Spring Beginnings
Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café, Book One
GEORGIA HILL

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Georgia Hill 2017

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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.

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Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008211066

Version 2016-11-17

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

To the people and town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. Thank you for the fabulous holidays.

Chapter 1

Millie wiped the table and then straightened to enjoy the view. Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café must have one of the best in Berecombe. Situated halfway along the flat promenade leading to the harbour, its wide windows looked straight out onto the seas of Lyme Bay. And what a view! Now, in early January, a chill bit into the wind and the light was crystal clear, making the azure blue of sea and sky deeper and rain-washed. One or two gulls wheeled about in the light breeze, chattering to the skies. Even though she’d lived in the little flat above the café all her life, Millie would never tire of how beautiful her home town was.

She carried the tray, full of empty plates and mugs, back to the kitchen and began washing up. Some people might say she was mad to stay open in the winter. All the other cafés and restaurants in this part of town were firmly shut up until March. Even the chip shop only opened on weekend nights.

But Millie loved this time of year. Yes, it was dark in the mornings, but the winter winds whipped up the sea into towering waves and she fed off the energy from a good storm. There was nothing more exhilarating than a walk along the promenade watching the waves tear into the beach and being deafened by the roar. She frothed the washing-up water in the sink with enthusiasm. Yes, there were only a few people about but she’d pick up a bit of trade from the literary festival later in the month. Besides, there were always one or two weekenders wanting a good foamy latte. There were all her regulars too. Biddy, with Elvis the poodle, would be along in an hour and Zoe and her friends would pop in for hot chocolate; fresh off the school bus and wanting a place to gossip in until it was time to go home. During the low season, Millie relished the luxury of having lots of time to talk to her customers.

‘And besides, Trevor,’ Millie called through the kitchen door to the cockapoo snoring in his basket by the radiator, ‘What else would we be doing? I can’t knit and daytime telly bores me rigid.’ The dog, worn out from his run on the beach, didn’t grace her with an answer.

The familiar jingle-jangle of the bell on the door alerted her to a customer. Wiping her hands on her apron – hand sewn by Biddy and turquoise-blue and pink to match the decor – Millie grabbed her pen and order pad.

There was a stranger sitting at the best table, next to the middle window. A man and alone. It was unusual. Not many men came into the café in the afternoons. She had a few who popped in for breakfast, but men weren’t usually, in her experience, afternoon-tea-and-cake type of people.

‘Hello there,’ she said, pinning on a welcoming smile, ‘What can I get you?’

The man lifted his face from the menu and gazed at her. He had dark eyes and blond hair. A striking combination. He was about her own age and very, very attractive.

‘Good afternoon.’

Cultivated voice. Expensive-sounding, to match his heavy overcoat. Millie glimpsed a snowy white shirt underneath, with a red tie and charcoal-grey striped suit. Definitely not her usual sort of customer. Perhaps he’d got lost on his way to the Lord of the Manor Hotel? It was far more exclusive and upmarket than Millie Vanilla’s.

‘What cake do you have?’

Millie relaxed a little. This was much safer ground than dwelling on how hot he was. ‘I’ve some Victoria sponge and a coffee and walnut cake. I also have a light fruitcake, which is iced, and freshly baked scones with jam and cream. Clotted, of course.’

‘Of course.’ He smiled back.

Millie’s heart did a flippoty-flop and her knees weakened. The smile transformed his features. He was gorgeous! Trevor, as if aware of his mistress’s agitation, stirred in his basket and gave a little snuffling snore.

The stranger looked at the dog’s wicker basket. ‘You allow dogs in the café?’

Millie stiffened. No one criticised her café and certainly not her dog. ‘He’s allowed in the seating area, but nowhere near any food preparation.’ She jerked her head towards the kitchen. ‘And, as you can see, there’s a door separating the two parts of the café. We’re very dog-friendly in Berecombe. Always have been. Lots of visitors bring their pets with them on holiday and want to eat out with them. In the better weather we have tables outside on the sun terrace and, of course, there are no restrictions on dogs out there.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve obviously touched a nerve. I apologise.’ That devastatingly charming smile again.

Millie felt the tension leave her shoulders. He hadn’t meant to criticise after all. ‘No, it should be me apologising. It’s a defence I have to produce every now and again.’

‘And you find it’s better for trade to have dogs in?’

Who was he to be asking all these questions? Suspicion prickled. ‘I do. There’s always the occasional customer who prefers to eat without having a dog around, but most people, even if they don’t have one of their own, actually like it.’

‘Good. Interesting.’

This was getting weird. ‘Now, what can I get you?’ Millie asked bracingly, to avoid further interrogation.

‘I suppose I’m too late for lunch?’

‘Not at all. I’ve some curried butternut squash soup and homemade bread. Or a sandwich on granary?’

‘The soup sounds wonderful. I’ll have that. And a piece of the Victoria sponge for pudding. Oh – and tea.’

‘I have Earl Grey or English Breakfast. The Breakfast tea is from a local Devon supplier and is particularly good. Or I have a variety of fruit and herbal teas.’

‘English Breakfast it is, then. Thank you.’

‘Thank you. Won’t be a minute.’

