a stare, as if to say over to you, but I’ll be arguing my case.
Lord Henry’s stare back didn’t falter, ‘I’ll see.’
Deana came in through the part-open door to clear the crockery. Joe guessed that she was rooting for Ellie too. Hopefully she would set to work on Lord Henry as well. A double-pronged fork action – that might just do the trick. But he could be such a stubborn old bugger. Joe was sure Deana had warmed to Ellie; the way she had helped with the tea and coffee, laid out the scones. She was on Ellie’s side. The last thing she would want was another bossy middle-aged woman in the castle … She was enough herself, and would be the first to admit it!
‘We’ll speak later.’ Joe walked on out the door. He had loads to do. He was getting a new flyer made up to distribute around other local attractions and the tourist information centres. He needed to organise an advert too for the local Gazette as they were doing a special ‘What’s On Over Easter’ section. And he had to call in some contractors to look at repairs to the roof after last week’s storms; some missing tiles had caused a leak in the Edward I Room. God, this place was falling apart, and, boy, did they need to pick up their visitor numbers this year and improve their income! The repairs and staff bills alone would eat up any chance of a profit they might make. And the farm side of the estate was only just covering its costs. Yet he’d grown fond of this place, this crumbling crazy castle that he thought of as home, and had built up over these past four years. He didn’t want to see it fail now, be sold off to some property developer and made into flats. Surely Lord Henry didn’t want that either, but the whole damn place was at risk of turning to dust.
Joe wound his way down the stone stairwell and headed for the great hall, which was the quickest way to get across to the opposite wing, where his own office and apartment were. There were two huge fireplaces in the hall, and an immense mahogany table that virtually filled the room. There must have been thirty-six chairs set at it. Deana would lay it all out with crockery and glasses just before the Easter visitors were due, ready for the banquet that never happened. The tourists could only look at it. But why couldn’t it be used, why couldn’t they move on to doing functions; weddings? Ellie seemed the sort of ambitious businesswoman who could drive that forward; the castle might be able to do function catering. That would surely bring more income in. Yes, they’d get booking fees, they might even let some of the bedrooms out as guest suites and bring these rooms to life once more. Give this place a future not just a past.
But would he ever manage to persuade Lord Henry?
*
Five days … five days it had taken, of arguing his case, then backing off a bit. The ‘softly, softly’ approach. But they were desperately in need of getting someone into the position. Lord Henry couldn’t make any decision in a hurry, oh no, and the poor girl and that awful Cynthia woman were left hanging by a thread, no doubt wondering what was going on.
Well, at least he was making the call now.
A lady answered the phone, middle-aged by her tone, definitely not Ellie. He introduced himself and then heard her shout away from the receiver but still pounding in his ears, ‘It’s for you, Ellie. That Joe chappie from the castle, I think.’ Must be her mother, he mused, with a wry smile.
He was sure he heard a little squeal in the background, of excitement or fear; he wasn’t certain. It made him grin. He could picture her dashing to the phone – it was a nice image. He couldn’t help but notice at the interview that she had generous boobs, they were sure to be bouncing.His heart rate cranked up. God, what was he thinking? He was usually very professional about these things, and he would continue to be. Image removed promptly.
‘Hel-lo,’ her pitch was higher than he remembered. She sounded nervous.
‘Hi, Ellie, it’s Joe Ward here. I’m just calling to let you know …’ He sensed her holding her breath. He could drag this out, but that wouldn’t be fair on the girl. ‘Well, I’d like to offer you the lease on the Claverham Castle Teashop for the season.’
Silence for a second, then her voice, ‘You would?’
‘Yes, I would.’ There was a hint of amusement in his tone.
‘Oh … My … Goodness.’
It wasn’t quite the response he’d expected, but it made him feel good, nonetheless. He’d obviously just made her day. And her genuine enthusiasm and warmth gave him even more confidence in his decision, though she’d have an awful lot to pick up in a short space of time … but he could help; he’d seen how the tearooms had worked over the past couple of years, and the improvements she could easily make. As the landlord, and his experience in running the estate, he knew the ins and outs of health and safety, insurance requirements and the like, he could put her on the right track. And then … functions … the future. His mind was rolling along. Yet, there was no further response down the line. Was she still there?
Come to think of it, she hadn’t actually said ‘yes’, had she? ‘Oh My Goodness’ wasn’t exactly a yes, he realised. ‘Would you like some time to think about it, Ellie?’
‘Oh no, well yes. The answer’s definitely yes.’
‘Great … Well, we’d like you to start as soon as possible, to get things up and running before the Easter weekend opening. But I realise you will probably have to work some notice with your present company.’
‘Oh, I’ve already looked into that. I officially have to give a month, but I had an off-the-record chat with my supervisor, you know, just in case, and I’m already owed a week-and-a-half as holiday, so she said she could let me go in two weeks. That’d mean I could be with you at the castle a week before the opening weekend.’
She seemed to have thought things through and be organised. He was pleased she was already living up to expectations.
‘Okay, well that should be enough time to get the place ready, just,’ he added with a smile.
‘Great.’
‘And if you have any particular questions and queries in the meanwhile just give me a call. I deal more with the day-to-day running issues at the castle, so best to ask for me rather than Lord Henry.’
