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Trouble on Her Doorstep
Nina Harrington


Knock-knock, who’s there?When gorgeous hotel magnate Sean Beresford arrives on the doorstep of Dee Flynn’s teashop it seems her luck’s in. Right? Wrong! Sean’s come to tell Dee he’s cancelling her latest business venture, leaving her future looking as washed out as old tea leaves.Dee’s not about to go under without a fight, and reluctantly Sean agrees to help her find a solution. He might dress in suits that would make even 007 jealous, and those startling blue-grey eyes will certainly take some forgetting, but he sets Dee’s blood boiling – and her pulse racing! – like no one else! And that’s before he kisses her…









‘Sean Beresford. I am the acting manager of the Beresford Hotel, Richmond Square. Pleased to meet you, Miss Flynn.’


‘Richmond Square?’ she replied, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘That’s the hotel where I booked a conference room for early February and…’

Then her brain caught up with the name he had given her, and she inhaled through her nose as his fingers slid away from hers and rested lightly on the counter.

‘Did you just say Beresford? As in the Beresford family of hotel-owners?’

A smile flickered across his lips, which instantly drew her gaze, and her stupid little heart skipped a beat at the transformation in this man’s face that one simple smile made.

Lord, he was gorgeous. Riveting.

Oh, smile at me again and make my blood soar. Please?

And now she was ogling. How pathetic. Just because she was within touching distance of a real, live Beresford it did not mean that she had to go to pieces in front of him.

He gestured towards the nearest table and chairs.

‘You may need to sit down, Miss Flynn.’


Dear Reader

Tea.

My favourite hot drink.

Working from home means that I enjoy way too many cups of hot black tea with just a spoonful of whole milk than are probably good for me, but I couldn’t do without it.

Coffee is a definite second best!

And I am so picky when it comes to the type of tea I drink.

Yes, I am the girl who always takes my favourite tea bags with me whenever I go on holiday or to a hotel.

At one time tea was one of the most exotic and valuable trade goods, but we take it so much for granted in our modern world, where tea in every possible form and variety is so widely available.

It was a joy to be able to share my love of all things tea with my heroine, Dee Flynn, tea-lover extraordinaire and wannabe tea importer.

Dee is not afraid to share her love of black, green and even pure unroasted white tea with the uninitiated—especially when Sean Beresford is holding her tea festival in one of his hotels.

Sean might understand the hotel business, and he’s used to dealing with awkward customers. But a woman like Dee Flynn…? That is entirely different! They come from different worlds. But the one thing that unites them is their passion for what they do, for the people who love them—and for one another.

I loved following Dee and Sean on their journey to love and I hope that you do too.

And here is one more treat to look forward to.

Dee’s friend Lottie and Sean’s brother Rob may both be chefs but they come from completely different worlds. Would they be willing to risk everything for love? Watch out for my next foodie romance book which will be coming your way soon.

I am always delighted to hear from my readers, and you can get in touch via my website at: www.NinaHarrington.com

Every best wish

Nina


Trouble

on Her Doorstep

Nina Harrington






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


NINA HARRINGTON grew up in rural Northumberland, England, and decided at the age of eleven that she was going to be a librarian—because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted! Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer. When she is not creating stories which make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine—and talking, for which she has had specialist training.

This and other titles by Nina Harrington are available in ebook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk


Contents

Chapter One (#ud177f868-61fd-5f39-a96e-fb5e1e994233)

Chapter Two (#u9f75092e-fe6d-56c4-b531-591c55c86914)

Chapter Three (#u386bd4bb-4f03-58c4-b89c-56dc8a36fe76)

Chapter Four (#u3562575c-c322-5f85-a6cd-67e20d1d2b8c)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE

Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.

There is no better way to lift your spirits than a steaming hot cup of builders’ brew. Two sugars, lots of milk. White china beaker. Blend of Kenyan and Indian leaf tea. Brewed in a pot. Because one cup is never enough.

From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea

Tuesday

‘Ladies, ladies, ladies. No squabbling, please. Yes, I know that he was totally out of order but those are the rules. What happens in the Bake and Bitch club...?’

Dee Flynn lifted her right hand and waved it towards the women clustered about the cake display as though she was conducting a concert orchestra.

The women put down their tea cups, glanced at one another, shrugged their shoulders and raised their right hands.

‘Stays in the Bake and Bitch club,’ a chorus of sing-song voices replied, a second before they burst into laughter and sank back into their chairs around the long pine table.

‘Okay. I might not be able to snitch, but I still cannot believe that the faker tried to pass that sponge cake off as his own work,’ Gloria sniggered as she poured another cup of Darjeeling and dunked in a homemade hazelnut biscotti. ‘Every woman at the junior school bake sale knew that it was Lottie’s triple-decker angel drool cake and you can hardly mistake that icing. We all know how hard it is to make, after last week’s efforts.’

‘Hey! Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ Lottie replied. ‘That was one of my best recipes and chiffon sponge is not the easiest to get right. You never know; I might have become one dad’s inspiration to greater things.’

A chorus of ‘Boo,’ and ‘Not likely,’ echoed around the table.

‘Well, never mind about dads wanting to show off at the school bake sale in front of the other fabulous baked creations you gals create. We have five more minutes before your cakes come out of the oven so there is just enough time for you to taste my latest recipe for a February special. This is the cake I am going to demonstrate next week.’

With a flourish reserved for the finest award-winning restaurants where she and Dee had trained, Lottie Rosemount waited until every one of the girls had stopped talking and was looking at the cake plate at the centre of the table, before whipping away the central metal dome and revelling in the gasp of appreciation.

‘Individual cupcakes. Dark chocolate and raspberry with white-chocolate hearts. And just in time for Valentine’s Day. What do you think?’

‘Think?’ Dee coughed and took a long drink of tea. ‘I am thinking that I have a week to come up with the perfect blend of tea to complement chocolate and raspberries.’

‘Tea? Are you joking?’ Gloria squealed. ‘Hell no. Those cupcakes are not meant to be washed down with tea around the kitchen table. No chance. Those are after-dinner bedroom dessert cakes. No doubt about it. If I am lucky, I might get to eat half of one before my Valentine’s Day dinner date gets really sweet—if you know what I mean. Girl, I want me some of those. Right now.’

A roar of laughter rippled like a wave around the room as Gloria snatched up a cupcake and bit into it with deep groans of pleasure, before licking her fingers. ‘Lottie Rosemount, you are a temptation. If I made those cupcakes I know that I would get lucky, and just this once I would not think about the risk of chocolate icing on the bedclothes.’

Dee sniggered and had just pulled down a tea caddy of a particularly fragrant pomegranate infusion when she heard the distinctive sound of the antique doorbell at the front door of the tea rooms.

Lottie looked up from serving the cupcakes. ‘Who can that be? We’ve been closed for hours.’

‘Not to worry. I’ll get it. But save one of those for me, can you? You never know—my luck might change and a handsome new boyfriend might turn up out of the blue just in time for Valentine’s Day. Miracles can happen.’