As Millie prepared his meal, she couldn’t resist sneaking peeks through the porthole window in the kitchen door. Who was he? Health and Safety? One of those secret review customers? Someone from the tourist board? He’d slipped off his overcoat and she’d been right about the suit. Very well cut and fitted to his long legs. No, he couldn’t be any of those. No tourist-board official had ever looked that beautiful. Did people really have cheekbones like that? Trevor, she saw, to her intense annoyance, was now nosing around and making friends. She’d expected the stranger to bat him off but he was tickling Trevor’s golden ears, to the dog’s great delight. And dogs were supposed to be loyal! Looked like Trevor couldn’t resist a handsome man either.

Feeling more than a little flustered, Millie put the soup on to heat and took over a tray with teapot, milk jug, cup and saucer.

‘What pretty china,’ the stranger exclaimed. ‘I like the way it’s all mismatched but goes together so well.’

Millie’s suspicions grew.

He looked around him with open admiration. ‘And I love the turquoise starfish and pink shell mural. You’ve obviously thought a great deal about the image for this place.’

Millie hadn’t. She’d got her best friend’s husband to paint it colours she liked and the china choice was forced on her by economy. She’d picked up a load at a car-boot sale. Was he being sarcastic? ‘Thank you.’ She forced a smile through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll just go and get your soup.’

Again, Millie watched avidly as the stranger examined his cup, turned the handles of the teapot and hot-water jug this way and that and lifted the saucer to examine the maker’s mark. The delicate flowery pattern should have looked ridiculous in his long-fingered grip, but it didn’t. Who was he?

There was one way to find out. She carried his soup and bread over, determined to ask questions, only to be thwarted as Biddy came in with Elvis. Shaking sea spray off her woollen beret, the elderly woman said, ‘Afternoon,’ in her over-loud voice. Millie served the stranger his meal and noticed with amusement that Biddy was glaring at him. He was in her favourite seat.

Biddy settled noisily at a table nearer the kitchen and made a great fuss over taking off her coat and settling her poodle.

Realising the interrogation would have to wait, Millie went over to her. ‘Your usual, Biddy?’ Millie didn’t need an order pad for this customer. Biddy always had the same thing.

‘My usual,’ the woman barked. ‘What else? A coffee and scone. And a shortbread for Elvis.’

‘Coming right up.’ Millie made sure she was facing her as she spoke. Biddy was really quite deaf but could lip-read. When she chose. Millie tried to be charitable and sympathise with how frustrating it must be but suspected Biddy’s permanently bad mood was nothing to do with her hearing loss. ‘How’s Elvis today?’ Normally Millie would fuss over Biddy’s hearing-assistance dog but she was too aware of the stranger. He seemed to be watching everything that was going on.

‘Upset, that’s what he is. That bitch has been after him again.’

Millie sensed rather than saw the stranger’s shoulders tense. ‘What, Arthur Roulestone’s retriever? She’s as quiet as a mouse.’

‘Not when she catches sight of Elvis, she isn’t. I swear he makes her randy.’

‘Oh dear,’ Millie murmured. ‘Just as well he doesn’t have the same effect on Trevor.’ They looked to where the dogs, having had a sniff to say hello, were now studiously ignoring one another.

‘Yes well,’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Folks ought to control their dogs, especially when they’re around others that work.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Millie saw the stranger’s shoulders quiver. Was he laughing – or about to complain? He’d been friendly towards Trevor, but maybe two dogs in a café was too much?

As far as she knew, Arthur’s Daisy never had the energy to raise her head, let alone pester a poodle a quarter of her size, but she supposed Biddy knew what she was talking about. ‘I’ll just get your coffee.’

Unfair though it seemed, maybe today wasn’t the day to let Biddy sit in a corner with Elvis nursing a solitary cup for an hour or two. The sooner she served her, the sooner she might leave. Taking Elvis with her. Millie immediately felt guilty. Why shouldn’t Biddy take as long as she wanted? The café was hardly busy. It was just this stranger. He made Millie uneasy. In lots of ways.

She busied herself in the kitchen, served Biddy, gave Elvis a homemade dog biscuit and took away the stranger’s empty soup bowl.

‘That was absolutely delicious.’ He gave her the megawatt smile again. ‘Is it really homemade?’

‘It is.’

‘By you?’

‘By me. As is the sponge cake.’

‘Then I can’t wait!’

He was being friendly. Saying the right things. Even Trevor, tart that he was, liked him – and she trusted Trevor’s opinion implicitly. But still, there was something not right about this whole encounter. She couldn’t quite place what it was. Maybe she was just unused to dealing with men who made her hormones fizz?

‘I’ll go and get it.’ The sooner he ate and left the better. Then things might get back to normal. She might get back to normal.

‘Could I trouble you for some more boiling water?’

‘Of course,’ she breathed. Bugger. He was going to linger.

As she served him, Zoe and her collection of friends clattered in, bringing the fresh January cold with them. They deposited their school bags and coats in a pile and slumped onto their usual corner table, phones in hand.

‘Hiya, Mil,’ Zoe called.

‘Hi, girls. Hot chocolate?’

‘Hot chocolate,’ they chorused back.

‘We’ve had PE,’ Zoe explained further. ‘Had to run around the field for hours. Supposed to be cross-country training,’ she added gloomily.

‘You poor things. I remember it well. Extra marshmallows, then.’

‘Thanks, Millie,’ came another chorus and they disappeared into scrolling down the screens of their phones.

