The Seafront Tearoom Read online

  “Yes. I normally just want to sleep. I think the Spanish have the right idea.”

  “Well, Duchess Anna requested a cup of tea and something to eat, and before long her friends were doing the same. The idea caught on and spread.”

  “Then here’s to our friend Anna,” Séraphine said, raising her teacup. “She was a very smart woman.”

  “Would you ever be tempted to come and live here?” Kat asked. “More permanently, I mean?” Séraphine seemed so at ease in England, relaxed and confident.

  “I don’t think so,” Séraphine said. “There are things I’d miss.” Her eyes took on a distant look.

  “People?” Kat asked gently.

  Séraphine nodded.

  Something in her expression told Kat not to pursue the line of inquiry any further.

  “Well, we’ll just have to see to it that you enjoy your time here as much as possible,” Kat said.

  In the afternoon, after two more tearoom stops, Séraphine and Kat browsed the antique shops in the town, picking up small trinkets and souvenirs.

  “Are you hungry?” Kat asked. “I mean, a macaroon is only so filling. Do you fancy some fish and chips?”

  “That would be great. I’ve never had any before. Not proper English ones, anyway.”

  “Then it’s settled. Let’s go.”

  They bought portions of cod and chips wrapped in paper and took them down to the sea. On a bench, they ate the warm chips with wooden chip forks.

  “These are good,” Séraphine said.

  “Incredibly healthy too,” Kat said, with a smile.

  “Oh yes, all that salt and ketchup in particular.”

  “We used to have these when I was growing up. Every Friday, Dad and I would go down to the harbor and pick them up. He’d get fish and I’d get a battered sausage.”

  “Do your parents still live in Scarborough?” Séraphine asked.

  “My dad does. At least, that’s where his house is. He’s away traveling at the moment—and having the time of his life, if his postcards are anything to go by. He deserves it. He’s worked hard ever since he left school.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “She passed away when I was young.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. I wish I could remember her better. To be honest, I barely have any memories of her.” Kat shrugged. “I was four when she died. Dad and Letty—who was a friend of hers—have told me a few things. They both say that she wanted desperately to be a mother, and that having me completed her in a way. Apparently she was kind and generous, and funny.”

  “Are you similar to her? Do they ever mention that?”

  “No.” Kat shook her head. “Apart from the kind and funny bit,” she joked. “But seriously? No, not at all.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Mum was curvy, as much as I’m not. Red hair, freckles . . .”

  “Really?” Séraphine raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes,” Kat said, with a smile. “It’s not as surprising as it seems, though. I’m adopted.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I should have said that at the start. Sometimes I forget, Dad is so much my dad. He could have been lost on his own when Mum died, but he wasn’t. He was OK. It wasn’t regular, our little setup, but it’s worked for us. What about your family?”

  “They’re pretty conventional.” Séraphine smiled. “Perhaps a little too conventional.”

  “Too conventional?”

  “Yes. Although perfectly normal for where we live. Church on Sundays, don’t say or do anything to upset the others in the village—that kind of thing.”

  “Does it bother you?” Kat asked.

  “It didn’t always. But lately, yes. I sometimes wonder how they’d react if they knew the real me.”

  Kat wanted to ask—she could see that Séraphine was holding something back, but at the same time she was wary of pushing too much. “Do you think it holds you back?” she asked.

  Séraphine considered the question, then nodded. “I suppose it’s easier to carry on pretending to be what they want me to be.”

  “You only get one lifetime to be the real you,” Kat said. “You can’t afford to miss that chance, you know.”

  That evening, Séraphine sat on her bed and put her canvas bag down beside her. The fresh air had left her relaxed and pleasantly tired—but what had affected her most was the conversation with Kat.

  Her parents were already halfway through their lives, and had been lucky enough to spend a lot of those years in love. Was it fair that she should deny herself that same happiness in a bid to please them? When she met Carla, she felt as if she were coming alive—every interest, each silly joke or childhood memory was received with delight and matched by one of Carla’s. Their synergy was effortless and natural. Séraphine had clumsily pushed Carla away by escaping to England, and yet she could see now that Carla was strong enough in herself not to turn her back on the woman she loved. Séraphine sensed that the door might still be open. Perhaps it wasn’t a case of saying either yes—in its whole, messy entirety—or saying no. Maybe it was also possible to say yes in a slower way. Yes, but I need time.

  She laid out the objects she’d collected.

  A smooth white-and-peach-colored shell.

  Two jars of tea leaves—Darjeeling and Lady Grey—that Kat had recommended she buy.

  A tin of pinwheel cookies that she had made with Zoe.

  A vintage scarf, with a diamond-ring print on it.

  A postcard of Scarborough.

  She wrapped them all up in bronze paper and tied the packages with string before placing them in a padded envelope. On the back of a photo she’d printed, a self-portrait taken on the South Sands, she wrote a message to go with the gifts:

  Salut, ma belle,

  Où que je sois, tu es avec moi.

  Je t’embrasse,

  Séraphine x

  Wherever I am, you’re with me.

