A Little Love (21 page)

Meg beamed and trudged up the stairs, glad her shift had come to an end. She felt strangely fulfilled. It was a nice feeling being tired after working hard all day and there had been minutes if not hours that she hadn’t thought about Bill, she’d been that busy.

Pru closed the file she’d been working on and replaced it in the top drawer of the desk. She walked through the kitchen and up the stairs to the café. As she neared the door, she heard his laugh even before she saw him. She felt her bowels shrink and her blood run cold.
Crying Micky
– here, right now, in my business, in my home.

She walked into the café, trying to keep her expression impassive, clasping her hands in front of her to hide their shake.

‘Well, well.
Now
look at you – the one and only Miss Plum! Apart from the other Miss Plum!’ He guffawed. ‘Long time no see!’

‘It’s all right, Guy, I can take it from here.’ Pru nodded at her loyal manager, who hovered, disconcerted by the presence of the rude man in the hat. He retreated behind the counter and busied himself with the emergency counting of doilies. She crossed over to the table.

‘What do you want?’ Her tone was clipped, her volume low. She didn’t want to alert any other customers to his presence.

‘Do you know what? I think I preferred the tasty little pregnant piece who called me sir. Can I have her back again?’ He laughed and raised his handkerchief to wipe the tear that trickled from his puckered eye.

‘I don’t want you here, Micky. I want you to leave, now.’

‘Is that right?’ He drew a deep breath, slowly. ‘Thing is, it’s not always about what you want, is it now, Miss Plum? Sometimes it’s about what other people need, if you get my meaning?’

‘We have an agreement,’ she whispered, gripping the back of the empty chair at the table, unsuccessfully trying to steady her hands.

‘Ah, but that’s the thing about agreements, the terms can change, just like that.’ He clicked his fingers loudly above his head. Several patrons at nearby tables whipped round to look at him.

‘Please, Micky, just go. If you need to talk to me, you can do so over the phone.’

‘Please is nice. At least I’m getting a bit of civility now – and that’s all people want in life, isn’t it, Miss Plum. Civility, respect, status. Some would say it can make a business.’ He glanced around the room, taking in the ornate cornicing, brass fittings and grand antique chandelier. ‘Some would say that if you remove that respect and status, it can destroy a business and a reputation.’ He dug with his fingernail at something trapped between his front teeth.

‘If this is about money, I can’t give you any more.’ Her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and she was finding it hard to get the words out.

Micky laughed until he wheezed then coughed. ‘If it’s about money? Why else would I haul my arse all the way up here to see you, Prudence? What did you think? That I’d come all this way to reminisce about old times? Well, why not! And how is that nasty tranny you lived with over in Earls Court? What was his name… Trudy, wasn’t it? Still up to his old tricks? If you want to blame anyone, you—’

‘Please! Micky!’ Pru felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. How dare Micky foul the memory of her dear friend – what did he know? She flushed with fury at the horrible, casual way in which he’d sneered at Trudy’s biggest secret. Clenching her teeth and biting back her retort, she braced herself. He had the upper hand and she couldn’t afford to lose control; not here.

Her voice quivered with emotion. ‘I can’t give you any more.’

He made a fist and thumped his chest. ‘In my book, can’t means won’t and won’t means a whole heap of trouble.’

He stood up slowly, allowing the chair to scrape along the wooden floor, attracting the attention of the other customers. Drawing closer to Pru, he leered at her, only inches from her face. ‘Another thousand a month or you
will
be seeing me again. And I might bring some of my associates; they like a good time, if you get my meaning.’ He winked at her and straightened his hat. Then he grabbed a pale green pistachio macaroon from the display counter, shoved it behind his teeth and sauntered out.

Pru put on a bright smile as she cleared away the table, scooping the stray crumbs into her palm and straightening the menu against the flowers. She even managed to hum a little. She’d dealt with that quite well, all things considered. It was only when she reached the safety of her office and sank down into one of the comfy chairs that she allowed herself to register her thundering heart and quivering hands.

Her phone buzzed. She let out a little scream and trembled in the chair. ‘You silly moo,’ she muttered to herself, ‘calm down.’ Pulling the mobile from her pocket, she read the one-word message –
Park?
– and pressed the screen against her forehead.