After distributing mugs of hot chocolate, liberally laced with marshmallows and cream, Millie glanced around. Against the silvered light of the winter afternoon Biddy sipped her coffee, one hand protectively on Elvis’ black woolly head and Zoe and the gang were giggling over something on their phones. There was a comfortingly warm fug in the place. She sighed with pleasure; she loved this little café and cherished its place at the heart of her community.

Then she noticed the stranger pushing away his empty cake plate.

‘May I have my bill, please?’

‘Right away.’ Millie had already prepared it. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

He glanced at the amount and paid cash. ‘So, you’re Millie?’ he asked, putting a note on the saucer.

Blimey. More questions. She forced a friendly smile. ‘I am.’

‘And you own Millie Vanilla’s?’

‘I do.’

‘Great name, by the way.’

‘Thank you.’

In a bid to encourage him to leave, Millie picked up his payment, her eyes widening at what he’d tipped. As he stood up and put his coat back on, she noticed he towered above her. Another point scored. She liked tall men.

‘That was really delicious food. And you’ve got a marvellous place here.’

‘Thank you,’ Millie repeated. Why didn’t he just go?

‘I hope I can find the time to come back.’

As he went out, Clare, Zoe’s best friend, wolf-whistled. The dogs’ noses shot up at the sound. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, her eyes like saucers. ‘He’s gorg!’

‘And totally too old for you,’ Zoe replied.

Clare rolled her eyes. ‘I so totally don’t care.’

Zoe craned her neck to view him as he sauntered along the prom. ‘Nice bum.’

Millie giggled. ‘That’ll do, Zoe. I’ve told you before to stop ogling the customers.’

‘Hope he comes in when I do a shift on Saturday, then. He can have my extra-extra-special service.’ She waggled her eyebrows comically.

‘Oh, Zoe,’ Millie put her head on one side with pretend concern. ‘Whatever has he done to deserve that?’

Clare poked her friend in the ribs and cackled. ‘Yay, Millie’s got you there, Zo.’

Something drew Millie to the door. She watched as the man strode towards the harbour, the low sunshine lightening his blond hair. He had a loose-limbed style that was very sexy. Confident, assured of his place in the world. Arrogant almost. As if sensing he was being watched, he turned back to the café and raised a hand.

Millie ducked out of view, blushing furiously. She still hadn’t a clue who he was.

Chapter 2

Millie didn’t have long to wait until the gorgeous stranger returned. He came in a few days later on a bright, cold morning when the wind whipped up white horses.

‘Good morning again,’ he greeted her cheerfully.

‘Morning.’

He extended a hand. ‘As I know your name, I think I’d better introduce myself. Jed Henville.’

‘Nice to meet you.’ Millie wiped her hand unnecessarily on her apron (bright pink with turquoise stars today). ‘Emilia Fudge. But everyone calls me Millie.’

She waited for the laugh. For a quirk of amused eyebrows. For the jokes over her name being as sweet as her cakes. None came and she blushed with gratitude. This guy had class. ‘What can I get you today?’

Jed grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t have anything, really, as I’ve just had a rather mediocre English cooked breakfast. But when I was in the other day, I couldn’t help but notice you do raisin toast. It’s my all-time weakness. Is that homemade too?’

‘Alas, I can’t lay claim to being a bread-maker. My pal Tessa makes all the bread I serve in here. But it’s very much made in her home. She’s a fantastic artisan baker. I’ll get you some of her fabulous raisin toast, then, shall I? Would you like some coffee with that?’ Millie smiled and wondered where he’d eaten his very ordinary breakfast and if he’d shared it with anyone. Who was he and why was he in Berecombe? It was a sleepy place and not considered as trendy as Lyme Regis, further along the coast. At this time of year any stranger stood out a mile, especially one as good-looking as him.

‘Thank you. I’d love a large latte. It’s cold today; I need warming up!’ Taking off his stripey scarf, he settled at the same table he’d sat at the other day and spread out a broadsheet newspaper.

He was less formally dressed today, in dark moleskin jeans and a buttery suede jacket. With his out of season suntan, he looked just as buttery and edible himself. So he was in need of being warmed up? Millie could think of one or two things that might do it. She gave herself a shake. Honestly. Grow up, woman! She was as bad as Zoe and her gang going weak at the knees at the sight of a hot man. She ran into the kitchen and put herself to work as a distraction.

The morning passed peacefully enough. Jed had eaten his toast and drunk his latte with enthusiasm, declaring both delicious and had thrown on his scarf and jacket and departed. As she cleared his table, Millie was prevented from watching where he was headed by the arrival of Arthur Roulestone, breakfast regular and owner of Daisy, Elvis’s arch enemy.

‘Morning, my dear,’ he called, as he came in with the puffing retriever in tow. He followed her look. ‘Stranger in town, then?’

‘Morning, Arthur.’ Millie picked up the tray and paused, with her bottom pushed against the kitchen door. ‘You don’t happen to know who he is, do you?’

‘No idea.’ He tapped his nose cheerfully. ‘I can keep my ear to the ground for you, though.’

‘Thanks.’ Arthur was a member of Berecombe’s town council. What he didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Your usual?’

‘Bless you. A trifle chilly out there today.’

‘Isn’t it just? But I love these crisp days,’ Millie shouted from the kitchen.

‘I’ve heard we might have snow later.’