Dee skipped out of the kitchen across the smooth wooden floorboards in her flat ballet pumps, and in three strides was inside the tea rooms. She flicked on the lights and instantly the long room was flooded with warm natural light which bounced back from the pistachio-and-mocha painted walls and pale wood fittings.

Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms had only been open a few months and Dee never got tired of simply walking up and down between the square tables and comfy chairs, scarcely able to believe that this was her space. Well, Lottie and Dee’s space. They had each put up half of the money to get the business started. But they were partners sharing everything: tea and cake; both crazy, both working at the thing they loved best. Both willing to invest everything they had in this mad idea and take a risk that it would work.

Big risk.

A shiver ran across Dee’s shoulders and she inhaled sharply. She needed this tea shop to work and work brilliantly if she had any hope of becoming a tea merchant in her own right. This was her last chance— her only chance—of creating some sort of financial future for herself and for her retired parents.

But suddenly the ringing bell was replaced by a hard rapping on the front door and she looked up towards the entrance. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’ A male voice called out from the street in a posh English accent.

A tall dark figure was standing on the pavement on the other side of the door with his hands cupped over his forehead, peering at her through the frosted glass of the half-glazed door.

What a cheek! It was almost nine o’clock at night. He must be desperate. And it was lashing down with rain.

She took a step forward then paused and sniffed just once before striding on.

After a lifetime of travel she was not scared of a stranger knocking on her door. This was a London high street, for goodness’ sake, not the middle of some jungle or tropical rain forest.

With a lift of her chin and a spring in her step, Dee turned the key in the lock in one smooth movement and pulled the front door sharply towards her.

A little too sharply, as it turned out.

Everything from that moment seemed to happen in slow motion—like in some freeze-framed DVD where you could scarcely believe what had happened, so you played the same scene over and over again in jerky steps, just to make sure that your memory was not playing tricks on you.

Because as she flung open the door, the very tall man just raised his arm to knock again and, in that split second he leant forward, he found the door was missing.

But his body carried on moving, carrying him forward into the tea room. And directly towards Dee, who had stepped backward to see who was knocking so loudly.

A pair of very startled blue-grey eyes widened as he tumbled towards her, the bright light almost blinding him after the gloomy dark street outside.

What happened next was Dee’s fault. All of it.

Either time slowed down or her brain went into overdrive, because suddenly she had visions of lawyers claiming compensation for broken noses and bruised elbows. Or worse.

Which meant that she could not, dared not, simply leap out of the way and let this man, whoever he was, fall forward, flat on his face and hurt himself.

So she did the only thing she could think of in that split second.

She swept his legs out from under him.

It seemed to make perfect sense at the time.

Her left leg stepped forward to his left side as she reached up and grabbed hold of the soggy right sleeve of his rather elegant long dark-wool coat and pulled him towards her.

Then she swept her right leg out, hooked her ballet pump behind his left ankle and flipped him over sideways. By keeping a tight hold on his coat sleeve, even though it was wet and slimy, she took his weight so that instead of falling flat on his back his besuited bottom hit the wooden floor instead.

It was actually a rather good side judo foot sweep, which broke his fall and took his weight at the same time. Result!

Her old martial arts tutor would have been proud.

Shame that the two middle buttons on what she could now see was a very smart cashmere coat popped open with the strain and went spinning off onto the floor under one of the tables. But it was worth it. Instead of flying across the floor to join them, her male visitor sat down in a long, heavy slow slump instead. No apparent harm done.

Dee’s fingers slowly slid away from the moist fabric of his coat sleeve and his arm flopped down onto his knees.

She closed the front door and then sat back on her ankles on the floor so that she could look at him from about the same height.

And then look again.

Oh, my. Those blue-grey eyes were not the only thing that was startling. For a start he seemed to be wearing the kind of business suit she had last seen on the bank manager who had grudgingly agreed to give the bank loan on the tea room. Only softer and shinier and much, much more expensive. Not that she had much experience of men in suits, but she knew fabric.

And then there was the hair. The sleet had turned to a cold drizzle and his short dark-brown hair was curled into moist waves around his ears and onto his collar. Bringing into sharp focus a face which might have come from a Renaissance painting: all dark shadows and sharp cheekbones. Although the baggy tired eyes could probably use some of her special home-sewn tea bags to compensate for his late nights in the office.

Blimey! She had just swept the legs out from under the best looking man she had seen in a long time and that included the boys from the gym across the street, who stoked up on serious amounts of carbs before hitting the body-sculpting classes.

Men like this did not normally knock on her door....ever. Maybe her luck had finally changed for once.

A smile slid across Dee’s mouth, before the sensible part of her brain which was not bedazzled by a handsome face decided to make an appearance.

So what was he doing here? And who was he?

Why not ask him and find out?

‘Hello,’ she said, peering into his face and telling her hormones to sit down. ‘Sorry about that, but I was worried that you might hurt yourself when you fell into the shop. How are you doing down there?’

* * *

How was he doing?

Sean Beresford pushed himself up on one elbow and took a few seconds to gather his wits and refocus on what looked like a smart café or bistro, although it was hard to tell since he was sitting on the floor.

Looking straight ahead of him, Sean could see cake stands, teapots and a blackboard which told him that the all-day special was cheese-and-leek quiche followed by an organic dark-chocolate brownie and as much Assam tea as he could drink.

Sean stared at the board and chuckled out loud. He could use some of that quiche and tea.

This was turning out to be quite a day.

It had started out in Melbourne what felt like a lifetime ago, followed by a very long flight, where he had probably managed three or four hours of sleep. And then there had been the joy of a manic hour at Heathrow airport where it soon became blindingly obvious that he had boarded the plane, but his luggage had not.

One more reason why he did not want to be sitting on this floor wearing the only suit of clothes that he possessed until the airline tracked down his bag.

Sean shuffled to a sitting position using the back of a very hard wooden chair for support, knees up, back straight, exhaled slowly and lifted his head.

And stared into two of the most startling pale-green eyes that he had ever seen.

So green that they dominated a small oval face framed by short dark-brown hair which was pushed behind neat ears. At this distance he could see that her creamy skin was flawless apart from what looked like cake crumbs which were stuck to the side of a smiling mouth.

A mouth meant to appease and please. A mouth which was so used to smiling that she had laughter lines on either side, even though she couldn’t be over twenty-five.

What the hell had just happened?

He shuffled his bottom a little and stretched out his legs. Nothing broken or hurting. That was a surprise.

‘Anything I can get you?’ The brunette asked in a light, fun voice. ‘Blanket? Cocktail?’

Sean sighed out loud and shook his head at how totally ridiculous he must look at that moment.

So much for being a top hotel executive!

He was lucky that the hotel staff relying on him to sort out the disaster he had just walked into straight from the airport could not see him now.

They might think twice about putting their faith in Tom Beresford’s son.

‘Not at the moment, thank you,’ he murmured with a short nod.

Her eyebrows squeezed tight together. She bent forward a little and pressed the palm of one hand onto his forehead, and her gaze seemed to scan his face.