* * *
Ellie
Any questions or queries? My God, she had a running list in her mind … But they wanted her, she had the lease. Wayy-hayyy! She was having trouble keeping still, bouncing on her toes in the hallway of their terraced house. She was going to be her own boss, under the watchful, not unattractive, deep-brown eyes of Joe Ward, and she was going to be working and living (hopefully!) in … a … castle. Were there any pressing questions? She couldn’t possibly ask all the ninety-seven that were bouncing in her head!
‘Thanks … Actually, yes, there is something. You mentioned at interview there might be accommodation with the role. Umn, is that still the case?’
‘Oh.’ He sounded as if he was thinking on the spot. ‘Well, we can sort you out with one of the guest rooms in the castle. I’ll get Deana to get it all organised for you. Does that sound okay?’
‘Ah, yes … And would that be included in the lease payment, or will I have to pay extra as rent?’ She was a little concerned as to how far Nanna’s money was going to have to go.
‘Umn, maybe a nominal fee but nothing too much, don’t worry. I’ll have a quick think on it and let you know, if that’s alright.’
Again she had the feeling he was thinking on his feet. The previous tearoom leaseholder had probably lived locally. This seemed to be a new prospect for him.
‘Okay, well thank you. And thanks for giving me this opportunity … I won’t let you or the castle down.’ She had the feeling it was more his decision than Lord Henry’s that she had the offer. She just hoped that in reality she could keep that promise.
‘I have every confidence in you, Ellie. We’ll speak again soon.’
‘Thanks again. Bye.’
‘Goodbye, Ellie.’
Oh wow, she was going to be living in a castle in two weeks’ time. She was bouncing again. She suddenly felt like Cinderella.

5 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
Ellie
‘Just one more flight,’ Ellie tried to sound cheery against the noise of her father’s huffing and puffing. She had rather overloaded that case. Thank heavens he was well built and strong, but she’d need plenty of clothes, and the jumpers and cardigans were essential this time of year, especially here.
It was cold and draughty in the stairwell, though her dad was dripping with sweat, balancing her massive suitcase against his broad chest as he wound his way up the spiral staircase to her room. Jason was following with a huge black sack of shoes, and her mum was tottering behind with a cardboard box full of kettle, mugs, tea, coffee and basic food essentials to start her off.
Deana had showed Ellie and her family up to her new lodgings ten minutes earlier. They all stood nodding appreciatively, taking in the room. It wasn’t hotel grade, but it wasn’t bad, considering Joe had asked a mere £100 a month for it – which was some relief. It was a medium-sized bedroom with a high ceiling, white-painted walls, a double bed with black-metal bedposts (like something out of Mary Poppins), a simple dark-wood dressing table and stool, wardrobe, cosy armchair in burgundy velvet – there seemed to be a lot of red velvet around the place – that had seen better days but was extremely comfy when she tried it out, and a small fireplace that was set with kindling and coal but not lit. The only other source of heat was a solitary Victorian-looking radiator that was merely lukewarm. Dad set about trying to adjust the valves, letting some air out with a radiator key he’d had in his coat pocket – the joys of being a plumber.
In all honesty, the room was a bit drab and Mum looked nonplussed. The small window served to highlight the fact it was grey and drizzling outside, and that didn’t help matters either. But Ellie was determined to stay positive, setting out a few nick-nacks from her room at home, and installing a small TV on the end of the dressing table (was there an aerial point?), and she had her new double duvet to put out (thank heavens she’d gone for the toasty twelve-tog). She’d chosen red-and-cream country-style plaid covers with red scatter cushions to match. It’d be fine. She’d make it feel homely.
Deana had set out a kettle and tea bags, mugs and biscuits for them. Ellie was touched by her kindness. It was lovely that she’d made such an effort to welcome her.
‘Thanks for the tea stuff,’ Ellie remarked later, passing her office with armfuls of gear.
‘Oh that’s no bother, flower, thought you’d need a cuppa after tripping up and down those stairs with all your stuff. Do you need a hand with anything?’
‘We’re fine, thanks,’ Dad answered, passing by with a stack of DVDs. ‘We’ll manage won’t we, Son,’ he clipped Jason’s ear, who shrugged his shoulders with embarrassment.
‘Okay, then. But if there’s anything you need, Ellie, just pop in and give me a shout. Joe’s about somewhere too. I expect he’ll drop by at some point. And really … don’t be afraid to ask if there’s anything you want, or we can help you with. Welcome to Claverham Castle.’
Dad and Jason headed back to the car to unload the next lot of luggage, while she and her mum took the new bedcover set out of its packaging, tugging it over the duvet and pillowcases.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be alright here?’ Sarah began tucking the sheet in, muttering ‘Well, this has seen better days,’ as she eyed the mattress with caution.
‘Of course, Mum. Look, it’s what I really want to do. And I just need a change, to get out and do something different. I’ve never really enjoyed the insurance job.’
‘Well yes, maybe with everything that’s happened these past months … I can see that, but to move right away, from your family and everything. Won’t it just make things harder?’
Ellie didn’t answer that question. She wasn’t sure whether it would or not yet. ‘I’ll show you the kitchen and teashop before you go.’ She quickly changed the subject. ‘So you can see where I’ll be working.’
‘Oh, pet, I do hope it all works out for you. But you know you can always come back if it doesn’t. It’s such a way out up here. Won’t you find it lonely? You know your dad and I can be here within the hour if you need us.’