‘Snow?’ Millie put the tray down on the draining board and poked her head out of the door. ‘It never snows here. We don’t even get so much as a frost.’

‘Not strictly true. I can remember it snowing one winter when I was a boy. Covered the beach. Magical. Funnily enough, I always find it’s the coldest just before we get the first of the spring days.’

‘Some warmer weather would be welcome and good for business too. But snow, eh? How exciting! Must have been years ago. Before my time.’

‘Thank you for reminding me what an old codger I am.’

‘Sorry, Arthur. Extra sausage? And one for Daisy as an apology?’

‘Accepted with pleasure. Organic sausages from Small’s farm, I assume?’

Millie nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

Arthur went over to the table Jed had just vacated. ‘Ah,’ he called through to her. ‘I see your mysterious customer has left his newspaper. I might just have a quick look.’ He bent and picked it up. ‘Oh, how disappointing. The Financial Times. Not quite my choice of reading matter on a Friday morning.’ His brows rose over his steel-rimmed specs. ‘Might be a clue to his identity, however! A businessman, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps.’ Millie stepped around Daisy as she brought over Arthur’s mug of tea. ‘Strong builder’s as usual.’

‘Bless you, my dear.’

‘And how’s the old girl?’ She bent to tickle Daisy’s ears. ‘I hear she’s been annoying Elvis again.’

‘Well, at least it shows there’s some life left in her. She’s getting on a bit now. Like me.’

Millie saw emotion contort Arthur’s face. She straightened. ‘Oh Arthur, you’ve both got years ahead of you yet.’ Goodness knows what the old man would do when Daisy went. They were devoted to each other. ‘And if she can still chase after a poodle, there must be hope.’

‘Indeed. However, I fear Biddy does not quite see it that way. And Elvis is an assistance dog. Daisy shouldn’t interfere when he’s working.’

‘I think they’re secretly very fond of one another,’ Millie said, reflecting that the same could be said of their bickering owners. ‘And don’t worry, Biddy’s fine. Never happy unless she’s got something to moan about.’

‘As my granddaughter Zoe would say, ain’t that the truth?’

Laughing, Millie went to get his breakfast ready, confident her cooked English could never be described as mediocre.

Chapter 3

Early on Saturday morning, when the sun was just rising over the bay, Zoe crashed in to begin her shift.

‘Like your hair, Zo. What colour is it this time?’

Zoe pulled a lock of her purple fringe and went cross-eyed looking at it. ‘Plummy Aubergine.’

‘Nice. Although I quite liked the shocking pink.’

‘Mum didn’t,’ Zoe said gloomily as she tied on her apron. ‘And school hated it. Threatened to suspend me if I didn’t tone it down.’

‘And Plummy Aubergine counts as toning it down?’

Zoe scuffed her platform trainers. ‘Mmm.’

‘Well, this is an important year for you. Getting your grades for university and everything.’

Zoe pulled out a chair and collapsed onto it, looking morose. ‘Yeah, well, don’t know if I actually want to go.’

Millie paused while refilling the cupcake-shaped sugar bowls. Taking the seat opposite Zoe, she sat down and took the girl’s hand. ‘What’s all this about, then, my lovely?’

Zoe gave an enormous sigh. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just think there’s more to life than batting off horny undergrads and saddling yourself with a humungous debt.’

Millie tried to keep a straight face. ‘Well, there’s certainly more to university than that.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘But it’s what you’ve always wanted.’

‘Is it?’ Zoe looked up and Millie was shocked to see tears in her heavily kohled eyes. Usually the girl was breezily happy and uncomplicated. Her choice of alternative image being the notable exception.

‘Isn’t it?’ Millie hid her shock. Zoe was an extremely bright girl. University had always been the goal.

‘It’s what Mum and Dad want me to do. Have always wanted me to do. And Granddad.’

Arthur would be devastated. Zoe was his only grandchild and he doted on her. ‘You need to do what’s right for you, my lovely.’

Zoe pouted and moodily traced the flowery pattern on the oilcloth. ‘You didn’t go, did you?’

Millie resumed filling the sugar bowl. ‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘But that was different. I had the café.’

‘That your parents ran?’

Millie nodded. ‘Until they died.’ She bit her lip.

‘Aw, I’m sorry, Mil. For making you remember.’

Millie nodded. ‘Well, some things are difficult to talk about still.’

‘Even after all these years?’

‘Even after all these years.’

‘That A35. It’s a death-trap,’ Zoe said viciously.

Millie rose. ‘It is.’

‘There was another accident on it last week. Friend of Clare’s mother. But no one was seriously hurt.’

‘Well, road accidents happen all the time, don’t they?’ Millie clasped the bag of sugar to her as a shield. ‘Now,’ she said, with a forced brightness. ‘We’d better get ourselves ready; we’ll have a few frozen weekenders in, no doubt.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Zoe got up and followed Millie to the kitchen. ‘Sorry.’

Millie turned to her in surprise. ‘Whatever for?’

‘For doing a downer on you.’

‘Oh, Zoe!’ Millie put the sugar down and gave her a hug. ‘You know you can talk to me. Any time. About anything.’

‘I know.’

‘Just think carefully about your future, won’t you? You’re such a clever girl. You could do anything and everything you want.’

‘Meaning university?’