  22

  Saturday, September 20

  “You look OK like that, you know,” Charlie said. “Reminds me of when we were teenagers. Before you started nicking my eye shadow.”

  Pippa was dressed in tracksuit bottoms with tea stains on the knee, and her hair was pulled up into a rough ponytail, her face clear of makeup. As the week wore on, she was sleeping a little better and some of the color had returned to her cheeks.

  Pippa smiled. “I couldn’t be bothered,” she said. “I’ll dig out my mascara when I’m ready to go out of the house again.”

  “I hate to mention it, but you do remember that Mum and Dad are coming today? They’re due at midday.”

  “Oh God, I forgot,” Pippa said, putting her hand to her mouth and looking around the living room. “This place is in chaos.”

  “They won’t care.”

  “Can’t we quickly uninvite them?”

  “They’ll be almost here by now. Anyway, they’re our parents. And they’ve been worried about you. They’re not expecting to be entertained, they’ve only come to see you and the kids.”

  “Well, I should probably put some proper clothes on, at least,” Pippa said, looking down at her scruffy tracksuit bottoms. “Dad won’t think much of this outfit.”

  “You go upstairs and get ready, and I’ll have a quick tidy in here.”

  “OK,” Pippa said. She turned her head as she walked out. “Tell me it’s not going to be awful?”

  “It’ll be absolutely fine,” Charlie reassured her.

  Pippa, darling!” their father said, giving her a hearty bear hug. He pulled away and looked at her, dressed now in lilac jeans and a white blouse. “You look OK to me. Charlie said you were in a right state.”

  “I never said that,” Charlie whispered to her sister.

  “Only teasing,” Henry said,
ruffling Pippa’s hair. “Got to have some fun at times like these, haven’t you? Can’t have everyone falling apart.”

  “I’ll get the tea on, shall I?” their mother volunteered.

  “A glass of brandy for me, would you, Paula dear? You’ve got some back there, I expect?” Henry asked Pippa. She nodded.

  “It’s only midday, Henry.” Paula frowned.

  “Details, details.”

  Paula shepherded her grandchildren out of the front room. “Now, Flo and Jacob, do you think you could help me find a biscuit or two to go with our tea?”

  Pippa sat in the armchair by the window, near where Gracie was sleeping in her bouncy chair, leaving the sofa for her father and Charlie.

  “So where is he?” Henry said. “That husband of yours? Still cowering somewhere?”

  “He’s staying with a friend,” Pippa told him.

  “The other woman, you mean.”

  “Dad, that’s not the way it is.” Pippa shook her head.

  “Well, however it is, I’ve half a mind to wring his neck. Who does he think he is, walking out on his family? Turning his back on his responsibilities? Not a man at all.”

  “You don’t know the full story,” Pippa said, crossing her legs. “It’s complicated.”

  “Doesn’t sound it to me,” Henry said. “Your husband leaves you and you’re here making excuses for him?”

  “I’m not making excuses, Dad . . .” Charlie saw that tears had sprung to her sister’s eyes.

  “Dad,” Charlie said, laying a hand on her father’s arm and encouraging him to settle back on the sofa. “Pippa doesn’t need this right now.”

  “If you ask me, what she needs is the good sense to get the locks changed.”

  Pippa put a hand through her hair anxiously.

  “She needs some space—time to think,” Charlie said.

  “Fine,” he said, sitting back and seeming to calm down a little. “I suppose the alternative isn’t too tempting. Not with three children. Bad enough having one grown-up daughter with no one to look after her.”

  Charlie felt a dull thud in her stomach. She’d heard it before, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Pippa’s eyes widened. “Dad! You can’t say that.”

  Pippa’s words took Charlie by surprise.

  “No point dancing round the subject, is there? You think in your retirement you’ll be able to relax, but with one daughter still on the shelf, and the other—”

  “On the shelf?” Pippa repeated.

  “It wouldn’t have happened in my day, all this farting about with a career rather than settling down. Pippa, things might have gone arse over tit for you now, but at least you had the good sense to—”

  Pippa straightened in her seat. “Say what you want about my life, but don’t speak about Charlie that way. You’re in my house today, and I won’t have her being bullied.”

  Charlie felt a swell of delight as her sister jumped to her defense. Only a few days ago Pippa had been saying almost the same things about her. The change in her sister filled Charlie with pride. It seemed Pippa was gathering strength, transforming before her.

  Their father puffed out his cheeks and then let out a stream of breath.

  “Charlie’s happy. And I for one admire her for working hard, doing something she loves.”

  Henry paled. He opened his mouth to reply but no sound emerged.

  Paula came back into the room with a tray of drinks. “Here’s your brandy, darling.” She put a glass down in front of her husband. “Now, who’s for a nice cup of tea?”

  There was silence in the room. Charlie suppressed the urge to giggle.

  “Did I miss something?” Paula said. “Henry, you look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  God, I’m glad that’s over,” Pippa said with a wry laugh. She and Charlie were in their pajamas that evening, with glasses of wine and the Saturday-night TV on low in the background.

  “Me too,” Charlie said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked them. I sort of forgot how bad it was. Has Dad always been like that?”