‘Mum, thanks for your concern but I have a car, I’ll not be stranded and there are other people here. It’s not just me. It’ll be fine, I promise.’ And even if it wasn’t, she wasn’t going to be giving up any time soon; she’d already promised herself she’d stick the full season out, whatever happened.
A black sack on legs wobbled at the door. ‘Give us a hand, Ells, this weighs a ton.’ Jason nearly fell into the room. It was her books and CDs. She loved reading and had a great selection of cookbooks, baking manuals and, of course, her nanna’s beloved Be-Ro book (that one was packed safely in her case). She managed to catch the front of the bag from Jason before they all tipped out. Dad appeared with a second suitcase, more clothes; she’d packed for winter, spring and summer, though summer seemed a long way off. On a day like today it was hard to imagine the castle as anything but cold and grey.
‘I’ll make us some tea then, shall I?’ her mum popped the kettle on, while Ellie checked out the adjoining room – she’d spotted a white wooden door, thick with layers of paint, leading off from the bedroom. It opened onto a small shower room, with a basic white sink, shower cubicle and loo – at least she had an en suite. Very posh. On closer inspection, the cold tap on the sink had evidently dripped over the years and left a metallic green trail on the porcelain. The window had condensation inside, and there didn’t appear to be a radiator in there – that didn’t bode well. It’d be freezing of a morning, for sure. ‘Bathroom,’ she announced chirpily as she stepped back out.
They had tea and biscuits – three of them perched on the bed, Dad in the armchair – chatting on inanely about the castle. It’s just so old, Mum kept repeating. What did she expect? Her family commenting on her room – general consensus not bad, the weather, the journey. Then they had a quick tour of the castle, via the rooms Ellie had already seen, on the way to the tearooms.
She stood there, bigging up the huge kitchen space she had to work in, and explaining that it would all look different out front in the teashop when it was up and running. It had an air of shabbiness about it at the moment that certainly wasn’t shabby chic. She made a mental note to go and buy new oilcloths for the tables and some posy vases – for spring flowers on each table – that would perk things up a bit for the customers on the Easter weekend. She tried to distract her mother from the grimier parts of the kitchen – buying disinfectant, rubber gloves, and scrubbing the place from top to bottom would be her main priority tomorrow. Ooh, and placing an order for all the food she needed for the coming week (she had no real idea of quantities – she’d ring Kirsty in the sandwich bar later). Joe had mentioned in a phone call that they used Breakers for most of the supplies, and that they delivered daily. She wondered where he was – hadn’t seen anything of him as yet today. She had so much to think of, her mind was spinning.
The time was approaching for her parents to leave, the late-afternoon light thinning outside, and Ellie began to feel a little strange. She’d holidayed with friends before, been away from home for the odd week or two, but had never lived away for any real time. Okay, so she was twenty-six, and for all her bravado that she was doing the right thing and would be fine, it still felt odd. An elastic twinge of vulnerability pulled inside.
‘Well then, lass, we’d better be setting off shortly.’ Her dad grasped her to him in a big bear hug. Oh shit, there was a mist of tears in her eyes, better not let Mum see, or they’d have her whisked back home to safety in the back of Dad’s van.
‘Yes, pet. It’ll be coming in dark soon enough,’ her mother agreed, ‘We’d better be going. Now, are you sure you’ve got everything you need?’
‘She’s brought half the house, Mam. We’ll probably find we’ve got nothing left when we get home,’ Jason joked, softly punching his sister in the ribs.
They left the dim light of the tearooms and walked out into the courtyard and towards the main doors. The elastic band in her gut was pulling tighter.
‘Make sure you ring, now, and tell us how you’re getting on. We want regular updates,’ Mum said, her voice waivering.
‘I will, of course.’ Stay cool, calm, collected.
‘And you’ll pop home and see us sometimes too.’ Dad’s eyes looked a bit misty.
‘I promise. I’m only an hour away, and I’m sure I’ll get the odd day off. Once I’ve settled in and got things up and running, I’ll come and see you all.’
‘See ya, Sis.’ Jason put an arm about her shoulders with a squeeze.
There was a knot forming in her throat now.
‘Oh, and we’ll come up to visit you too, no reason why not,’ Dad grinned. ‘Come and sample the food here! It’d better be good,’ he laughed. Then he began fishing in his back pocket, pulling out banknotes. He counted out a hundred pounds and handed it to Ellie. ‘Just in case, pet.’
‘Oh, you don’t need to, Dad. I’ve got savings.’
‘I know I don’t need to pet, but I want to. Take it.’
‘Aw, thanks, Dad.’
‘Where’s mine, then?’ Jason jested.
‘Yours can wait till you leave home. It might give you an incentive. Just think of the peace and quiet we’ll get then, hey, Mam.’
They all laughed, a little too loudly, anxiety feeling its way through the four of them. The family dynamics were about to change.
At the main castle door now, Ellie pulled across the heavy metal bolt, turned the latch. And there she was, on the threshold of her new life. Hugs, kisses and ‘Byes’. They were walking away, the rest of her family, back to Dad’s white work van. Waves and more goodbyes shouted from wound-down windows, a toot of the horn, and she watched with a lump in her throat and tears in her eyes as the van got smaller and smaller, until it was swallowed up by the vast tree-lined driveway.
Well, that was it. She was on her own now, and she had to make damned sure this new life and her teashop dream worked out.