‘Maybe university, if that’s what you really want, but so much more too.’ Millie released Zoe and gave her a grin. ‘Come on, let’s grab a coffee before the Saturday rush starts. I’ve made some millionaire’s shortbread. Fancy some?’

Zoe rolled her eyes and giggled. ‘Is the Pope Catholic?’

‘Is he? I’ve no idea. Pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of Plummy Aubergine, though.’ Millie tweaked Zoe’s fringe.

‘Showing your age, Mil.’

‘Cheek. I’ll have you know I still have a two in it. Just about.’

Zoe grinned. ‘Yeah, that’s what I mean. Pos-it-ive-ly ancient. Totally past it, girlfriend.’

Millie grabbed a tea towel and snapped it at Zoe’s rear. ‘You, young lady, may not live long enough to get as far as my shortbread. Into that kitchen and begin work this minute.’

‘Gawd. Thought the days of child slave labour died out with Dickens,’ Zoe said good-naturedly and skipped ahead of Millie and into the welcoming scents of a kitchen, which produced heavenly little squares of chocolate and caramel on shortbread.

Chapter 4

It was cold and still dark as Millie walked briskly up Berecombe’s steep main street to the post office. Millie was used to early starts. She’d been getting up at five all her working life. True, getting up at the crack of dawn was far more pleasant in the summer months. But even at this time of year she delighted in the muffled, secretive quality the town had when few others were around. She kissed each letter as she posted it, wishing it a safe and speedy journey to its destination, then turned and walked back down the hill. As she did, she passed the old bank building. The closing of Berecombe’s only bank had caused huge distress, especially among her older customers. Not used to online banking and unwilling to trust it, they were now having to go into Honiton or Axminster to do any banking business. More alarming for Millie, a lot of them, having made the journey, were staying on there for coffee and lunch. She’d lost quite a lot of trade that way. She bit her lip; she might have to rethink one or two things to keep her going through to the busy summer season. She just wished she knew what.

She paused to study the elegant Georgian facade. The building work had been going on for some time now and no one seemed certain about what was going to open. All sorts of rumours abounded. At the moment, its windows were resolutely boarded up and hostile- looking, giving away no secrets. She shivered in the sea fog that was yet to go out with the tide. It really had been a long, dismal winter. The promised snow hadn’t appeared but she hoped Arthur was right when he’d said spring was on its way. Walking fast, she clicked her tongue at Trevor to follow and made her way home.

As she unlocked the café, her best friend Tessa arrived, carrying a tray of freshly made breads.

‘Alright then, our Mil?’ she called out in her broad Brummy tones. ‘Got you a load of granary, a couple of white bloomers and fruit bread. That should see you through.’

Millie eyed it thoughtfully. She would have to freeze a lot of it. ‘Should see me through a few days the way business has been lately.’ She held open the café door and Tessa followed, putting the heavy tray down with a sigh of relief.

‘That bad, eh? Time of the year, though.’

‘Hopefully. Got time for a coffee?’

‘Always got time for one of your coffees, bab.’ Tessa plonked herself on the chair nearest the kitchen door and shouted through. ‘Looks crackin’ in here.’ Then she fell silent as her phone pinged and she scrolled through a message.

Millie came through with a cafetière and plate of biscuits and joined her. ‘Zoe touched up some of the paintwork on Saturday as we went a bit quiet. She’s a good girl.’

Tessa put down her phone and looked around. ‘Always loved this pink and blue theme Ken did.’ She watched as Millie poured the coffee.

Ken was Tessa’s artist husband. She had met him while on holiday, fallen in love and, three children later, was still in Devon.

‘How did his show go?’ Millie yawned and stretched out her long legs. She slipped off her Uggs and tucked her feet underneath each other. Glancing at Tessa she thought her friend seemed unusually tense.

Tessa pulled a face. ‘Okay, but we only sold a few paintings. And that gallery in Exeter charges a fortune to host an exhibition. Don’t think we covered our costs, to be honest.’

‘That’s a real shame. You’d both worked so hard on it. Here, have a gingerbread man. I made them last night.’ Millie pushed the plate over. ‘I hadn’t realised they charged.’ Maybe that was the reason for Tessa’s mood.

‘Oh yes, they charge alright.’ Tessa snapped a biscuit in half viciously. ‘We’ll have to find somewhere else to do it next time. Maybe provide our own fizz. Got to find a way to cut costs,’ she waved a gingerbread man leg in the air, scattering crumbs. ‘Otherwise it just ain’t worth doing.’

‘Can you do another in the summer, when there are more people around?’

Tessa shrugged. ‘Maybe but holiday-makers don’t want to buy Ken’s paintings. Too big to get in the back of the hatchback to trek up the M5, like.’

Millie put down her half-eaten gingerbread man; she’d lost her appetite suddenly. It wasn’t like Tessa to be so negative. Something else must be worrying her. ‘These would be better iced, I think.’

‘Why don’t you do them to match the caff? Blue and pink buttons!’

‘I might just do that.’ Millie laughed, relieved her friend sounded momentarily brighter. She reached for her coffee. ‘Speaking of colour, Zoe’s got purple hair at the moment.’

‘Love that girl!’ Tessa nodded. ‘Yeah, Ken said as much. She’s been hanging round the studio a bit lately.’

‘She’s having a crisis over whether she wants to go to uni to study English.’

Tessa nodded again. ‘Ken says she’s got real artistic talent. You should see the water-colour sketches she does; they’re ace.’

