The Little Bakery on Rosemary Lane: The best feel-good romance to curl up with in 2018. Ellen Berry
know she’s going to fit in so well here. You’re all going to adore her. She’s such a breath of fresh air …’ Implying what? Roxanne mused. That they were currently stale? ‘She’ll shake everything up!’ Marsha wittered on, seemingly oblivious to the cloud of gloom now hanging heavily above them as she babbled on about figure-fixing fashion, page after page of cheap knickers that promised to squish in one’s tum.
‘How depressing,’ Tristan mouthed at Roxanne, with a horrified look. She nodded and shrugged. At least her colleagues seemed to share her view. Roxanne had assumed a non-committal expression, and was trying to keep her gaze firmly on Marsha as she spoke. However, it was impossible not to register the quick looks of alarm and sympathy her colleagues were giving her. She knew what they were all thinking: Poor Rox! How must she feel, being effectively demoted? Is this a sneaky way of trying to force her out?
Then Marsha was thanking everyone for their time – ‘We’re heading into such an exciting new chapter!’ she trilled – and everyone was trying to check out Roxanne’s face as she scuttled back to her desk. Before anyone could accost her, she scooted out of the office and along the short corridor to the ladies’ loo.
As she tried to collect her thoughts at the basins, Serena and Kate arrived in pursuit. ‘My God, Rox, what’s going on?’ Serena exclaimed.
‘You heard,’ Roxanne replied with a grimace.
‘Fashion-director-in-chief? We’ve never had one before. I’ve never even heard it used as a job title …’
‘No, that’s because Marsha probably made it up.’
Kate ran a hand through her short coppery hair. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means she’ll be running our department and changing the style of our pages beyond all recognition,’ Roxanne muttered.
‘But why?’
‘Because that’s what Marsha wants, and she and Tina go way back, apparently. They’ve worked together before. Marsha said they’re quite the team …’
‘Well, that’s complete nepotism!’ Kate gasped.
Roxanne murmured in agreement, once again visualising the chilled glass of wine she would soon be clutching at Sean’s party. Usually she was happy to work late, but she was now experiencing a strong desire to escape from the building as soon as possible. ‘Everyone hires people they know,’ she said, trying to remain professional rather than letting rip with how she really felt. ‘Cathy brought me in, remember? We’d worked together before too. It’s natural to want people you trust.’
‘Yes, but that’s because you’re the best,’ Serena declared, ‘and this is different. Tina’s pages are a mess, more like a tatty old catalogue than proper fashion – and come on, we’ve all heard what she’s like to work with. She’s had her assistants and interns in tears. No one seems to last there more than a couple of months …’
‘I’ve heard all that too,’ Roxanne remarked, touched by her friends’ loyalty, ‘but we haven’t actually worked with her ourselves. We should just keep an open mind …’
‘Oh, stop being so reasonable!’ Serena exclaimed. ‘If it was me, I’d be having a complete meltdown.’
Roxanne forced a brave smile, pulling out her topknot and shaking her hair loose to signify that they had given the matter of Tina’s imminent arrival quite enough of their attention for now. ‘Don’t worry,’ she remarked dryly, ‘I’m saving that for Sean’s party so as many people as possible are there to witness it.’
And now she was extracting her make-up pouch from her bag, plus the original 60s black dress she had earmarked to wear tonight, and which was ideal for this kind of office-to-party scenario as it simply didn’t crease, even after being scrunched in the bottom of a shoulder bag.
She turned to Kate and Serena, who were still looking mournful in the wake of the day’s news. ‘Come on, you two,’ Roxanne said briskly. ‘Let’s get ready and off to this party. Anyone would think we weren’t desperate for a drink.’
Sean’s studio occupied the entire second floor of a canal-side warehouse close to King’s Cross. All white-painted brickwork with a glossy concrete floor, tonight it had been filled with silver helium balloons which were bobbing up at the rafters. The biggest, tethered above the huge metal-framed windows, read SEAN50. When Roxanne, Serena and Kate arrived, the room was already bustling.
There was a pop-up bar, manned by almost laughably handsome young men. Roxanne recognised them as new faces at one of the model agencies she used regularly, and Serena and Kate scuttled over to say hello. Other fledgling male models patrolled the studio, joking and flirting and carrying trays laden with glasses of champagne. At the far end of the room, a DJ was playing mellow tracks.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ Sean said, having made his way towards Roxanne and given her a heartfelt hug. ‘Sorry about your awful day. Are you okay?’
‘Oh, I’m fine – don’t worry about that now. It’s your party! It looks fantastic in here …’
He grinned. ‘I’ll give Louie his due, he pulled out all the stops.’ Sean paused and appraised Roxanne’s appearance. ‘You look drop-dead gorgeous tonight, babe—’
‘Thanks, darling,’ she said, glowing now as Serena strode over to greet him, followed by Kate. Soon a cluster of new arrivals were descending upon him too.
‘Let me grab you girls some champagne,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ Roxanne said quickly, feeling buoyed up already by the jovial atmosphere. ‘We can sort ourselves out, can’t we, girls?’
‘We sure can,’ Kate chuckled, indicating the stunning young waiter who was gliding towards them.
‘See you in a little while, birthday boy.’ Roxanne kissed his cheek and stepped away, leaving him to welcome the stream of newcomers, and accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter gratefully. Naturally, Sean would be busy playing host tonight, which was fine by Roxanne; she was used to them each doing their own thing whenever they were at parties together. She could hold her own in social situations and had no desire to cling to him, limpet-like.
With Serena and Kate at her side, she milled around the studio in a flurry of kisses and hugs; Sean’s crowd were an affectionate and demonstrative bunch, forever greeting each other with cries of delight. As Roxanne had expected, she knew almost everyone here. ‘Daniella, hi! Sadie, hi, sweetheart! Angelo – so lovely to see you …’
‘Oh, you look stunning, Roxanne,’ enthused Jarek, a hairdresser she worked with regularly on shoots. ‘What a fabulous dress! Is it vintage?’
‘It is, yes …’
‘You always find the most perfect thing …’
She thanked him and moved on. Make-up artists, hairdressers, models, photographers, stylists, PRs and agents … they were all out in force, filling the studio with chatter and boisterous laughter as the music grew louder and more champagne was swigged. It wasn’t long before Roxanne began to feel quite light-headed. She was drinking too quickly, trying to shake off the stress of her meeting with Marsha. She really needed to slow down. One more glass wouldn’t hurt, though, and she’d be sure to eat plenty and drink some water.
She took another glass of champagne from a tray and went in search of food to soak up the fizz. Bypassing the seafood bar, where piles of oysters glistened on ice, she made her way to the Indian street food stall where a glamorous young woman with her hair tucked into a crisp white hat was handing out paper cones of puffed rice. ‘This is bhel puri,’ she explained. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Ooh, yes please