Her fingers were warm and soft and the sensation of that simple contact of her skin against his forehead was so startling and unexpected that Sean’s breath caught in his throat at the reaction of his body at that simple connection.

Her voice was even warmer, with a definite accent that told him that she has spent a lot of time in Asia.

‘You don’t seem to have a temperature. But it is cold outside. Don’t worry. You’ll soon warm up.’

It he did not have a temperature now, he soon would have, judging by the amount of cleavage this girl was flashing him as she leant closer.

Her chest was only inches away from his face and he sat back a little to more fully appreciate the view. She was wearing one of those strange slinky sweaters that his sister Annika liked to wear on her rare weekend visits. Only Annika wore a T-shirt underneath so that when it slithered off one shoulder she had something to cover her modesty.

This girl was not wearing a T-shirt and a tiny strip of purple lace seemed to be all that was holding up her generously proportioned assets. At another time and definitely another place he might have been tempted to linger on that curving expanse of skin between the top of the slinky forest-green knit and the sharp collar bones and enjoy the moment, but she tilted her head slightly and his gaze locked onto far too many inches of a delicious-looking neckline.

It had been a while since he had been so very up close and personal to a girl with such a fantastic figure and it took a few seconds before what was left of the logical part of his brain clicked back into place. He dragged his focus a little higher.

‘Nice top,’ he grinned and pressed his hands against the floor to steady his body. ‘Bit cold for the time of year.’

‘Oh, do you like it?’ She smiled and then looked down and gasped a little. In one quick movement she slid back and tugged at her top before squinting at him through narrow eyes. Clearly not too happy that he had been enjoying the view while she was checking his temperature.

‘Cheeky,’ she tutted. ‘Is this how you normally behave in public? I’m surprised that they let you out unsupervised.’

A short cough burst out of Sean’s throat. After sixteen years in the hotel trade he had been called many things by many people but he had never once been accused of being cheeky.

The second son of the founder of the Beresford hotel chain did not go around doing anything that even remotely fell into the ‘cheeky’ category.

This was truly a first. In more ways than one.

‘Did you just deck me?’ he asked in a low, questioning voice and watched her stand up in one single, smooth motion and lean against the table opposite. She was wearing floral patterned leggings which clung to long, slender legs which seemed to go on for ever and only ended where the oversized sweater came down to her thighs. Combined with the green top, she looked like a walking abstract painting of a spring garden. He had never seen anything quite like it before.

‘Me?’ She pressed one hand to her chest and shook her head before looking down at him. ‘Not at all. I stopped you from falling flat on your face and causing serious damage to that cute nose. You should be thanking me. It could have been a nasty fall, the way you burst in like that. This really is your lucky day.’

‘Thank you?’ he spluttered in outrage. Apparently he had a cute nose.

‘You are welcome,’ she chuckled in a sing-song voice. ‘It is not often that I have a chance to show off my judo skills but it comes in handy now and then.’

‘Judo. Right. I’ll take your word for it,’ Sean replied and looked from side to side around the room. ‘What is this place?’

‘Our tea rooms,’ she replied, and peered at him. ‘But you knew that, because you were hammering at our door.’ She flicked a hand towards the entrance. ‘The shop is closed, you know. No cake. No tea. So if you are expecting to be fed you are out of luck.’

‘You can say that again,’ Sean whispered, then held up one hand when she looked as though she might reply. ‘But please don’t. Tea and cakes are the last thing I came looking for, I can assure you.’

‘So why were you hammering on the door, wearing a business suit at nine on a Tuesday evening? You have obviously come here for a reason. Are you planning to sit on my floor and keep me in suspense for the rest of the evening?’

His green-eyed assailant was just about to say something else when the sound of female laughter drifted out from the back of the room.

‘Ah,’ she winced and nodded. ‘Of course. You must be here to pick up one of the girls from the Bake and Bit...Banter club. But those ladies won’t be ready for at least another half-hour.’ One hand gestured towards the back of the room where he could hear the faint sound of female voices and music. ‘The cakes are still in the oven.’ Her lovely shoulders lifted in an apologetic shrug. ‘We were late getting started. Too much bit...chatting and not enough baking. But I can tell someone you are here, if you like. Who exactly are you waiting for?’

Who was he waiting for? He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He was here on a different kind of mission. Tonight he was very much a messenger boy.

Sean reached into the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket and checked the address on the piece of lilac writing paper he had found inside the envelope marked ‘D S Flynn contact details’ lying at the bottom of the conference room booking file. It had been handwritten in dark-green ink in very thin letters his father would instantly have dismissed as spider writing.

Well, he certainly had the right street and, according to the built-in GPS in his phone, he was within three metres of the address of his suspiciously elusive client who had booked a conference room at the hotel and apparently paid the deposit without leaving a telephone number or an email address. Which was not just inconvenient but infuriating.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I am not here to pick up anyone from your baking club. Far from it. I need to track someone down in a hurry.’

He waved the envelope in the air and instantly saw something in the way she lifted her chin that suggested that she recognized the envelope, but she covered it up with a quizzical look.

That seemed to startle her and he could almost feel the intensity of her gaze as it moved slowly from his smart, black lace-up business brogues to the crispness of his shirt collar and silk tie. There was something else going on behind those green eyes, because she glanced back towards the entrance just once and then swung around towards the back of the room, before turning her attention on him again.

And when she spoke there was the faintest hint of concern in her voice which she was trying hard to conceal and failing miserably.

‘Perhaps I could help if you told me who you were looking for,’ she replied.

Sean looked up into her face and decided that it was time to get this over with so he could get back to the penthouse apartment at the hotel and collapse.

In one short, sharp movement he pushed himself sideways with one hand, curled his knees and effortlessly got back onto his feet, brushing down his coat and trousers with one hand. So that, when he replied, his words were more directed towards the floor than the girl standing watching him so intently.

‘I certainly hope so. Does a Mr D S Flynn live here? Because, if he does, I really need to speak to him. And the sooner the better.’


TWO

Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.

‘A woman is like a tea bag: you never know how strong it is until it’s in hot water.’ Eleanor Roosevelt.

From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea



‘What was that name again?’ Dee asked, holding on to the edge of the counter for support, in a voice that was trembling way too much for her liking. ‘Mr Deesasflin. Was that what you said? Sounds more like a rash cream. It is rather unusual.’

A low sigh of intense exasperation came from deep inside his chest and he stopped patting down his clothes and stretched out tall. As in, very tall. As in well over six feet tall in his smart shoes which, for a girl who was as vertically challenged as she was, as Lottie called it, seemed really tall.

Worse.

He was holding the envelope that she had given to the hotel manager the first time she had visited the lovely, posh, boutique hotel to suss out the conference facilities.

They had gone through everything in such detail and double-checked the numbers when she had paid the deposit on the conference room in October.

So why was this man, this stranger, holding that envelope?

Dee racked her brains. Things had been pretty mad ever since Christmas but she would have remembered a letter or call from the hotel telling her that it had been taken over or they had appointed a new manager.

Who made house calls.

