The Cosy Teashop in the Castle: The bestselling feel-good rom com of the year. Caroline Roberts
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.