‘Maybe that’s what she really wants to do? Probably doesn’t want to let her parents down, though. Under all that punk make-up and fluorescent hair, she’s a softie. Wants to keep them happy.’

Tessa pointed a stern finger. ‘Yeah, but what does she want? Going off to study books for three years isn’t going to make her happy. All she’ll end up with is debt.’

‘That’s exactly what she said to me. It’s awful that kids have to think like that.’

‘Well, Ken reckons she ought to get herself to art college.’ Tessa pulled another face and spread her arms. ‘And not going to uni didn’t do us any harm, did it?’

Millie raised her eyebrows. ‘No. We’re just sitting here at six in the morning, wondering how best to make ends meet.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Tessa got up. ‘A poxy English degree ain’t necessarily going to fix that. Agreed?’

‘Maybe.’ Millie grinned. Tessa’s antipathy to academia stemmed from disappointment in her eldest son. Sean had little scholarly ambition. The Tizzards’ hopes were now focused on their middle boy.

Just as Tessa got to the door, she turned. She hesitated before speaking. ‘Have you heard what’s going into the old bank building?’

‘No, what? I walked past there earlier but there was no clue.’ Millie began clearing their plates and mugs.

Tessa took a breath. ‘It’s another caff, Mil. I’m sorry, kiddo.’

‘A café?’ Millie sank back onto her chair on suddenly weakened legs. Another café. Coming to Berecombe. And opening up as a rival.

She looked around at the sunny turquoise walls, the fairy lights, encased in feathers and twinkling, lovingly put up by Zoe. The tray of tempting breads waiting to be eaten. The tables scrubbed and laid ready for her customers to flock in. Except they hadn’t exactly been flocking in recently, had they? And with competition opening up, it could just about sound the death knell for Millie Vanilla’s.

Oh God.

‘Sorry, Millie,’ Tessa repeated. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. School run. Laters, bab.’

She disappeared before Millie had the chance to answer.

Chapter 5

Arthur wandered in later than usual and, very unusually, without Daisy. He rejected a cooked breakfast and sat morosely nursing a solitary mug of tea. In sympathy, Trevor whined and squatted at his feet, but was ignored.

When Millie spotted Biddy pushing open the door, with a cheerful Elvis in tow, she feared the worst. She was in no mood for squabbling pensioners this morning.

‘You’re early, Biddy. What can I get you?’

‘It’s allowed, isn’t it? Being early. Not a crime. And what else do I ever have? The usual, please.’

Muttering to herself as she worked in the kitchen, Millie wondered if Biddy got on with anyone. Maybe it was the low, dull clouds? It seemed to be putting everyone in a bad mood today. As she warmed up Biddy’s scone, Millie could already hear her bickering with Arthur. Biddy was moaning that yet another restaurant was opening up in town. Her heart sank.

She brought out Biddy’s coffee and scone, served it and retreated behind the counter, pretending to polish some glasses.

‘For once I agree with you,’ Arthur went on. ‘And it does the town no favours to have these businesses open in good faith, only to have one poor season and close down again.’

‘Hmph,’ Biddy snorted. ‘Don’t see it happen in Lyme.’

Arthur sighed. ‘Lyme Regis has always been a special case as it’s so popular. And Berecombe’s not doing too badly, really.’

‘But you’ve still let this new café open.’

Millie stiffened.

‘Apart from myself, the town council were in agreement. Blue Elephant is an international chain. The council felt, with the backing of a big company behind them, it might help the café stay open and provide some continuity. And that’s quite a large building to pay rates on. Only a big organisation like that could afford it.’

Millie found the leg of the stool behind the till and dragged it over using her foot. Blue Elephant! She collapsed onto it. It couldn’t be much worse. They were huge in the States and had just started to open branches over here, rivalling Costa and Starbucks. They were a Fairtrade company and committed to using organic supplies. With their muffins, granary sandwiches and coffees they’d be in direct competition with what she did at Millie Vanilla’s. Even worse, the backing of a large corporation meant buying in bulk across their outlets and almost certainly undercutting her prices. She felt sick.

‘But the council is still letting this Elephant place go ahead?’ Biddy asked through a mouthful of scone, scattering crumbs.

‘I’m afraid so, Biddy.’

‘What did you say? ‘Speak up, man.’

‘I said, yes I’m afraid so,’ Arthur repeated.

Biddy snorted again.

‘I will endeavour to put forward your feelings at the next council meeting.’

In answer, Biddy slurped her coffee. Silence fell, only interrupted by whimpers coming from a now dreaming and kicking Elvis.

Arthur, sensing their conversation was at an end, came to the counter and paid the exact amount in cash as he always did. ‘I’m sorry, dear girl,’ he whispered, ‘that I couldn’t tell you sooner. About this Blue Elephant business. It was all a very hush-hush affair.’

Millie nodded mutely and watched him as he left. Trevor followed him to the door and whined. After hearing the dreadful news Millie wanted to join in.

Chapter 6

To her relief, business picked up a little at Millie Vanilla’s over the next few days. The literary festival brought a smattering of people into town. Millie stayed open on the nights events were held and did a roaring trade in warming pea and ham soup and her rich apricot and almond tray bake. She liked the lone customers who came in, pored over a book in a corner and demanded constant tea and coffee. The festival was designed to bring some trade into town in the quiet days after the Christmas season and it was working.