6 (#ulink_6fef7a5f-a119-5a73-8ca2-c33fa81958d1)
Ellie
She was lying on the bed, having emptied one case, which filled the whole wardrobe before she had even opened the second. She had crammed her books onto two shelves that were set into an alcove in the wall, the overflow pile stacked under her bed. Hmn, storage was going to be an issue.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ her voice sounded strange and echoey in this high-ceilinged room.
Joe popped his head around the door. ‘Only me! Just thought I’d see how you were settling in. Sorry I didn’t get chance to come a little earlier and meet your family. Deana said they’ve gone now. I got held up – bit of a problem down on the farm.’
So, there was a farm to deal with on the estate too; Joe must have a lot to keep up with here. He was hovering on the threshold. She suddenly felt awkward lying there on the bed, so sat up briskly, ‘Come on in.’
He walked to the armchair and perched on the edge of it as though he didn’t intend staying long. ‘Is the room okay? Do you have everything you need?’
‘It’s fine, thank you.’
‘I’m afraid you might find it a bit chilly. The central heating system’s a bit antiquated through the castle, seems to have a mind of its own. There is the coal fire. I’ll get James to fetch you up some more coal and logs if you’d like.’
He must have spotted the blank look on her face. She hadn’t a clue how to keep a fire going, she was worried she might end up setting the room alight – they had an electric flame-effect affair in the lounge at home in Heaton, and toasty hot radiators throughout.
‘Actually, I’ll bring you down the electric heater from my office – that’ll take any chill off.’
‘Oh no, it’s fine. You might need it.’
‘It’s okay. I’m hardened to the cold by now. No, I’ll bring it across, honestly by the morning you’ll be glad of it.’
‘Okay, then, thank you.’
‘Well, we’ll have a proper meeting tomorrow, talk about the tearooms, any questions you might have, information you might need, all that kind of stuff. For now, I’ll let you settle in. Oh, and if you want to cook for yourself just go ahead and use the kitchen in the tearooms. And if you think of anything else, or you need anything, my rooms are on the floor above you, this wing. Just go one more flight up the staircase and knock on my door. It’s got a sign saying Keep Out on it.’
She laughed, ‘That sounds very welcoming!’
‘Oh yes,’ he grinned. (He had a lovely smile, which made his eyes sparkle, she mused.) ‘Well, that’s just for the tourist season, they tend to wander off the recommended route in the guide book and get everywhere, and think they can barge in wherever they like just because they’ve paid a fiver to get in! You might think about getting a sign for your door before the weekend, and don’t forget to keep it locked once we’re open. Other times it’s fine, you can trust the staff here with your life, they’re a great bunch, but the tourists …’ He shook his head, but was still smiling.
He seemed much more friendly now they were out of interview mode, Ellie noted. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ She smiled back.
He stood up, as though he were about to leave.
‘Oh, Joe, is there a TV point or anything?’
‘There is an aerial socket in the corner here.’ He pointed behind the small table, where Deana had left the kettle and cups. ‘Good luck with reception, though. It’s a bit hitty-missy.’
Sounds like the bloody radiators, she thought. ‘Okay, well, I’ll give it a go and see how I get on.’ What the hell would there be to do here of an evening if there was no telly? Well, at least she had her iPod and laptop. There was always iPlayer. And then another thought dawned on her, ‘Any wi-fi?’ Please, please.
‘Now, there you are in luck. But only because you’re in this wing, Lord Henry doesn’t have a computer his side of the castle, but I’m pretty sure the wi-fi router from my room will connect through down to here. Try it now and we’ll see.’
She took up her laptop case and started the computer up. As she tried to get into the internet there, to her delight, was the wi-fi symbol, and a message asking her for a password. Joe spotted it and then his cheeks seemed to colour. He said nothing for a second or two, just gave her a funny look.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘You need a password.’
‘Okay, and?’
He pulled a face, ‘Okay … it’s Batman.’
She stifled a giggle.
His brown eyes crinkled with an embarrassed smile. ‘Well, don’t you like Batman? Those films are great.’
In fact, she had liked the films, when she was about twelve. But she just hadn’t expected a superhero crush from him and not at thirty, or whatever age he was. But it made her smile widen, shifting her view of him from the nice, slightly scary and far-too-intelligent boss as per the interviews, to someone far more human. As she shrugged her shoulders with a grin, he ducked for the door. ‘Okay, well, I’ll fetch that heater for you.’
Later that evening, she lay in bed, with her zebra-print onesie on and thick socks. It was bloody freezing in that room – the radiators must go off at night. If she got out of bed, she could put on the electric heater that Joe had brought down for her. But she didn’t fancy getting out at all, the cold air would blast her the minute she lifted that duvet, so she just snuck further down under the quilt, listening to the lonely sound of an owl hooting. There had been a weird cry outside earlier, too, probably a fox or something. It was high-pitched like a baby’s wail. Ooh, she hoped the castle wasn’t haunted – don’t be daft, she chided herself, what a load of old nonsense. Get to sleep, Ells-bells. Jason’s nickname for her floated around in her head. You’ve got a big day ahead.
