The Seafront Tearoom Read online

  Charlie eyed the chocolate cupcake suspiciously. She poked at it with her fork and dry bits of icing flaked off. The cupcake then crumbled into pieces.

  “The tearoom research is going well, I hope?” Jess asked.

  “Oh, fine,” Charlie lied. “Plenty of good places to choose from up here.”

  She picked up the blueberry muffin and took a tentative bite—it was doughy and flavorless, and she had to resist the temptation to spit it out. A swig of overbrewed tea did nothing to help.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Jess said, “because there are a couple of changes I need to update you on.”

  “Changes?” Charlie put her cup of tea to one side.

  “As you know, sales loved the tearoom concept, so much so that they don’t just want an article—they want a twelve-page pull-out section of reviews. The idea is to tie the release in with the tea exhibition at Earls Court, and distribute the edition early there. So we’ll need more content, and we’re working to a new print deadline.”

  “OK, that’s great,” Charlie said, excited but feeling slightly panicky at the same time. “What dates will we be working to?”

  “We’ll need copies for the exhibition at the end of October, so all the content from you will have to be delivered, ready for editing, by early October.”

  Charlie bit her lip. She relished a challenge, but this was pushing it.

  “That gives me just over three weeks.” Her mind raced. It was twice as much content as she normally put together for the magazine. “Could I have Nicky to help me out with the research?”

  “Sorry, she’s busy helping Marcus at the moment.” The line went quiet. “You can still deliver this though—right? This is a real opportunity to prove yourself, Charlie. Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t,” she said confidently. “I can do it.”

  Charlie hung up and looked at her diary. Three weeks! She would have to pull out all the stops on the research, compiling a list of tearooms and then visiting them all. And one thing was for sure, she thought, eyeing the sorrowful cakes in front of her. They’d have to be a lot better than Katie’s Kitchen.

  Are you OK with lentil casserole?” Pippa asked her sister in the kitchen that evening, clicking the oven on to preheat.

  After a day walking around the town, trying and failing to find a tearoom worth reviewing, Charlie was looking forward to eating something heartier than a cupcake. She’d already planned that night’s dinner, though—stopping by a super-market on the way home and buying ingredients for a lasagna.

  “Pip, I thought we agreed I’d cook tonight? You can put your feet up for once.”

  “Oh, it’s no trouble, honestly.” Pippa batted away her words with a French-manicured hand. “I whipped it up this morning, it only needs warming up.” She removed a dish from the fridge and set it on the counter.

  “OK, well . . . thank you.” There was no point arguing about it. “I’ll pour the wine, in that case.” She took two glasses out of the kitchen cabinet. Most things can be improved with a glass of Rioja—it was the closest thing Charlie had to a motto.

  “Say when,” she said as she poured the wine.

  “Oh, none for me, I’m breastfeeding,” Pippa replied. She tilted her head slightly. “Did you forget?”

  “Oh, sorry. I thought you could still have a little bit?”

  “I suppose some people do.” Pippa shrugged. “If I wanted to put my own pleasure ahead of the future well-being of my child, I guess I would too.” She laughed hollowly.

  Charlie silently returned the second glass to the cupboard, and filled her own. “Is Luke going to be in tonight?”

  “No. He’s finishing something at work. He’ll be home late again.”

  “That’s a shame. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to catch up with him soon.”

  Pippa merely nodded in reply. Charlie noticed a distant look in her sister’s eye.

  They sat down at the kitchen table, and Pippa took a sip from her glass of water. “I spoke to Mum and Dad earlier.”

  “Oh? How are they?”

  “Mum’s had a hard time with her back, but it’s getting better.”

  Charlie tried to recall a mention of it.

  “She pulled a muscle gardening,” Pippa continued. “But you knew about that, right?”

  “No, I don’t remember her saying anything. Is it bad?”

  “It’s causing her a fair bit of pain, yes.”

  “Poor Mum. I don’t expect Dad’s much help with that.”

  “You don’t speak to them very often, do you?” Pippa said curtly.

  “I’ll call. I didn’t realize . . .”

  Charlie felt a niggle of guilt. Ringing her parents had a tendency to slip down her to-do list, even though she thought of them quite often. She was sure it hadn’t been that long since she’d phoned them for a proper chat.

  “Look,” Pippa continued, taking a deep breath, “I probably shouldn’t interfere. I told her I wouldn’t say anything.” She bit her lip. “Mum got upset the other day, saying that you hardly ever ring anymore.”

  The words stung. “OK,” Charlie said. She sat back in her chair, her hand on the stem of her wineglass. “Well . . . perhaps she’s right. Yes, I suppose I should call them more. From now on, I’ll make sure I do.”

  “I mean, I know it’s hard sometimes . . .” Pippa smoothed back her pale blond hair and glanced out of the French windows toward the garden. “And Mum and Dad understand that you’re busy, but the thing is, Charlie, even with three kids I still find time—”

  “Point made,” Charlie interrupted her sister gently.

  “I was only saying.” Pippa looked wounded.

  “I’ll make more of an effort. What else can I say?”