Oh no, she groaned inside. This was the last thing she needed. Not now. Please tell me that everything to do with the tea festival is still going to plan...please? She had staked her reputation and her career in the tea trade on organizing this festival. And the last of her savings. Things had to be okay with the venue or she would be toast.

‘Flynn. D. S.’ His voice echoed out across the empty tea room, each letter crisp, perfectly enunciated and positively oozing with annoyance. ‘This letter was all that I could find in the booking system. No name or telephone number or email address. Just an address, a surname and two initials.’

What? All that he could find?

Great. Well, that answered that question: he was from the hotel.

She was looking at her gorgeous but grumpy new hotel manager or conference organizer.

Who she had just sideswiped.

Splendid. This was getting better and better.

The only good news was that he seemed to think that his client was a man, so she could find out the reason for his obvious grumpiness without getting her legs swiped from under her. With a bit of luck.

As far as he knew, she was just a girl in a cake shop. Maybe she could keep up the pretence a little longer and find out more before revealing her true credentials.

‘You don’t seem very pleased with this Mr Flynn person.’ She smiled, suddenly desperate to appear as though she was just an outside party making conversation. ‘They must have done something seriously outrageous to make you come out on a wet night in February to track them down.’

Ouch. That was such a horrible expression. The idea that he had made it as far as the tea rooms and was actually hunting her was enough to give her an icy cold feeling in the pit of her stomach which was going to take a serious amount of hot tea to thaw out.

From the determined expression on his face, right down to the very official business suit and smart haircut, this man spelt ‘serious’.

As serious as all of the finance people who had tried their hardest to crush her confidence and convince her that her dream was a foolish illusion. She had been turned down over and over again, despite the brilliant business plan she had worked on for weeks, and all the connections in the tea trade that she could ever need.

The message was always the same: they could not see the feasibility of a new tea import business in the current economy. All of the statistics about the British obsession with tea and everything connected with it had seemed to fly over their heads. Not enough profit. Too risky. Not viable.

Was it any wonder that she had gone out on a limb and offered to organize the tea festival so that she could launch her import business at the same time?

Lottie had been her saviour in the end and had pulled in a few favours so that the private bank her parents used was aware that it was a joint business with the lovely, seriously wealthy and connected Miss Rosemount as well as the equally lovely but seriously broke Miss Flynn.

Come to think of it, the banker had been a girl in a suit. But a suit all the same.

‘On the contrary, Mr Flynn has not done anything. But I do need to speak to him as soon as possible.’

‘May I take a message?’ she asked in her best ‘innocent bystander’ voice, and smiled.

He paused for a second and she thought that he was going to slide over to her counter but he was simply straightening his back. Oh lord. Another two inches taller.

‘I am sorry but this is a confidential business matter for my client. If you know where I can find him, it is important that we talk on a very urgent matter about his booking.’

A cold, icy pit started to form in the base of Dee’s stomach and something close to panic flitted up like a bucket of cold water splashed over her face.

She blinked, lifted her chin and stuck out her hand. ‘That’s me. Dervla Skylark Flynn. Otherwise known as Dee. Dee S Flynn. Tea supplier to the stars. I’m the person you are looking for, Mr...?’

He took two long steps to cross the room and shake her hand. A real handshake. His long, slender fingers wrapped around her hand which Dee suddenly realized must be quite sticky from dispensing cake and biscuits and clearing away bowls covered in cake batter.

His gaze was locked on her face as he spoke, and she could almost see the clever cogs interconnecting behind those blue eyes as he processed her little announcement, took her word that she was who she said she was and went for it without pause.

Clever. She liked clever.

‘Sean Beresford. I am the acting manager of the Beresford Hotel, Richmond Square. Pleased to meet you, Miss Flynn.’

‘Richmond Square?’ She replied, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. ‘That’s the hotel where I booked a conference room for February. And...’

Then her brain caught up with the name he had given her and she inhaled through her nose as his fingers slid away from hers and rested lightly on the counter.

‘Did you just say Beresford? As in the Beresford family of hotel owners?’

A smile flickered across his lips which instantly drew her gaze, and her stupid little heart just skipped a beat at the transformation in this man’s face that one simple smile made.

Lord, he was gorgeous. Riveting.

Oh, smile at me again and make my blood soar. Please?

And now she was ogling. How pathetic. Just because she was within touching distance of a real, live Beresford did not mean that she had to go to pieces in front of him.

So what if this man came from one of the most famous hotel-owning families in the world? A Beresford hotel was a name splashed across the broadsheet newspapers and celebrity magazines, not Cake Shop and Tea Room Weekly.

This made it even more gut-clenching that he had just been in close and personal contact with her floorboards.

‘Guilty as charged,’ he replied and touched his forehead with two closed fingers in salute. ‘I am in London for a few months and the Richmond Square hotel is one of my special projects.’

‘You’re feeling guilty?’ she retorted with a cough. ‘What about me? You almost had an accident here tonight. And I could have dropped you. Oh, that is so not good. Especially when you have come all the way from the centre of London late in the evening to see me.’

Then she shook her head, sucked in a long breath and carried on before he had a chance to say anything. ‘Speaking of which, now we have the introductions sorted out, I think you had best tell me what the problem is. Because I am starting to get scared about this special project you need to see me about so very urgently.’

He gestured towards the nearest table and chairs.

‘You may need to sit down, Miss Flynn.’

A lump the size of Scotland formed in her throat, making speech impossible, so she replied with a brief shake of the head and a half-smile and gestured to one of the bar stools next to the tea bar.

She watched in silence as he unbuttoned his coat, scowled at the missing buttons then sat down on the stool and turned to face her, one elbow resting on the bar.

Nightmare visions flitted through her brain of having to tell the tea trade officials that the London Festival of Tea was going to going to be cancelled because she had messed up booking the venue, but she fought them back.

Not going to happen. That tea festival was going ahead even if she had to rent the damp and dusty local community centre and cancel the bingo night.

She had begged the tea trade organization to give her the responsibility for organizing the event and it had taken weeks to convince the hardened professionals that she could coordinate a major London event.

Everything she had worked for rested on this event being a total success. Everything.

Suddenly the room started to feel very warm and she dragged over a bar stool and perched on it to stop her wobbly legs from giving way under her.

Focus, Dee. Focus. It might not be as bad as she was thinking.

‘I only took over the running of the hotel today so it has taken me a while to go through all of the paperwork. That’s why I only started working through the conference-booking system this afternoon. I apologize for not calling in earlier but there has been a lot of catching up to do and I didn’t have any contact details.’

She swallowed down her anxiety. ‘But what happened to the other manager? Frank Evans? He was taking care of all my arrangements in person and seemed very organized. I must have filled in at least three separate forms before I paid the deposit. Surely he has my contact details?’

‘Frank decided to take up a job offer with another hotel company last Friday. Without notice. That’s why I came in to sort out the emergency situation at Richmond Square and get things back on track.’

She gasped and grabbed his arm. ‘What kind of emergency do you have?’ Then she gulped. ‘Has something happened? I mean, has the hotel flooded or—’ she suddenly felt faint ‘—burnt down? Gas explosion? Water damage?’