Along with the Yummy Mummies Plus One Dad Group and her other regulars, the W.I. Knitting Circle and the Berecombe B.A.P.S (the Berecombe Appreciation of Paperbacks Society), she was kept busy.

Tessa popped by one evening with her two youngest boys. While the children took Trevor for a run on the beach, she tucked into the apricot cake with relish. ‘Oh,’ she sighed, ‘you should definitely make loads more of this. It’s bloomin’ gorgeous.’ She looked up as the door opened. ‘Hello, our Sean.’

Her eldest son stood in the doorway looking coy. ‘Hi, Mum.’

A possible reason for his embarrassment arrived a second later. Zoe, this time with bleached-white hair, fell into the café behind him. ‘Oh hello, Mrs Tizzard.’

‘Zoe, me lover, told you before, call me Tessa. Grab a pew. What are you having?’

‘Well, we’re not stopping. We’re just on our way to the poetry reading in the theatre.’

Tessa’s shoulders quivered with barely contained laughter. ‘Poetry reading? Not usually our Sean’s thing.’

As an answer Sean grunted.

‘You forgot your scarf on Saturday, Zoe,’ Millie interrupted, to save him further embarrassment. ‘And would you like your wages while you’re here?’

‘Aw thanks, Mil. I can get Mum her birthday pressie later. There’s a craft fayre on in the theatre afterwards. She said she’d seen some nice earrings she’d like.’

‘That Susie Evans does some nice stuff,’ Tessa pointed out through a mouthful of cake. ‘Tell her I sent you and she’ll give you a bit off.’

‘Oh and she can have a free coffee next time she’s in,’ added Millie.

‘Thanks, Mrs Tizzard, I mean Tessa. And thanks, Mil.’ Zoe wound the scarf around her neck and stuffed her wages into the battered satchel she used as a handbag. ‘You coming then, Sean?’

Sean, who was looking longingly at the half-eaten slice of cake on his mother’s plate, snapped into attention and opened the door.

‘See you later, kids,’ his mother cackled. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’

Millie pressed a couple of slices of cake, wrapped in a serviette, into Sean’s hands. She winked at him in sympathy. ‘Bye both. Oh and Zoe, think I preferred Plummy Aubergine!’

Sean scowled at his mother, Zoe waved a cheerful goodbye and then they strode off along the promenade, arm in arm, heads close together.

Millie served scones and tea to a group deep in argument over the latest Booker prizewinner and then joined Tessa. ‘Is there something going on between those two?’

Tessa exploded into laughter. ‘Bloody poetry. Our Sean? I ask you!’ She shook her head in answer. ‘Who knows? If there is, it’s news to me. Thought they were just friends. Wouldn’t mind a bit, though. Zoe’s a lovely girl. And she’s a good influence on Sean, not counting this sudden passion for poetry.’

‘But isn’t he going to work at that picture-framing company in Honiton?’

‘Yes, bab, it’s all set up. It’ll suit him. Says he’s had enough of exams to last a lifetime. He’s never been the most academic of my three. Unfortunately. What of it?’

‘Just that it might explain Zoe’s sudden cold feet about going to Durham.’

Tessa looked to where, illuminated by the white lights strung up all along the promenade, she could see her eldest walking with his arm around Zoe’s shoulders. They stopped for a moment to take the inevitable selfie and giggled at the result. ‘You mean, young love? Sweet.’

‘And intense. You never feel the same as you do when you’re in love at seventeen.’

Tessa pulled a gloomy face. ‘Don’t know. It was so long ago I can’t remember.’

Millie laughed. ‘Don’t get me wrong, your Sean is gorgeous. But –’

‘If you had the choice between love and a degree from Durham?’ Tessa asked.

‘I think I’d choose Durham.’

Tessa shoved in the last of her cake. ‘That’s what’s wrong with you, Emilia Fudge,’ she said through a full mouth, ‘there’s no romance in your soul. When was the last time you had a hot lover on your arm?’

‘Don’t know. It was so long ago I can’t remember.’ She winked at Tessa.

Tessa sniggered and got up. ‘Better go and rescue Trevor from the boys. He’ll have had enough by now. I’m amazed they can see anything on the beach at this time of night.’

‘Oh, the lights on the prom reach out quite a way.’ Millie stretched her back. It had been a long day.

Tessa observed her friend with affection. ‘You look knackered. It really is about time you had some fun, my girl.’

Millie gave a wry smile. ‘You tell me when and who with and I’m all for it. Not sure how I’ll squeeze in a hot man, though. I work all day and bake all night. And I don’t know about fun, but it would be lovely to have someone special to share my life with. I get lonely sometimes.’

Tessa nodded. ‘I understand, kiddo. You can have all the friends in the world and still feel lonely without a special person to come home to.’ She was silent for a moment and then added, ‘Come here.’

‘What for?’

‘Come here,’ Tessa repeated and beckoned Millie to where she was standing by the big picture window. When Millie obeyed, she turned her to face it, standing behind their joint reflection and putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders. ‘Look at you.’

Millie looked. And pouted. ‘You’re right. I look knackered.’

‘Dead right you do. You’re tired because you’ve just done a fourteen-hour day.’

‘Your point being?’ Millie was embarrassed, aware that the literary festival group were watching with interest.