  “I think he’s worse than ever. I put it down to being retired and having more time on his hands.”

  “Is it awful that we can’t stand our own father?” Charlie said, taking a sip of her drink.

  “No. We still love him, don’t we?”

  Charlie nodded and smiled. “Just about.”

  “But honestly, I can’t believe the things he came out with today.” Pippa laughed. “No way I’m putting up with that anymore.”

  “I nearly fell off my chair when you talked back to him.”

  “He took it though, didn’t he? Kept quiet after that.” Pippa smiled cheekily.

  “I appreciate you sticking up for me.”

  “Least I can do. Listen, Charlie, I’m sorry about the way I acted when you got here. Jealousy’s a funny old business.”

  “You? Jealous?”

  “Of course. You seem to breeze through life, while I’m busy saying the wrong thing and winding people up without meaning to.”

  “Oh, believe me, I do a fair share of that too,” Charlie said, smiling. “I guess some of Dad’s, er, ‘charm’ filtered down to both of us.”

  “Ha. Perhaps.” Pippa laughed.

  “Poor Mum. She has to deal with it all the time, doesn’t she?”

  “Oh, she can fight her corner. In fact, I’m pretty sure that behind closed doors she’s the one calling the shots.”

  “Still, being married to a man as demanding as he is—it’s got to be hard work.”

  “Yes. It must be.” Pippa nodded, a pensive look on her face.

  “Are you thinking about Luke?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about him?”

  “That I miss him. That I love him. That I could have done a whole lot worse.”

  Pippa picked her phone up off the table and passed Charlie the remote control. “You know what, I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of BBC 1. I’ve got a phone call I need to make.”

  23

  Saturday, September 20

  “Over to you,” Séraphine said, passing the laptop to Kat in the kitchen at Adam’s house. “I’ve set up the document, but you’re the writer, so now it’s down to you to make all that”—she pointed at the notebook of scribbled ideas that lay between them on the table—“into something intelligible.”

  Kat took the laptop from her and started to type. “Here goes. Now, the Alexandra Tearoom—four stars?”

  “I think that’s fair, yes. It lacked a little something that would bring it up to five.”

  “I agree. The service was polite but quite slow. The meringues are worth a mention though.” Kat typed up their thoughts, then moved the screen so that Séraphine could see what she’d written. “Does that sum it up?”

  “Perfectly, yes.”

  “God, what on earth do we say about The Hideaway?”

  Séraphine grimaced, then laughed.

  The front door opened noisily and the hallway filled with the sound of excited chatter. Kat glanced up from the screen.

  “Hi, Séraphine,” Zoe said, coming into the room. She was wearing jeans and a purple-striped hoodie, her hair up in a topknot.

  She looked at Kat curiously. “This is my friend Kat,” Séraphine explained.

  “Hello,” Kat replied. “You must be Zoe.”

  Zoe put down the bag she was carrying and shook Kat’s hand politely. Adam followed her through the door.

  Kat recognized him immediately, and felt the warm glow of familiarity. It had been years—back at school, and waiting for the same bus in the morning—but that ruffled brown hair and the expression, somewhere between confident and shy—he hadn’t changed at all.

  “Kat,” Adam said, a smile breaking out on his face.

  “You two already k
now each other?” Séraphine asked, confused.

  “Yes,” Kat said. She tried to recall the last time they’d seen each other. “And no. It’s been years. But we used to live on the same street.”

  She remembered him and Euan chatting to each other on the bus, skating up and down the street. In those days she’d longed for Adam to talk to her, wished she was the kind of girl who was brave enough to engineer an excuse to speak to him. She never had, but on the days that he smiled at her, or even nodded in her direction, she’d be carried along on a cushion of happiness all day.

  “You lived with your dad,” he said.

  “Yes. And you and Euan Hill were always in trouble, I remember that.”

  Adam smiled. “I’m sure your memory’s deceiving you,” he said, glancing at Zoe.

  Zoe looked up at her dad, wide-eyed. “Is that true? Were you and Euan very naughty?”

  “I had my moments. Nowhere near as wild as you, though,” he said, playfully ruffling her hair.

  “Adam’s a vet,” Séraphine said.

  “And I run an unofficial sort of animal refuge,” he added.

  “You know the lovebirds that Letty has?” Séraphine turned to Kat.

  “They were from you?” Kat looked up at Adam, smiling. “Ah, now things are making more sense.”

  “Is she getting on OK with them?” Adam asked.

  “Yes. She’s grown quite attached to them already. She says she loves having their company. She’s determined that they have some freedom, but one nearly flew out the window the other day—luckily she managed to catch it again.”

  “It’s good that she’s letting them fly around.”

  “We’ve had dogs in here too. And a tarantula. He’s gone now,” Zoe said.

  “Right,” Kat said, raising her eyebrows.

  “That was a one-off,” Adam assured her.

  As they talked, Kat warmed to Adam, just as she had all those years before.

  “Dad—can I watch Despicable Me?” Zoe asked.

  “Again?”

  She pouted. “Please?”

  “Oh, go on, then.” He shook his head.