She lay there thinking, finding it hard to settle. It was nice that Joe had given up his heater for her. She liked him. He actually seemed quite down to earth and approachable, was probably very clever and had a nice smile. She remembered the Batman thing and grinned in the dark. As she thought of him, a warm glow flooded her. It surprised her. It was the first time she had felt that in an absolute age. Oh well, there’d be nothing in it, of course: a) there was no way she was going anywhere near men or relationships for the foreseeable future, and b) he was her landlord and they’d be working together – and getting involved in the workplace was never a good idea, a total no-no in her book. Gemma at work had done the boss thing at her previous workplace – big mistake – ended up having to give up her job in the end, all got far too messy. And the ‘man’ thing, well, she didn’t want to dwell on that. Onwards and upwards, or as bloody far away from all that relationship stuff as possible. Still, a little glow in Joe’s presence might be allowable. Just in terms of eye candy, that was all. But what she really had to concentrate on was getting the teashop venture up and running and making a success of it.
There was just so much to organise: clean the kitchen from top to bottom – main priority tomorrow – then meet up with Joe and go through everything. She’d need to order food in and ingredients, find the local suppliers, check if there was crockery and cutlery to use, buy those oil-cloths she fancied and find some posy vases and a florist to supply flowers, something cheap to cheer up the tearooms, bake like a mad thing, menus – bloody hell, yes, she’d need menus – she’d have to draft something on her laptop, meet the waitressing staff, the list droned on in her fractious mind. And she only had four days in which to do it! Tomorrow was Monday. They opened to the public on Friday at ten o’clock, Good Friday. It’d be Easter weekend and Go, Go, Go! Aaagh! Had she bitten off so much more than she could chew?
She finally got off to sleep in the early hours, to the sounds of the owl hooting away like her night watchman, rain tapping on the glass and the drumming of her heart.

7 (#ulink_a9a9afba-9ef1-58fa-a018-369a84063cbb)
Ellie
She was up a ladder, yellow rubber gloves on, washing down the tiled walls that were grimed with a layer of cooking grease. She’d found an old-fashioned portable radio that had been left on a shelf and had tuned in to Radio 1, and set herself up with a large bucket of steaming water and disinfectant, some all-purpose cloths, a mop, and currently Ellie Goulding as background music.
The check list of to dos was still running through her mind. She needed to plan her menu ASAP. She’d keep it simple for now – test the waters, see what sold, make homemade soups, jacket potatoes, paninis and sandwiches, a selection of her yummiest cakes, scones, yes, and maybe some cookies. Exactly when she was going to actually bake all these before Friday she wasn’t quite sure, but as her baking needed to be fresh she could envisage a very long day and night on Thursday.
She scrubbed away, humming, taking a scourer to the particularly gungey bits. Her mind was back on the food order. What quantities would she need? Bloody hell, she didn’t have a clue. Twenty jacket potatoes, thirty, fifty? Paninis – twelve, thirty-six, seventy-two? She may as well put the numbers in a hat and do a lucky dip. She suddenly felt extremely naïve and unprepared, and had a little wobble on her ladder. Right, focus. She’d check how often the suppliers delivered – see if it was just the weekend she was catering for, and she could ring her friend Kirsty at the café. She’d surely have some idea.
She could speak with Joe, but she didn’t warm to the latter idea, not wanting to appear inept before she even got started. She didn’t want him to regret his decision to back her.
One wall scrubbed and finished, Ellie was on tiptoes by the window, trying to get a signal on her mobile phone.
‘Hi there, Kirsty.’
‘Ellie, is that you? Hi, how’s it all going out in the sticks? Are you up and running yet?’
‘Friday’s D-Day. Look, are you busy? I just need a bit of advice.’
‘No, I’m okay for a sec. My customers are all served. Fire away.’
‘It’s the ordering – likely numbers I’m catering for, what to buy in? I haven’t a flippin’ clue. I can’t believe I’m such a numpty.’ She could hear her mother’s warning tones, I told you so, running in her ears.
‘Ok-ay,’ even Kirsty sounded as though she wondered what the hell Ellie had taken on. ‘Right, well, look you’ve got to get an idea of numbers of customers to start. Decide on your menu, and then I can help with what to order. But yeah, numbers, bums on seats … Did you get any paperwork or accounts when you applied? Can you get figures now?’
‘Umn, well I have the accounts. The Easter figures looked pretty good, but how the hell do you convert pounds profit into how many bloody jacket potatoes and cakes sold?’
‘Hmn, right. Well, they must take a record of visitors to the castle, surely? If I were you, I’d ask if they have some idea how many people tend to call in at the tearooms. It’s worth a try, and should give you some indication at least.’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘And buy in stuff that won’t spoil too quickly or can freeze. You can even freeze some of the cakes if need be, as soon as you’ve baked them, so they’re nice and fresh. Take them out as you need.’
‘Okay, that sounds a good idea.’
‘Oh, hang on … Yes, sorry, a latte … and a cappuccino, no problems. If you just take a seat I’ll bring them over … Ellie, sorry, I’m going to have to go. Ring me back in a while, and try and get that info.’
‘Will do, thanks.’ Right, she needed to have a word with Joe, or maybe Deana. It looked like Deana took the admissions for the castle; her office was right on the main gate. Ellie was seeing Joe shortly anyhow, but how could she confess to not having a clue about the ordering? Oh well, she’d scrub the next kitchen wall, that’d be two out of the four done, and then make herself a cup of tea. She’d take five minutes time out to think carefully, and write down a list of everything she needed to ask Joe, to get herself organised. Ooh, and she’d have a look and see what kind of freezer and fridge storage they had. She’d noticed a couple of big chest freezers out in the corridor as well as the one in the kitchen; they must be to do with the tearooms.