  “God, Charlie, you are so sensitive at the moment.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. You were snappy with me last night, too, remember?”

  “Oh, come on. You were implying that my attitude to work was affecting my personal life.”

  “Now you’re being silly. That’s not at all what I was saying,” Pippa said, with a weary laugh. “I was merely making a general comment. How was I to know mentioning Ben was out of bounds?”

  “It’s not,” Charlie said. “But I didn’t particularly like the direction the conversation was taking. Besides, there’s a time and a place, and that’s not in front of Flo. You know how she was looking forward to being a flower girl.”

  “She felt very let down when you called off the wedding, that’s true.”

  “Look, I realize this is hard for you to understand, Pip. But I’m actually happier now.”

  Pippa leaned back in her chair. “Now, maybe.”

  “Meaning?” Charlie tried to suppress her growing irritation.

  “I’m only trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “From disappointment,” Pippa said softly and slowly. “I don’t want you to miss the boat, Charlie. Having children is such a wonderful thing—and you’re in your thirties already. I’m not the only one who’s concerned.”

  “So what, you and Mum have been discussing me behind my back?” Charlie’s cheeks grew hot.

  “We’re worried about you, that’s all. Ben seemed nice enough, a few things aside. If it hadn’t been for you working all the time . . . Don’t you agree there’s a chance that might have pushed him away?”

  The last shred of calm inside Charlie disappeared. “Have you forgotten what happened?”

  “He backed off from the relationship, from the sounds of things.”

  “Backed off? Is that what you’d call it? I remember it slightly differently,” Charlie said, struggling to keep her cool as she recalled the humiliation.

  “Classic cry-for-help behavior,” Pippa said quietly.

  Charlie shook her head. �
�You’re actually taking Ben’s side, aren’t you? Unbelievable. Even for you, Pippa.”

  “All I’m saying is, perhaps he sensed you weren’t entirely committed to a future with him. Everyone expresses need in different ways.”

  Charlie finished her glass of wine in silence. If she erupted now, Pippa would have won.

  The timer pinged.

  Pippa smiled. “That’s the oven heated up. I’ll pop our dinner in . . .”

  7

  Monday, September 8

  By Kat’s feet in the hallway was a suitcase packed with everything Leo would need for the next three weeks, carefully sorted, his clothes folded neatly. As today approached, her heart had grown heavy, knowing that Jake was coming to pick Leo up and it would be weeks before she saw him again.

  Leo, oblivious to her anxiety, watched the door, an eager expression on his face.

  “Are you sure I can’t take Stegosaurus?” Leo said, turning back to her.

  “There’s not enough room,” Kat said. “Your grandma and grandpa will have other toys for you to play with.”

  Leo sighed, and looked at the door again expectantly.

  As they waited, Kat sifted through the post on the mat: a note from the GP’s surgery, a takeaway menu and a postcard with a picture of a grand Russian palace on the front. She smiled, knowing who the postcard would be from, and flipped it over.

  She showed it to Leo. “Here—this one’s for you. Shall we read it together?”

  He nodded.

  Dear Leo,

  Here I am in St. Petersburg in Russia—there’s a lot of snow and castles like in your storybooks. I have to rush now to get a train for the next part of my journey.

  Sending hugs. I miss you!

  Grandpa

  “I could use my sled in Russia,” Leo said cheerfully.

  Kat smiled. “Yes, you definitely could.”

  “When is Grandpa coming back? I miss him.”

  “Before Christmas,” Kat said, silently counting the days. She missed spending time with her dad, but at the same time was glad he had made the trip—it had always been a dream of his. In the weeks leading up to his departure, he had been full of energy and enthusiasm, as if he were a young man again.

  “And Grandpa won’t mind if I go and stay with my other granddad and grandma?”

  “Of course not,” Kat said, laughing. “He knows he has to share.” She ruffled Leo’s hair.

  Through the frosted glass, Kat saw a tall figure approach their front door.

  “Dad’s here,” she said, letting Leo open the door. His face brightened instantly when he caught sight of his father.

  “Hello there,” Jake said. He swept Leo up into his arms and raised him high above his head. Leo let out a loud, gurgling laugh and kicked his legs happily.

  Jake’s dark brown eyes met Kat’s as he lowered his son to the ground, and he smiled at her. For a moment, it was as if everything was the way it used to be. As if Jake was simply home from getting a pint of milk.

  “What time’s your train?” Kat asked.

  “Eleven thirty.”

  She checked her phone. “You’d better be off, then.”

  “We’re going on holiday,” Leo said gleefully.

  “Yes, we are,” Jake said. “I hope you’ve got a warm jumper with you. It’s cold in Scotland, you know.”

  “I packed a few,” Kat replied. She bent down to Leo’s level and gave him a hug and a kiss. “Be good for your dad on the train.”

  “I will be.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as we get back,” Jake said.

  Kat wiped a tear away hurriedly, and when Leo looked up at her she put on a smile.

  “You OK?” Jake mouthed to Kat, over Leo’s head.

  “Yes, of course I’m fine,” she said. “Go on, or you’ll miss your train.”