She breathed deeply.
How can I do this? How can I pretend? I have to tell him.

Christopher approached the bridge at the same time as she did, both of them walking along the slight curve and meeting in the middle.

‘A late-afternoon bridge appointment? This is a bit of a departure, Sir Christopher.’

‘I know, I like to mix things up a bit!’ He laughed. ‘Keep you on your toes! No, it’s just been one of those days. I couldn’t escape before, but I’ve been thinking about you. It’s been a real pig of an afternoon.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Pru pushed the image of Micky’s leering, sneering face from her mind, happy that they weren’t going to compare notes.

Christopher leant across and kissed her and it felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though they had been doing it for years and not just that one day in Salcombe. She blushed and felt the knots leave her shoulders.

‘I’m pleased to see you.’ He smiled, as if it needed confirming.

‘I’m pleased to see you too.’

‘I feel different, Pru. Like we’ve moved forward. I couldn’t have imagined meeting someone at my age, didn’t know what starting out again would feel like, but it’s quite a relief to know it feels the same as it did when I was sixteen. But instead of worrying about spots and whether I’ll be able to borrow my father’s car for a date, I now worry about whether I might bore you and what to do to keep you surprised and interested.’

‘Luckily for you, the answer is very little. You don’t have to keep surprising me, Chris. I’m interested anyway. I think I’ve had more than enough surprises over the last few weeks. In fact, promise me, no surprises!’

He took her hand. ‘You’re right. These last few weeks have been a bloody rollercoaster. But I didn’t get you to schlep all the way to the park so we could be depressed! Although I’m afraid it might be a little too late for my “no surprises” promise.’

‘Too late? How?’

‘Before I realised that I actually didn’t need to try so hard to win you over…’ He winked and pulled an envelope from inside his suit jacket. ‘I got these.’ He waved the envelope in front of her. ‘Tickets to Barcelona. We leave on Saturday – it’s that long weekend we discussed. I called Liz, but sadly the Victoria Inn was fully booked, so Barcelona it is!’

Pru put her hand to her throat. ‘I can’t just up sticks and go to Barcelona!’

‘Yes you can.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Do you remember what we said – life starts when you let it! And we are going to let it, aren’t we? Come on, come to Barcelona. It’s only a weekend. I’m sure Plum Patisserie won’t fall down and Meg and Milly will be squabbling just as you left them, they probably won’t even notice you’ve gone.’

That was all probably true, but a weekend away, together… ‘I’ll have to have a think about it, check with Milly.’

‘Well you can think about it and check with Milly as much as you like, but I am not taking no for an answer. We are going to Barcelona.’

‘Are you always this bossy?’

‘Yes.’ He laughed and kissed her once again. ‘I love you, Pru. Just in case you were in any doubt.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Oh, shoot! I am very late!’ He started to jog away from her, backwards. ‘Barcelona! In four days! Pack sensible shoes!’ he shouted with his arms spread wide, narrowly missing a teenage boy carrying a skateboard. Pru heard him muttering ‘So sorry!’ as he broke into a run.

Pru woke in the middle of the night with a buzz of excitement. He was taking her to Barcelona! But she was darned if she would wait four days before seeing him again. She sent her text and set her alarm. Two could play at being bossy.

Christopher looked a little bleary-eyed as he stepped into the gleaming kitchen. ‘I’ll have you know, I haven’t had breakfast and I’m missing my morning run!’ He patted his stomach.

‘Not to worry, you can eat what we make and there’s another morning tomorrow, so you can just run twice the distance.’ She smirked as she fastened the apron around her waist before securing Christopher’s tightly with a bow. She spun him around until he was facing the counter and took up her place opposite him on the other side.

‘You look lovely!’ She chuckled; it was good to have him here in her workroom and funny to see him in one of the Plum Patisserie aprons. ‘So you’ve never baked anything before, ever?’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head, looking smug, as though this was some kind of achievement.

‘Not even biscuits when you were a kid or salt dough at school?’

‘No, nothing. My mother used to make cakes with Isabel while Dad and I went off and did other things. More boyish things.’

‘More boyish things?’ Pru put her hands on her hips. ‘You are unbelievably sexist and out of touch. Some of the greatest bakers in the world are men.’