‘Flooded?’ he replied, then tilted his head a tiny fraction of an inch. ‘No. The hotel is absolutely fine. In fact, I went there straight from the airport and it is as lovely as ever. Business as usual.’

‘Then please stop scaring the living daylights out of me like that. I don’t understand. Why is there a problem with the booking?’

‘So you met Frank Evans? The previous manager?’

She nodded. ‘Twice in person, then I spoke to him several times over the phone. Frank insisted on taking personal responsibility for my tea festival and we went over the room plans in detail. Then we had lunch at the hotel just before Christmas to make sure that everything was going to plan. And it was. Going to plan.’

‘In any of those meetings, did you see him recording any of your details on a diary or paper planner? Anything like that?

‘Paper? No. Now that you mention it, I don’t remember him taking any notes on paper. It was all on his notebook computer. He showed the photos of the layout on the screen. Is that a problem? I mean, isn’t everything loaded onto computers these days?’

There was just enough of a pause from the man looking at her to send a shiver across Dee’s shoulders.

‘Okay; I get the picture. How bad is it?’ she whispered. ‘Just tell me now and put me out of my misery.’

‘Frank may have taken your details but he didn’t load them onto the hotel booking system. If he had, Frank would have found out that we were already double-booked for the whole weekend with a company client who had booked a year in advance. So you see, he should never have accepted your booking in the first place. I am sorry, Miss Flynn, I have to cancel your booking and refund your deposit... Miss Flynn?’

But Dee was already on her feet.

‘Stay right where you are. I need serious cake washed down with strong, sugary tea. And I need it now. Because there is no way on this planet that I am going to cancel that booking. No way at all. Are we clear? Good. Now, what can I get you?’

* * *

‘I don’t understand it. Frank seemed so confident and in control,’ Dee said in a low voice. ‘And he loved my oolong special leaf tea and was all excited about the conference. What happened?’

Sean was siting opposite and she watched him sip the fragrant Earl Grey that Dee had made for him. Then took another sip.

‘This is really very good,’ Sean whispered, and wrapped his fingers around the china beaker.

‘Thank you. I have a wonderful supplier in Shanghai. Fifth-generation blender. And you still haven’t answered my question. Is it a computer problem? It was, wasn’t it? Some crazy, fancy booking system that only works if you have a degree in higher mathematics?’

She waved the remains of a very large piece of Victoria sandwich cake through the air. ‘My parents were right all along: I should never trust a man who did not carry paper and pen.’

She paused with her cake half between her mouth and her plate and licked her lips.

‘Do you have paper and a pen, Mr Beresford?’

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a state-of-the-art smart phone.

‘Everything I type is automatically synched with the hotel systems and my personal diary. That way, nothing gets lost or overlooked. Which makes it better than a paper notepad which could be misplaced.’

Dee peered at the glossy black device covered with tiny coloured squares and then shook her head. ‘Frank didn’t have one of those. I would have remembered.’

‘Actually, he did. But he chose not to use it.’ Sean sighed. ‘I found it still in the original packaging in his office desk this afternoon.’

‘Ah ha. Black mark for Team Beresford Hotels. Time for some staff training, methinks.’

‘That’s why I am back in London, Miss Flynn.’ Sean bristled and put away his phone and started refastening his remaining coat buttons. ‘To make sure that this sort of mistake does not happen again. I will personally arrange to have your deposit refunded tomorrow so you can organize a replacement venue at your convenience.’

She looked at him for a second then took another swig of very dark tea before lowering her large china beaker to the table. Then she stood up, stretched and folded her arms.

‘Which part of “I am not cancelling” did you not understand? I don’t want my deposit back. I want my conference suite. No, that’s not quite right.’ Her eyebrows squeezed tight together. ‘I need my conference room. And you...’ she smiled up at him and fluttered her eyelashes outrageously ‘...are going to make sure I get it.’

Sean sighed, long and low. ‘I thought that I had made it clear. The conference facilities at the Richmond Square had already been reserved for over a year before Frank accepted your booking. There are four hundred and fifty business leaders arriving from all over the world for one of the most prestigious environmental strategy think-tank meetings outside Davos. Four days of high-intensity, high-profile work.’

‘Double-booked. Yes. I understand. But here is the thing, Sean; you don’t mind if I call you Sean, do you? Excellent. The lovely Frank made my copies of all of those forms I signed on his very handy hotel photocopier and, as far as I know, my contract is with the Beresford hotel group. And that means that you have to find me an alternative venue.’

‘But that is quite impossible at this short notice.’

And then he did it.

He looked at her with the same kind of condescending and exasperated expression on his face as her high school headmistress had used when she’d turned up for her first big school experience in London after spending the first fifteen years of her life travelling around tea-growing estates in India with her parents.

‘Poor child,’ she had heard the teacher whisper to her assistant. ‘She doesn’t understand the complicated words that we are using. Shame that she has no chance in the modern educational system. It’s far too late for her to catch up now and get the qualifications she needs. What a pity she has no future.’

A cold shiver ran down Dee’s back just at the memory of those words. If only that teacher knew that she had lit a fire inside her belly to prove just how wrong she had been to write her off as a hopeless case just because she had been outside the formal school system. And that fire was still burning bright. In fact, at this particular moment it was hot enough to warm half the city and certainly hot enough to burn this man’s fingers if he even tried to get in her way.

This man who had fallen into her tea rooms uninvited was treating her like a child who had to be tolerated, patted on the head and told to keep quiet while the grown-ups decided what was going to happen to her without bothering to ask her opinion.

This handsome man in a suit didn’t realize that he was doing it.

And the hair on the back of her neck flicked up in righteous annoyance.

She had never asked to come to London. Far from it. And what had been her reward for being uprooted from the only country that she had called home?

Oh yes. Being ridiculed on a daily basis by the other pupils because of her strange clothes and her Anglo-Indian accent, and then humiliated by the teachers because she had no clue about exam curricula and timetables and how to use the school desktop computers. Why should she have? That had never been her life.

And of course she hadn’t been able to complain to her lovely parents. They were just as miserable and had believed that they were doing the right thing, coming back to Britain for the big promotion and sending her to the local high school.

Well, that was then and this was now.

The fifteen-year-old Dee had been helpless to do anything about it but work hard and try to get through each day as best as she could.

But she certainly did not have to take it now. She had come a long way from that quiet, awkward teenager and worked so very hard to put up with anything less than respect.

Maybe that was why she stepped forward and glared up into his face so that he had to look down at her before he could reply.

‘Exactly. There is no way that I could find another hotel that can cope with three hundred international tea specialists less than two weeks before the festival. Everywhere will be booked well ahead, even in February.’

She lifted her cute little chin and stared him out. ‘Here is a question for you: would you mind reminding me exactly how many hotels the Beresford hotel group runs in London? Because they seem to be popping up everywhere I look.’

‘Five,’ he replied in a low voice.