She went out to the hallway. Jeez! They hardly needed freezers out here, it was bitterly cold. She opened the lid of one of them. Jesus Christ! What the hell was that? She dropped the lid down in shock, pinching her finger in the seal. ‘Shit!’ Then raised it slowly again, just a few centimetres, peering in tentatively. Well, that certainly wasn’t loaves of bread or spare milk!
Antlers – it was friggin’ antlers! Attached to fur and a head. Some poor deer, by the looks of it, its head sealed in a clear plastic bag. What the hell? It made her feel sick. Bambi’s bloody dad was stuck in her freezer. What was with this place and deer? Ice Age Bambi on steroids in the tearooms and now this. At least it wasn’t a human body, she mused. Well, that was certainly going on Joe’s list for the one o’clock meeting: freezer space, why the hell is there a beheaded deer in what I presume is one of the tearoom freezers, and please can it be removed to make way for my paninis and spare milk? Back to the task in hand. The disinfectant was beginning to smart her eyes by the end of the third wall. She was sure she’d reek of it. She was going to mop the lino floors with some bleach next, and then she’d have another cup of tea and add some more to that list.
Deana popped her head around the door. ‘Hi, Ellie, how’s it all going?’
‘Not bad thanks. I’m on a major cleaning session.’ She clambered down off her ladder, happy to have a short break. Ellie mentioned the visitor records. It was a relief to find they did take that information, and Deana promised to get it ready for her in time for her meeting with Joe. One hurdle over at least. But she had a feeling there were going to be plenty more.
‘Have you got time for a quick cuppa?’ Ellie offered.
‘Only if you have, pet. Looks like you’ve got a lot on.’
‘Well, five minutes won’t hurt, and I was ready for a cup anyhow. I’m parched and my tongue tastes of disinfectant.’
‘Okay, then. Thank you.’
Ellie popped the kettle on and set out a teapot for the brew.
‘Deana, do they have any strange habits here I should know about?’ She was still thinking about Bambi’s dad out in the corridor.
‘Oh, yes, for sure. Lord Henry’s often a little quirky, but are there any particular ones you’re interested in?’ Deana had a wry grin on her face.
‘The freezer, that’s all. There’s something unusual in there.’
‘Oh God! He’s not saving stuff for the bloody taxidermist again, is he? What’s he got in there this time?’
Ellie wasn’t even sure what a taxidermist was – not someone who gave you a lift anyhow, but she had a feeling Deana knew exactly what was going on.
‘Animal?’
‘Yep.’
‘Which?’
‘Deer. A stag I think.’
‘Ah, it’ll be for stuffing and wall-mounting, not my kind of thing. But each to their own. It’s a country, hunting thing. But I’ve told him before not to use the bloody tearoom freezers. It probably didn’t fit in his own, that’s all.’
Hunting trophies. Collecting animal heads. That was just weird. Country life was certainly odd!
They had a quick cup of tea and a nice chat, Deana mentioning some of the other castle workers who she might meet in the coming days. Then she said she’d better be getting on, and leave Ellie in peace.
‘Just give me a shout if you need anything, though. Ring a nine for the office.’
‘Okay, thanks, Deana. Will do.’
Then Ellie set herself away with the mop and bucket once more.
It was five to one, and she realised she hadn’t had any lunch and her whole body was aching. She still had the two ovens to clean, the microwave, and then all the working surfaces needed a thorough going-over with antibacterial spray. But it’d have to wait till later in the afternoon now. She needed to see Joe – armed with her million and one questions. She peeled off her rubber gloves, already with a sticky leak in the right index fingertip, and set off across the courtyard, up the stairs, past her own room and up again.
Standing before the Private Keep Out sign, it dawned on her, unfortunately just after she had knocked, that she was wearing an old tracksuit sporting bleach marks and her hair was scraped back in a ponytail. Damn.
His ‘Come in’ was formal. He was on the phone as she went in, so she took the seat opposite him quietly and looked around the room, pretending not to be listening in. It was more modern than Lord Henry’s office, the desk more like something from Ikea than the Georgian period. The room was tidy, there was a small grey-and-brown tartan sofa set to one side, the desk with in-tray, laptop, phone and pen, his black leather chair, and another comfy black chair where she sat down. The shelves on the back wall held a neat selection of books: Business Management, Stately and Country Homes, a few crime thrillers, mountaineering, skiing, no Batman annuals that she could see – hah! There was a door ajar off to another room. She wondered if he had a suite, and if that might lead to his private quarters.
His voice raised. She turned her focus back to him. He looked rather stern. ‘What do you mean you can’t come until Friday? That’s too late. We’re open then. The contract clearly states you would be here to do the work on the Wednesday.’ He listened a while, raising his eyebrows in frustration at Ellie as a tinny voice rattled on. Then Joe stated, calmly but with a don’t-mess-with-me tone, ‘Look, I don’t care what your issues are at that end, I need the service I have paid you for and I need it by Wednesday afternoon at the latest. Ring me back when you’ve sorted it out.’
He switched off the phone, looking right at Ellie, ‘Incompetent buggers.’
Ellie broke into a nervous smile. She wondered if she might be placed in that category very swiftly, especially when he realised she didn’t have a clue about how much food to order in.