‘Is that right?’ Christopher put his hands on his hips too, imitating her stance.

‘Yes! Richard Bertinet, Tom and Henry Herbert—’

‘Ooh, Mr Kipling!’ Christopher interrupted.

Pru stared at him in silence, then said sternly, ‘Baking is an art and you have to concentrate and learn. Monsieur Gilbert used to say that a half-hearted baker would only ever have half-eaten cakes, and he was right.’

‘I don’t want to incur the wrath of Monsieur Gilbert.’

‘Well it would be the ghost of Monsieur Gilbert, which would be much worse! Now listen carefully.’

Pru set a large ceramic bowl in front of him and placed a fine, pointed sieve over it. She handed him a scoop of flour and showed him how to gently tap the metal rim using the side of his palm. Christopher watched as the fine powder drifted through the tiny holes. ‘Why do we have to sift it? It looks pretty lump-free to me,’ he said.

‘It loosens up flour that might have been sitting around in storage for a long time; it also adds air, which means your baking will have a lighter texture.’

‘It feels like a lot of work.’ He grimaced.

‘And that’s part of the reward, Sir Christopher. You get out what you put in.’

Pru watched closely as he added the bicarbonate of soda, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg, his clumsy fingers more used to gripping a fat fountain pen than the fiddly little measuring spoon. Then she poured the mixture into the food processor, added the butter and set it to a gentle whir. ‘Look.’ She pointed at the bowl and Christopher dutifully peered more closely. ‘You see it looks like fat breadcrumbs? This tells us it’s time for the sugar.’

‘I’m meeting the PM this afternoon, I shan’t tell him how I spent my morning.’

‘Why not? I’m sure he’d be impressed!’ She laughed.

Christopher picked up the little scoop and dumped the sugar unceremoniously into the mixture. He did a better job of beating together the egg and the stretchy cords of golden syrup, which Pru then poured into the food processor.

‘Ooh, that smells lovely! Gingery!’ He inhaled.

‘Yes.’ Pru smiled. ‘We’re making gingerbread.’

‘Are we? Goodness gracious me!’

‘Do you know the best thing about making gingerbread?’ she asked.

‘Oh God, no, but I feel like I should have some textbook baking answer up my sleeve.’

She laughed. ‘The best thing is that you get two coffee opportunities – one when the dough is chilling in the fridge and the other while it’s baking! So stick the kettle on and I’ll get the cafetière out.’

She glanced at him while she set the dough to chill; it felt lovely to have him in such close proximity.

They sipped at their coffee before rolling out the dough. He was pretty good with a rolling pin, Pru would give him that. She handed him a man-shaped cutter. ‘You need to cut out your shapes. Press it into the dough quite firmly and then we’ll use a spatula to transfer it to the baking tray.’

Christopher fumbled with the thin metal shape, his tongue poking from the side of his mouth in concentration. He didn’t hear the door open.

‘What
are
you doing?’ Milly asked, standing in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest.

Christopher straightened up and adjusted his apron. ‘I am making gingerbread men.’ He blushed.

‘Blimey,’ Milly said. ‘And to think I voted for your lot.’ She left, shaking her head and tutting.

Half an hour later, Pru and Chris studied the cooled gingerbread figures and looked at the piping bags and pots of sparkles, chocolate buttons, jelly drops and other goodies lined up ready to decorate them.

‘I’m going to make
you
!’ Pru announced, picking up the icing cone. Her nimble fingers worked deftly as she drew a tie, a suit and even his cowlick of a fringe. The delicate white lines glistened on the smooth pale surface of her honey-coloured gingerbread figure.

‘Two can play at that game,’ said Christopher. And he proceeded to blob and squidge until he’d produced a Pru-figure with a thick line of smudge that combined nose, mouth and eyes.

‘Do I really look like that?’ she asked.

‘Yes, exactly like that.’ He smirked.

She showed him how to use icing to glue in place the sweetie gems and jewels, and he duly covered her figure with them. It looked hideous. But Christopher was clearly delighted. ‘Look at that, it’s uncanny!’ he said as he lifted up his creation.

Pru made a pretend swipe at him and as he defended himself, his gingerbread woman dropped to the counter and broke, losing an arm – and her head.

‘Oh no, I’m broken!’