‘Five? Really? That many? Congratulations. Well, in that case it shouldn’t be any trouble for you to find me a replacement conference room in one of the four other hotels in our fine city. Should it?’ she said in a low, hoarse voice, her eyes locked onto his. And this time she had no intention of looking away first.

The air between them was so thick with electricity that she could have cut it with a cake knife. Time seemed to stretch and she could see the muscles in the side of his face twitching with suppressed energy, as though he could hardly believe that she was challenging him.

Because she had no intention whatsoever of giving in.

No way was she going to allow Sean Used-to-having-his-own-way Beresford to treat her like a second-class citizen.

And the sooner he realized that, the better!

* * *

Sean felt the cold ferocity of those pale-green eyes burn like frostbite onto his cheeks, and was just about to tell her what an impossible task that was when there was an explosion of noise and movement from behind his back. What seemed like a coach party of women of all shapes and ages burst out into the tea rooms, laughing like trains, gossiping and competing with one another in volume and pitch to make their voices heard above the uproar.

It felt like a tsunami of women was bearing down on him.

All carrying huge bags bursting with what looked like cake tins and mystery utensils and binders. Sean stepped back and practically squeezed himself against one wall to let the wall of female baking power sweep past him towards the entrance and out into the street.

‘Ah, Lottie. There you are!’ Dee Flynn cried out and grabbed the sleeve of a very pretty slim blonde dressed in a matching navy T-shirt and trousers. ‘Sorry I did not get back to serve more tea. Come and meet Sean. The London Festival of Tea is going to have a new exciting venue and Sean here is the man who is in charge of finding the perfect location. And he is not going to rest until he has found the perfect replacement.’

She grinned at him with an expression of pure delight, with an added twist of evil. ‘Aren’t you, Sean?’


THREE

Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.

There are many different kinds of tea, but they are all derived from just one type of plant: Camellia sinensis. The colour and variety of the tea (green, black, white and oolong) depends on the way the leaves are treated once they are picked.

From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea

Wednesday

‘So how are you enjoying being back in London?’ Rob Beresford’s voice echoed out from the computer screen in his usual nonchalant manner. His eyebrows lifted. ‘Same old madness?’

‘Nothing that boring.’ Sean snorted and pointed to the bags under his eyes. ‘Still shattered. Still jet-lagged. Still wading through the mess Frank Evans got himself into at Richmond Square. I still can’t believe that the man we trusted to run our hotel just took off and left this disaster for someone else to sort out.’

Sean’s half-brother sat back in his chair and gave a low cough. ‘Now, who does that remind me of? Oh yes, your ex-girlfriend. I caught up with the lovely Sasha at the catering-strategy forum last week. She asked me to say hi, by the way. Now, wasn’t that sweet? Considering that she dumped you with zero notice. I could almost dislike her if it wasn’t for her fantastic figure.’ Rob gave a low, rough sigh. ‘And that tan... She’s looking good, brother. The Barbados hotel seems to be suiting her very nicely and the clients love her.’

‘Thanks for the update.’ Sean coughed and then squinted towards the computer screen. ‘And she did not dump me. It simply wasn’t working out for either of us. Trying to co-ordinate our diaries so that we were in the same time zone for more than a few days had stopped being funny a long time before we called it a day. You know what chaos it was last year! You were there, working the same hours as I was.’

Sean turned back to shuffling through a file on the desk. Sasha had been on the fast-track Beresford Hotels management programme and he had been working so hard that he hadn’t even noticed that they barely saw one another face to face any more.

Until he’d come back to her apartment at one a.m., exhausted after two weeks on the road solving all the teething problems for a hotel opening, to find Sasha sitting waiting for him.

He had just missed her birthday dinner, the one he had promised that he would be there for. Not even the private jet could fly in tropical storms.

It was a pity that it hadn’t been the first time that he’d missed her birthday. They had both worked like crazy over the Christmas and New Year holiday, but February should have been down time. Until the new hotel they were opening in Mexico had flooded only days before the grand opening and a holiday became a distant memory.

They had talked through the night but in the end there had been no escaping the truth. He was the operations troubleshooter and Tom Beresford’s son. It was his job to be on stand-by and cope with emergencies. No matter what else was happening in his life. Or who. And she’d wanted more than he was prepared to give her.

It had been crunch time. He could either decide to give her the commitment she needed and deserved or they could walk away as friends who had enjoyed a fun and light hearted relationship and leave it like that.

He had not even bothered to unpack.

‘Ah, but I still managed to find the time to enjoy the company of a few lovely ladies,’ Robert replied. ‘Unlike some people. But that’s past history. So last year! Come on; you were in Australia for six weeks scouting for new locations! You must have spent some time at the beach.’

Robert Beresford sat back with his hands clasped behind his head. ‘I am having visions of lovely ladies in very small bikinis on golden sands and surf boards. Classy. You have just made my day.’

‘I know. I can see you drooling from here,’ Sean shook his head. ‘That was the plan. Two glorious weeks in Melbourne in February. Two weeks to sleep, soak up the sun and generally have some down time before starting the Paris assignment.’

He waved the conference-booking file at the screen. ‘That was the plan. And now I am in London instead. Remind me again why I am the one who gets called in to pick up the pieces when the brown stuff hits the fan?’

‘Who else is the old man going to call? I am only interested in the food and drink side of this crazy business, remember? There has to be someone in the family who can squeeze into a super-hero costume and fly in to save the day and Annika is way too stylish to wear underpants over her tights.’

Sean laughed out loud and flicked open the event files. ‘Now, that is just being mean. I caught those last restaurant reviews. The food critics are crazy about that new fusion franchise you brought in. Kudos.’

Rob saluted him with a hat-tip. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when we meet up for the conference on Friday. Right? And try and relax. You’ll have that mess sorted out by then. You always do. Shame that you can’t take some down time before starting the new job. But you never know. You might find some sweet distraction while you are in London.’

Then Sean’s gaze caught the lilac envelope that he had popped onto his desk to be filed. He quickly stole a glance at the file he had updated the minute he had got back to his hotel room the previous evening. Complete with the photo of Dee he had clipped from a London newspaper article from the previous October about the opening of Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms.

The two girls were standing outside the cake shop in what looked to be a cold autumn day.

Dee grinned out to the photographer with a beaming smile which was a lot warmer than the one he had been on the receiving end of. But her colour scheme was just as alarming.

She was wearing a short, pleated green skirt in a loud check-pattern tweed and a knitted top in fire-engine red partly covered with a pretty floral apron. Her blonde friend, Lottie, was in navy trousers and top with the same apron and compared to Dee looked elegant, sedate and in control while Dee looked...like a breath of fresh air. Animated, excited and alive.

That was the strange thing. Even in a digital scan from a newspaper this girl’s energy and passion seemed to reach out from the flat screen, grab him and hold him tight in her grasp. She was looking at him right in the eyes. Just as she had in the flesh. No flinching or nervous sideways glances. Just single-minded focus, with eyes the colour of spring-green leaves; it was quite impossible to look away.