‘Behind the tiredness, I see gorgeous big brown eyes, that lovely dark hair and legs that I’d kill for. Don’t let life be all about work, Millie. Go and find yourself that man. You want marriage, babies, the whole enchilada, don’t you?’

Millie nodded, her eyes filling with tears that she put down to exhaustion. Tessa had a point. It had been months since she’d taken any time off. She tried to see herself objectively. Yes, her make-up had disappeared hours ago and while her bob had grown out, her hair was still thick and glossy. Her legs, toned by a lifetime of being on her feet waitressing, were encased in matte-black tights, their length revealed by the flippy short skirts she favoured. Not too bad, she ventured. She bit her lip. ‘But where am I supposed to find a man, let alone some fun, Tess?’

Tessa made a face. ‘God knows. Pick up a tourist? Or what about that bloke who keeps coming in? The one that Zoe keeps going on about. Wears all that designer gear – Hackett, she reckons it is. Another word for expensive, in my book. Oh, I don’t know where you’ll find him but get out there, kiddo. Take some time out. Forget the ruddy café for five minutes.’

‘And there’s me wanting to be the next Mary Berry.’

‘Wash your mouth out. There’s only one Mary Berry!’ Tessa put her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Saint Mary!’

Millie giggled. She could always rely on her friend to make her laugh. ‘Love you, Tess. Now go and find my dog.’

‘Will do. Love you too, honeybun. Tarra a bit!’

Chapter 7

Millie bumped into Jed as she was hurrying up Berecombe’s steep main street. Literally bumped into him. Tessa would say it was fate. Millie would say it was because she had her head down against the icy wind blowing sleet against her face and didn’t see him coming the other way.

Oomph. Her library books slid onto the pavement as they collided. Trevor barked with excitement.

‘Here, let me.’ Jed bent down and collected them for her. ‘Hello, Trevor,’ he said, fending him off as the dog tried to lick his ear. ‘Middlemarch and James Joyce,’ he read as he handed them back to her one by one. His eyebrows rose. ‘Interesting reading.’

Millie blushed. ‘I didn’t go to college, so I’ve been trying to catch up on some books everyone tells me I ought to read.’ She held up Moby Dick. ‘This was for Book Club.’

‘How did you find it?’

‘Excruciatingly boring.’

Jed laughed. ‘My thoughts exactly. I always had a bit of a thing for Mrs Gaskell. Maybe you could try her? Look, I think you’re out of luck trying to return them tonight, the library’s just closed. I passed it on my way down. Lights off and doors definitely locked.’

‘Oh.’ Millie’s face fell. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’

‘I hope you’ll avoid a fine? I have to confess it’s been a long time since I borrowed a book from a library. Do they still do that?’

Millie nodded. ‘I’ve got until tomorrow.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll have to try to find time to return them then.’

Jed peered closer. ‘If you don’t mind my saying, you look rather done in.’

‘The café’s been busy with the literary festival. I’ve been rushed off my feet.’

‘Well, it’s good that you’ve been busy. Have you finished for tonight?’

Millie thought of the batch of Bakewell tarts she should get in the oven and of the apricots she needed to soak before making another four lots of the tray bake.

Jed filled in the gap left by her hesitation. ‘If you have, may I suggest getting some supper in the White Bear? I hear their food isn’t too bad.’

‘The food in there is lovely.’ Millie hopped from one foot to the other. She was freezing. Her nose was like ice. The thought of hot food in the company of an even hotter man was tempting beyond belief. Tessa’s words from the other night reverberated. Since when did she have gorgeous men asking her out to eat? Since when had she had some fun? Sod it, she decided, the customers would have to make do with scones tomorrow and she had some tea bread she could defrost. Some nice salty farmhouse butter would make it special. ‘I’d love to,’ she smiled up at him.

‘What about Trevor?’

‘Oh, he hasn’t eaten either.’

Jed laughed. ‘That wasn’t quite what I meant. Do they allow dogs in the White Bear?’

Millie nodded, as much to keep warm as to answer. ‘Oh yes, in the public bar, anyway. It’s cosy in there too; they’ll have a roaring fire going.’

‘Sounds perfect. Shall we?’ He held out an arm and Millie took it. ‘Let me,’ he added and relieved her of the books. ‘Perhaps we can dissect Herman Melville some more?’

‘Blimey, could we not?’ Millie, very aware of how close he was, giggled. She leaned nearer, thinking that he smelled heavenly. She breathed in spice and lemon. It wasn’t dissimilar to the cardamom lemon-drizzle cake she made sometimes.

‘Maybe stick with Gaskell, then?’

They retraced her steps back down the hill, the sleet now at their backs, making their passage easier. Unusually cold weather aside, Berecombe looked beautiful. White lights strung across the narrow shopping street blew gently in the salt-laden breeze coming off the sea. Most shops had closed by now but had kept their window displays lit against the deep indigo of the night. It was postcard pretty.

Millie was overcome by a wave of affection for her home town. She’d never lived anywhere else and had never wanted to. Never needed to. She’d had everything she ever wanted here. Until recently. Risking a glance at Jed’s profile, she wondered how long he was going to stay around. With his long upper lip and sharp cheekbones, there was definitely something of the Eddie Redmayne about him. He was posh-boy gorgeous. She breathed out a white cloud of hot breath in longing.

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