‘Right, sorry, we’ve a lot to go over, haven’t we?’ Luckily his grumpy mood had dissipated, and he seemed fairly patient with her as she ran though her long list of queries. He had questions to ask her too: yes, she had organised the public liability insurance, costing her an arm and a leg, yes, she’d contacted the two existing waitresses, who were coming in tomorrow afternoon to make themselves known to her, and to chat about their role.
He brought out two sheets of A4. ‘The admissions figures for the Easter weekend last year. Deana said you wanted them?’ His last comment came out as a question.
She gulped back a little knot in her throat; did she dare explain her ordering dilemma? But surely it was better to be honest now than cock up the whole launch weekend by either over- or under-ordering.
He was gazing intently at her, as if he was waiting for her to say something. Eventually he spoke first, ‘And you’ve got the phone number for Breakers, the suppliers, haven’t you?’
‘Yes,’ her voice was timid, on the brink of her revelation that she was an incompetent fraud.
His dark eyes fixed hers.
‘Okay,’ she started tentatively, ‘I have a bit of a confession, I’m really not sure what quantities to order in.’ So there it was, her lack of catering experience out in the open. He’d probably rue his decision now; they’d have a dreadful Easter, the food would run out and he’d be left handling numerous complaints … She could see it all now. He’d have to cancel her contract and that’d be it.
‘I see.’ He ran his fingers through his dark floppy fringe and let out a slow sigh, a look of concern crossing his brow. ‘Ellie, I thought you had experience in catering? You’d certainly led us to believe that in the interview.’ He paused, while she sat feeling more and more uncomfortable. ‘Well, those figures will tell you who came into the castle but not who ate at the tearooms or what they ate. I’m afraid I don’t have the details of the previous tenant’s ordering.’ He held her gaze, then continued, ‘We really need the tearooms to run well over Easter. It’s the reputation of the castle that’s at stake.’
‘I know.’ Her voice was small. She felt terrible.
‘Ellie, I’ve gone out on a limb here to secure you the tearooms’ lease.’ He was frowning.
Okay, well there was no need to be quite so miserable about it. She was new to all this and had never pretended to be Jamie Oliver or anything. ‘I was only asking for a bit of advice.’
He said nothing, just looked at her.
‘Right, well I’ll just find someone else to ask. I do have other contacts.’ She got up to leave. She’d sort it somehow.
‘Ellie,’ his voice stopped her at the door, ‘What I’d suggest is when you call up Breakers, who incidentally supplied us last year as well, you ask if they keep details of back orders and find out exactly what was ordered for last Easter. I’m sure they’ll have that information.’
She felt the heat flush up her neck. Could it really be that easy? And why the hell hadn’t she thought of that? What an idiot. It seemed obvious now. She wondered what he must think of her. Totally inept came to mind. Though his opinion was hard to read. He seemed to have a deeper side to him that shielded his emotions, but at least he was trying to help her, if only to save his own bacon in front of Lord Henry.
‘Oh, and get a little more of everything in just in case,’ his tone lifted. ‘I’ve got a feeling your food’s going to be far more appealing than Mrs Charlton’s last year,’ he added, which made her feel marginally better. ‘Okay, well, if there’s nothing else, I have a rather busy afternoon ahead.’
‘Actually, there is one more thing. I was going to ask you about the freezers. Are they for the tearooms? The ones out in the corridor next to the kitchen.’
‘Oh, yes. They are yours to use.’
‘Right, well, there is a bit of a problem with the far freezer?’ She paused, ‘A problem with antlers on. I mentioned it to Deana when she popped in earlier.’
‘Oh, Christ, it’ll be Henry’s hunting trophies again, for sure. He shot a stag on the estate last month. I bet he’s waiting for the taxidermist to collect it. I’m sorry. I’ll get it moved … I’m never quite sure what he’s going to do next. Eccentric doesn’t cover the half of it,’ he grimaced.
‘Thanks. And look, I–I’m sorry about the confusion with the ordering, I’ll be fine once I get everything up and running.’ She stood, crossing her fingers behind her back.
‘Yes, well let’s hope so.’ He echoed her concerns. His confidence in her had obviously been dented. Well, she’d just have to prove herself, wouldn’t she? Get this first order right. Cook some great food, and keep the customers happy.
‘Right, well, I suppose I’d better get back to my cleaning duties. I’m on to the ovens now.’
‘That won’t be a pleasant job, for sure. Oh, and I hear you’re meeting with the waitresses tomorrow. Best of luck.’ He said no more as she rose to leave.
Hmn, would she be needing luck with that, then?
She’d made a batch of cherry-and-almond scones: a) to test out the kitchen ovens, which seemed to be fine, except the main one had a mind of its own when you were trying to put stuff in or out – the door swinging to a close (she had the burn mark on her forearm to show for it), and b) to offer to Nicola and Doris, her waitressing staff, as a welcome gesture. They were due to appear any minute for a quick hello and general introduction before they started work officially on Friday morning. Ellie felt nervous; she wasn’t used to dealing with staff, well not as the boss, anyhow, and wanted to appear friendly but also efficient.
She was testing out the ancient filter-coffee machine that looked like a relic from the seventies, when there was a brusque knock on the teashop door.
‘Come on in,’ she called.
A fifty-something, short-but-wide lady marched in, with brown, grey-tinged hair set in a rounded bob, wrapped up in several layers of winter clothing, followed by a timid-looking girl of no more than nineteen, who was tall, slim, with curtains of straight dark hair that flowed past her shoulders – she had the palest skin.