But not cold. Just the opposite, in fact. Even when she’d been challenging him to come up with a replacement venue that sexy smile was warm enough to turn up the heat on a cold winter’s evening. Or was it that slippery one-shoulder sweater that she had been almost wearing?

He had vowed never to get involved in another relationship after Sasha, and no amount of bar crawling with Rob had persuaded him to change his mind. But there was something about Dee that seemed to get under his skin and he couldn’t shake it off.

Maybe it was getting very up close to a client when he had no clue who she was?

It was usual practice in Beresford hotels for the conference manager to take a photo of their client so that the team could recognize who they were dealing with.

Sean blinked and cricked back his neck, which was stiff from stress and lack of sleep. Jet lag. That was it. He had a workload which was not funny and two weeks in London before heading to his new job in Paris. He didn’t have time to sort out double bookings and track down conference space in the London hotels.

If only Frank had followed procedures!

‘You wouldn’t be calling me Superman if you had seen me last night,’ he chuckled, then blinked and looked up at the monitor, where Rob was tapping his pen and looking at him with a curious expression.

‘Do tell.’

‘A girl with green eyes and a wicked judo throw brought me to my knees. That’s all I am going to say.’

Rob snorted and sat forward with his elbows on the desk, and that gleam in his eyes which had got both of them into trouble on more than one occasion. ‘Now that really is being mean. I need facts, a photograph and vital statistics. Sounds like the kind of girl I would like to meet. In fact, here is an idea—free, gratis and no charge. Bring this green-eyed fiend to the management dinner on Friday night. If you think you can handle it? Or should I have security on standby?’

‘What...so you can ogle the poor girl all evening? No way.’

‘Then give me something to report back to Annika in the way of gossip. You know she is always trying to set me up with her pals. It’s about time our sister focused on you for a change. Are you planning on seeing this girl again?’

Sean checked the clock on the computer screen.

‘As a matter of fact, I am meeting up with her this morning. Our latest client has given me a mission and I have a feeling that this lady is not going to fobbed off with anything but the best. In fact, come to think of it, I might need that super-hero costume after all.’

* * *

‘How about this one?’ Dee called out as Lottie swept by with a tray of vanilla-cream pastry slices. ‘“Flynn’s Phantasmagorian Emporium of Tea”.’

Then she leant back and peered at the words she had just written in chalk on the ‘daily specials’ blackboard next to the tea and coffee station.

‘It has a certain ring to it and I can just see it on a poster. Maybe dressed up in a Steampunk theme. I like it!’

Lottie gave two short coughs, continued filling up the tiered cake stand on the counter then waved to two of their favourite breakfast customers as they strolled out onto the street.

‘You also liked “Flynn’s Special Tea Time Fantasies”, until I pointed out that some folks might get the wrong idea and think you are selling a different kind of afternoon fantasy experience where you are not wearing much in the way of clothing. And I don’t know about you, but I am not quite that desperate to sell your leaf teas.’

‘Only people with that kind of mind.’ Dee tutted. ‘Shame on a nice well-brought-up girl like you for thinking such things.’

‘Just trying to keep you out of mischief. Again.’

Dee felt the weight of an unexpected extra layer of guilt settle on her shoulders and she slipped off her stool and gave Lottie a one-armed hug. She had been so focused on organizing the festival that Lottie had done a lot more work than she should have done in the shop. ‘Thanks for putting up with me. I know I can be a tad obsessive now and then. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past months. Organizing this tea festival has already taken so much of my time; I’m sure that you have done more than your fair share in the shop.’

‘That’s okay.’ Lottie grinned and hugged her back. ‘It takes one obsessive to know one, right? Why else do you think I came to you the minute I had the idea for a cake shop? I needed someone who loved tea.’

Lottie stood back and nodded towards the blackboard with the daily specials. ‘Tea. Cake. Gotta be a winner.’ Then she turned back to the cake stand. ‘Turns out that I was right.’

‘Any chance that you could sprinkle some of that business-fairy dust in this direction? I am going to need something to give my own special blend of afternoon tea that special oomph, or I’ll never make any money out of the tea festival.’

Dee slumped down on her stool and stared out at the breakfast customers who were slurping down her English breakfast tea with Lottie’s almond croissants and ham and cheese paninis.

Lottie strolled over and sat down next to her before replying. ‘I know that I promised not to get involved, because we agreed that it is important that you do this on your own, but what about all of the exhibitors who will be selling their teas and chinaware and teapots and special tea kettles and the like? Surely they’re giving you a fee or a cut in any sales they make on the day?’

‘They are. But it’s just enough to cover the money I spent on the deposit for the hotel. Beresford is really expensive, even for one day. But I thought that a big international hotel chain like Beresford wouldn’t let me down, so it was worth paying for the extra security just to make that there wouldn’t be any last minute hassles with the venue. Hah! Wrong again.’

Dee started tapping her tea spoon on the counter. ‘After Mr B left I called Gloria to ask if the church hall might be available. The ladies’ lunch club loved my last demonstration on tea tasting. I thought that Gloria could put a good word in for me and I might even get it for free. But do you know what? Even the church hall is fully booked for the rest of the month.’

‘I thought you said that it was damp and there were mouse droppings in the kitchen,’ Lottie replied as she cut two large slices from a coffee-walnut layer cake and tastefully arranged them on the cake stand.

‘Yes and yes. Small details. But that settles it; Sean Beresford is going to have to find me a mega replacement venue. Whether he likes it or not.’

‘Well, you did have one bonus. The lovely Sean. In the flesh. I didn’t think that the millionaire heirs to the Beresford hotel chain turned up in person to break bad news, so he scores a few points on the Rosemount approval board. And, oh my—tall, dark and handsome does not come close. And he seemed very interested in you. I think that you might be on to a winner there.’

The memory of a pair of sparkling blue eyes smiling down at her tugged at the warm and cuddly part of Dee’s mind and her traitorous heart gave just enough of a flutter to make her cover up her smirk with a quick sniff.

Dee pressed her lips together and shook her head. ‘Charlotte Rosemount, you are such a total romantic. Can I remind you where that has taken us in the past? I lost track of the number of frogs we had to kiss back at catering college before you finally admitted that not one of those boys was a prince. And then you had the cheek to set me up with Josh last year.’

‘It was a simple process of elimination!’ Lottie grinned and then twisted her face into a grimace. ‘I did get it wrong about Josh, though. He looked so good on paper! His dad was even a director at the tea company and he had the looks to die for. But sheesh, what a loser he turned out to be.’

‘Exactly!’ Dee nodded. ‘And it took me six months to find out that all he wanted was a stand-in girl until someone more suitable came along. No, Lottie. Handsome hotel owners do not date girls who deck them. Well-known fact. Especially girls who give them extra work and refuse to go along with their get-rid-of-the-annoyance-as-quickly-as-possible schemes.’

‘Perhaps he likes a girl who can stand up him. You are a change from all of the gold-diggers who hit on him on a daily basis. And he liked your Earl Grey.’