  She watched as Leo and Jake walked away from her down the bay. Then, when they were finally out of sight, she closed the door.

  8

  Monday, September 8

  Charlie entered the South Cliff Hotel and made her way to the front desk. The grand white building up on the Esplanade had caught her eye as she strolled around town; she’d decided it must offer wonderful sea views if nothing else.

  A young, dark-haired receptionist greeted her with a smile.

  “Good afternoon, how can I help?”

  Charlie looked at the receptionist’s name tag: Cally.

  “Hi. Do you have any single rooms available?”

  The tension between Charlie and Pippa had worsened, and while she’d tried to be patient, she simply couldn’t face the thought of another night under her sister’s roof. On the other hand, she didn’t feel ready to go home yet—there were tearooms here in the north that she wanted to see, and Scarborough was as good a place as any to use as a base.

  “Yes, we do,” Cally said. “And as we’re out of season now, the rates are reasonable—here’s our price list.”

  “Looks fine. Can I book a single for tonight and tomorrow night, please?”

  “Of course.” Cally took down her details.

  “I’ll bring my things along later.”

  “We look forward to seeing you then.”

  Charlie put her handbag on her shoulder and was about to leave when, on a whim, she turned back.

  “It’s Cally, right? Could I ask you a question?”

  “Of course—fire away.” Cally smiled warmly.

  “Do you know of any tearooms in the area?”

  “Sure. We’ve got the Hanover round the corner, they do a nice cup of tea . . .”

  “Actually,” Charlie said, wondering how to phrase her request, “I’m hoping to find somewhere special.”

  “Ah.” Cally seemed to be looking Charlie over, assessing her. “In that case—I know just the spot.”

  Following the instructions the receptionist had given her, Charlie turned right when she drew level with the rainbow-colored beach huts, and took the path leading up and away from the sea. As she turned, the café came into view: a wooden building with a small clock tower on it, the windows partially obscured by pretty lace curtains.

  Inside, she saw a woman behind the counter, taking a cake off a tray and placing it carefully on a stand. She felt as if she should knock before she went in, the scene seemed so intimate. She pushed the door.

  “Hi,” the owner said, looking up. “Welcome to the Seafront. Table for one?”

  “Yes, thanks.”

  Charlie followed the owner, who introduced herself as Letty, to a corner table with a sea view. The décor in the café was simple, old fashioned, and jazz was playing—it was as if the last few decades had been asked to stop at the front door. Letty passed her a menu and motioned for her to sit down.

  Next to her were shelves filled with glass jars of loose-leaf tea. Brown luggage labels with handwritten notes were attached to them: Jasmine, Polish Rose, Summer Fruits . . .

  A pretty woman with short dark hair was sitting at the table next to hers, studying a newspaper and circling adverts with a pen.

  Charlie looked down at her menu, but only briefly—she already knew what she wanted. Letty came over with her notebook. “What can I get you?”

  “Your classic afternoon tea, please.”

  “Of course. What kind of tea would you like with it?”

  Charlie’s eyes drifted to the jars lining the wall; she was bewildered by the range of options.

  “Here, let me show you,” Letty said. She brought some jars over to the table and sat down with Charlie. “We’ve got spiced orange”—she opened the jar and sniffed it herself, before handing it over to Charlie.

  Charlie took in a lungful of the sweet, citrusy scent. It made her mouth water.

  “Summer fruits is popular too,” Letty said, passing her another jar.

&nb
sp; After peering at the dried pink and purple petals for a moment, Charlie opened the lid. The scent was light and energizing.

  The woman at the table next to her spoke up: “If you prefer something classic, the Lady Grey is hard to beat.”

  “I’m spoiled for choice,” Charlie said, smiling at the dark-haired woman, then looking back at Letty. “I think I’ll go for the Lady Grey this time, seeing as it comes recommended.”

  “Good choice. Kat has impeccable taste,” Letty said, nodding toward the other woman. “She’s my informal tasting assistant. You’ll never meet a woman more passionate about tea.”

  Kat laughed. “That’s Letty’s polite way of saying I’m obsessive.”

  “A tea obsessive,” Charlie echoed, an idea forming. “Would you have time to join me? There’s something I’d love to talk to you about . . .”

  Kat finished her Lady Grey and set the delicate teacup back in its saucer. Charlie scanned her face for signs of interest in her offer, but could find no clues there.

  “So, the idea is I’d be finding these tearooms with you, trying them out, and then helping you write reviews?”

  “That’s right.” Charlie nodded. “It’s the tea itself I could do with some help on—I’ve always been more of a coffee drinker, so I’m starting pretty much from scratch for this piece. How did you get interested in it?”

  “As a teenager,” Kat said. “My dad gave me my first box of tea, and from there I started a collection. When I got a Saturday job during my A-levels I’d save the money and come here on a weekend. I tried all the teas Letty had, then helped her build up the list.”

  “That’s wonderful! So you know all about this area. I need someone like you who knows what they’re talking about. Normally I’d do the research myself, but I have my hands full at the moment. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to pay you much, but it would be enough to cover your expenses with a little extra on top. If food writing is something you’re interested in, you’d be learning on the job.”