Ellie smiled and said ‘Hello’ as she offered her hand to greet them, ‘I’m Ellie.’
‘Doris,’ the older lady announced. She took Ellie’s hand with quite some grip, ‘And this is Nicola.’ The young girl didn’t get chance to introduce herself. Her handshake was gentle. As she looked up, Ellie saw she had the most amazing blue eyes; with her dark hair she looked unusual. She had a gothic air about her, and more than a hint of Morticia. Well, they were certainly a contrasting pair. As long as they worked hard for her, that was all that mattered.
‘Right, well, nice to meet you both. I was just trying to work out the coffee machine here. I’ve made some scones. I thought you might like something while we have a quick chat. They’re cherry and almond.’
‘Hmn,’ Doris’s nose was raised, sniffing out change. ‘Vera Charlton used to make sultana or cheese scones, traditional she was,’ her tone was accusatory, ‘Had a lot of experience.’
‘Well, they sound nice. I’ll try one.’ Nicola was more positive, at least.
‘Okay, I’ll just get this coffee on.’ Ellie fiddled about with the old-fashioned coffee maker, trying to work out where you poured in the water. She’d filled one of the two glass jugs, and placed the empty one on the hot plate, she’d even found some sachets of filter coffee left in the kitchen, only just in date, and a couple of filter papers.
‘I’ll do it, shall I?’ Doris muscled in, with a tut, her tone not in the least bit patient. ‘Look, the water goes in there, Missy.’ There was some kind of grated hatch at the top.
And Missy? Ellie tried to keep her tone light. ‘Okay, yes, I see. Not used one of these before. Right, I’ll fetch the scones, shall I?’ This wasn’t going quite as she had planned.
Doris had taken her Michelin-man padded coat off by the time Ellie got back with the scones and butter, all laid out nicely on a tray. The coffee was filtering through, and Ellie popped scones onto plates, setting out the nearest table for the three of them. As they sat down, Doris announced, ‘I’d rather tea with scones,’ with a bright, testing smile on her face.
Ellie had the feeling she was being played. ‘Well, I can make a pot of tea if you’d rather.’ She tried to keep her response light and breezy. Cool, calm, collected. Christ, what would Doris be like with the customers? She’d be scaring them away! But finding someone else at this short notice would be tricky, and Lord Henry had insisted that Ellie give the previous staff a chance, which seemed only fair. Mind you, she’d make it bloody clear they were on a six-week probation period. She even had a contract ready for them to sign up to cover herself, thanks to Kirsty, who’d had some nightmare issues with staff in the past.
‘Oh no, don’t trouble yourself just for me, just saying that I would normally have tea.’
‘Coffee’s good for me,’ piped up Nicola, showing some support. That seemed to shut Doris up, though she gave her waitressing colleague a sideways look as if to say remember whose side you’re on.
Ellie poured out filter coffee, which smelled rich and roasted, and they took their scones and started eating as they chatted. ‘Well, obviously you’ve both worked here before. So you know the general set-up.’ More than me, she was thinking with a hint of panic that she kept down. ‘I’m not planning to change too much initially. I’ve just moved the furniture around a bit, as you can see.’ The waitresses nodded. ‘And I intend getting some oilcloths on the tables – easier for clearing up, and some flowers to brighten the place.’
‘Sounds nice,’ Nicola commented.
Doris was nodding quietly, waiting for her moment to strike, no doubt.
‘I’ll be doing the majority of the cooking. I’m trying to keep most of it homemade. And I’d like you to concentrate on serving, clearing the tables, just being friendly.’ Would that be possible for dour Doris? ‘I thought we’d take orders at the counter. So people can come up and see the cakes and what we have on offer.’
‘Come up to order?’ Doris made it sound like Ellie had just suggested they waitress in bunny-girl outfits. Ellie tried to push away the image that was forming in her mind – Doris in a … no, no, no. ‘Well, that’ll never work. We always used to take orders at the tables. Proper waitress service, that is.’ Her moment was evidently here. ‘Our customers like that. Feel they are being looked after.’ She was shaking her head at Ellie and tutting away like Skippy the kangaroo.
Ellie knew she’d have to stand her ground. She was the one in charge, after all, ‘Well, I believe it gives the customer a chance to see what cakes and treats there are on offer, which is helpful for them and will surely lead to more sales. They can order quickly, take their teas and coffees, and then take their seats and relax, as we’ll still be serving them thereafter. It happens in lots of places that way, and most people seem very happy to do that.’
‘Well, it didn’t happen here,’ Doris grumbled on.
‘It will from now on, Doris.’ Ellie felt she were drawing battle lines, staking her claim on her authority.
Nicola sat quiet, her eyes low, finishing the last of her scone, clearly not wanting to get involved with the heated discussion.
‘Right, I’d like you both to start at nine-thirty on Friday. You’ll be doing five days a week, nine-thirty till four-thirty. I’ll be staying after that time to tidy up. You’ll be paid by the hour. I’ll be able to keep your wages the same as last year. Joe told me you were paid at £7 per hour. I hope that’s still okay. Now, I understand the castle is closed on a Wednesday. I’ll need you both in on the weekends, but you can choose another day off, either on a Monday or Tuesday. I’ll let you decide between you.’

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