‘Please. Did you see him? That suit cost more than my last shipment of Oolong. That is a man who fuels up on espressos and wouldn’t let carbs pass his lips. He will pass the problem on to someone else to sort out, you wait and see. Big fish, small pond. Passing through on the way to greater things. Just like Josh. I think he only turned up to tell me so that he could tick me off his to-do list.’

‘But he is trying to find you a replacement venue. Isn’t he?’

‘His assistant is probably run off her feet at this minute calling every hotel in London which is still available on a Saturday two weeks before the event. The list will be small and the hotels grotty. And he is not getting away with it. I need a high-class venue and nothing else will do.’

Lottie was just about to reply when the telephone rang on the wall behind them and the theme song for The Teddy Bears’ Picnic chimed out. She scowled at Dee, who shrugged as though she had not been responsible for changing the ring tone. Again.

‘Lottie’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms,’ Lottie answered in her best professional voice, and then she reached out and grabbed Dee by the sleeve, tugging hard to make sure that she had her full attention. ‘Good morning to you, too, Sean. Why yes, you are in luck, she is right here. I’ll just get Dee for you.’

Lottie opened her mouth wide, baring her very white teeth, and held out the telephone towards Dee, who took it from her as Lottie picked up a menu and fanned her face. The message was only too clear: hot.

Dee looked at the caller ID on the phone for second longer than necessary and lifted her chin before speaking.

Time to get this game of charades started the way she wanted.

‘Good morning, Flynn’s Phantasmagorian Emporium of Tea. Dee speaking.’

There was a definite pause on the other end of the phone before a deep male voice replied. Excellent. She had put him off his stride and victory was hers.

Shame that when he replied that deep voice was resonant, disgracefully measured, slow and confident. It seemed to vibrate inside her skull so that each syllable was stressed and important.

‘That’s quite a name. I am impressed. Good morning to you, Miss Flynn.’

The way he pronounced the end of her name was quite delicious. ‘I have just made it up, and that’s the idea. And how are you feeling this morning, eh? I hope that there is no bruising or delayed mental trauma from your exciting trip to the tea rooms yesterday evening. I wouldn’t like to be responsible for any lasting damage.’

She almost caught the sound of a low chuckle before he choked it. ‘Not at all,’ Sean replied in a voice that was as smooth as the hot chocolate sauce Lottie made to pour over her cream-filled profiteroles.

‘Excellent news.’ Dee smiled and winked at Lottie, who was leaning against her shoulder so that she could hear every word. ‘So, does that mean you have found me a superb replacement venue that will meet my every exacting need?’

‘Before I answer that, I have a question for you. Are you free to join me for a breakfast meeting this morning?’

Dee held out the phone and glanced at Lottie, who rolled her eyes with a cheeky grin, stifled a laugh and headed off into the kitchen, leaving Dee to stare at the innocent handset as though it were toxic.

‘Breakfast? Ah, thank you, but the bakery opens at six-thirty, so Lottie and I have already had our breakfast.’

‘Ah,’ he replied in a low voice. ‘Misunderstanding. I didn’t mean eating breakfast together, delightful as that would be. But it would be useful to have an early morning meeting to go through your list of exhibitors and put a detailed profile together, so that my team can work on the details with the venue you decide on. Pastries and coffee on the house.’

Dee squeezed her eyes tightly shut with embarrassment and mentally kicked the chair.

Sean Beresford had not only made her toss and turn most of the night, worrying about whether the event was going to happen, but apparently those blue-grey eyes had snuck in and robbed her of the one thing that was going to get her through the next two weeks: the ability to think straight.

Of course, a breakfast meeting wasn’t about bacon butties and wake-up brews of tea that would stain your teeth. She knew that. Even if she had never been to one in person.

How did he do it? How did he discombobulate her with a few words? Make her feel that she was totally out of her depth in a world that she did not understand?

It was as though he could see through the surface barriers she had built up and see straight through to the awkward teenager in the hot-weather cotton clothes on her first day in a London high school. In November.

She had known from the first second she had stepped inside that narrow off-grey school corridor that she was never going to fit in and that she was going to have to start her life from scratch all over again. She was always going to be the outsider. The nobody. The second best. The girl who had to fight to be taken seriously in anything she did.

But how did Sean see that? Did she have a sign painted in the air above her head?

This had never happened to her before with any man. Ever. Normally she just laughed it off and things usually turned out okay in the end.

Usually.

Dee inhaled a deep breath then exhaled slowly. Very slowly.

Focus. She needed to focus on what was needed. That was it. Concentrate on the job. Her entire reputation and future in the tea-selling business was dependent on it. She couldn’t let a flash boy in a suit distract her, no matter how much she needed him to make her dream become a reality.

Dee looked out of the tea-room window onto the busy high street; the first sign of pale winter sunshine filtered through the half-frosted glass. The sleet had stopped in the night and the forecast was for a much brighter day.

Suddenly the urge to feel fresh air on her face and a cool breeze in her hair spiralled through her brain. She quickly glanced at the wall clock above the counter. It was just after nine. Swallowing down her concerns, Dee raised the phone to her mouth.

‘I can be available for a briefing meeting. But pastries and coffee? That’s blasphemy. Do I need to bring my own emergency supply of tea?’

‘Better than that. Following our meeting, I have set up appointments for you at three Beresford hotels this morning. And they all serve tea.’

Dee caught her breath in the back of her throat. Three hotels? Wow. But then her brain caught up with what he was saying. He had set up appointments for her. Not them.

Oh no. She was not going to let him get away with that trick.

‘Ah no, that won’t work. You see, I still don’t feel that the Beresford management team is fully committed to fixing the problem they have created. It would be so reassuring if one of the directors of the company would act as my personal guide to each of the three venues. In person. Don’t you agree, Sean? Now, where shall I meet you?’


FOUR

Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.

Do you add the milk to your tea? About two-thirds of tea drinkers add the milk to the cup before pouring in the hot tea. Apparently this is an old tradition from the early days of tea drinking, when fine porcelain was being imported from China and the ladies were terrified the hot tea would crack the very expensive fragile china.

From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea

Wednesday

Dee stepped down from the red London bus and darted under the narrow shelter of the nearest bus stop. The showers that had held off all morning had suddenly appeared to thwart her. Heavy February rain pounded onto the thin plastic shelter above her head in rapid fire and bounced off the pavement of the smart city street in the business area of London.

Typical! Just when she was determined to make a good impression on Sean Beresford and prove that she was totally in control and calling the shots.

She peered out between the pedestrians scurrying for cover until her gaze settled on a very swish glass-plate entrance of an impressive three-storey building directly across the road from her bus stop. The words Beresford Hotel were engraved on a marble portico in large letters.

Well, at least she had found the hotel where Sean had asked her to meet him. Now all she had to do was step inside those pristine glass doors and get past the snooty concierge. Today she was a special guest of the hotel management, so she might be permitted entry.

What nonsense.

She hated that sort of false pretension and snobbery. In India she had met with some of the richest men and women in the land whose ancestors had once ruled a continent. Most of the stunning palaces had been converted into hotels for tourists but they still had class. Real class.




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