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And there was this horrid nagging thought that this would be the last time she would hear Joe’s voice, and then she could forget about ever seeing him again. And why did that matter? It was weird, unsettling. And now there were only seven minutes to go … He might have left a bit early … JUST BLOODY RING HIM!
So she did.
Dial-a-dream coming up … or was it Dial-a-disaster?
0-1-6-6-5 … every punch on the handset seemed to impact on her heart.
The dialling tone. Her pulse quickened.
‘Good afternoon, Claverham Castle, Deana speaking.’
Aah, Deana, a friendly voice.
‘Hello, Deana. It’s me, Ellie … umn, about the job. Umn, I think Joe called earlier, when I was out at work.’ She was babbling, she knew; it always happened when she was nervous. ‘Anyway, is he still there? Could you put me through?’
‘Yes, I think he’s still in the office. Give me a sec, Ellie, and I’ll transfer the call.’
The longest pause, it felt like her dreams were holding their breath. Then his mellow tone, ‘Joe Ward speaking.’ He sounded formal.
‘Oh, hello … you asked for me to call back. It’s Ellie … about the tearooms.’
‘Ah, Ellie, yes,’ his tone softened. Was he just preparing her for the blow? ‘Right, well …’
Another second of agony.
‘We’d like to see you again, for a second interview.’
‘You would?’ Her tone was slightly incredulous. She wanted to laugh, for some weird reason.
‘Yes, this Thursday, if that’s at all possible.’
Two days.
‘Would you be able to make it for eleven a.m.?’
She would. Of course she would.
‘Yes, of course.’ She’d have to play a sickie, but she’d do it, needs must. Gemma would cover for her, for sure. ‘That’ll be fine.’ Oh My God, she’d have to prepare herself more this time, apply immediately for a course for her food and hygiene certificates, and find some other evidence of how fantastic she might be … but what? Oh well, she had two days to think about it. Google was going to get a lot of hits.
‘Well, that’s good. We were impressed with you at the interview.’ It sounded like he was smiling.
You were?
‘And we just want to find out a few more details. Check your experience, perhaps get a couple of references, that kind of thing.’
Ah, the one second of elation was replaced by a sinking feeling at his last words. She wondered if Kirsty at the café would give her a reference, make her sound more experienced than she was.
Mum poked her head out from the living-room door, eyebrows raised. Ellie made a small thumbs-up gesture and then tilted her head sideways with a jerk, indicating the phone call was still ongoing, as if to tell her to disappear.
‘Right, well that’s settled, Ellie. We’ll see you on Thursday at eleven, then.’
‘Yes … and thank you.’ She hung on the line, heard the click and silence. It wasn’t a yes by a long way, but it was a definite maybe. Impressed – the word swum in her mind. And she’d thought all she’d done was gabble on like a loony at the interview.
She did a little dance into the lounge, where Jason lay draped across a sofa and her mum was making a pretence of watching the telly, ‘Well, then?’
‘It’s a maybe,’ she sung, ‘Guess who’s got a second interview?’
Jason managed a nod and the word ‘Cool’. Mum was more cautious, ‘Well, that’s good news, pet,’ adding, ‘Now don’t get your hopes up too high,’ with a knowing smile.
Ellie was undeterred, skipped out into the hall, punched the air and then wondered how the hell she was going to keep up the good impression with virtually no experience and no qualifications to show for herself. Her skipping slowed.
3 (#u46f23b22-eeab-577b-9579-7d94aa76f2be)
Ellie
Sickie pulled, she was heading north again. Ellie turned off the A1, away from the trail of lorries and cars, driving one-handedly at times, the other securing the cake box that sat on her passenger seat as the lanes got more winding. The box contained the choffee cake, Nanna Beryl’s special recipe, that she had created last night. A batch of cherry-and-almond scones, baked fresh at six-thirty this morning, were nestled in a tub in the foot well.
She’d thought and thought about how she might impress Lord Henry and Joe, but with her ‘on paper’ lack of experience, the only thing she could come up with was to take a sample of her baking along with her and suggest a spot of ‘afternoon tea’ at eleven o’clock. It was her best shot.
Ellie had turned to Nanna’s recipe for ‘choffee cake’ in her hour of need, mixing and baking, and decorating it with fat curls of white and dark chocolate and those lovely dark-chocolate-covered coffee beans (her own tweak on the original recipe). She had been up until the early hours, as the first attempt hadn’t risen as well as she wanted. Her mum appeared in the kitchen in her dressing gown and slippers, bleary-eyed, wondering what the heck her daughter was doing at one o’clock in the morning still cooking; she had thought they were being burgled. Oh, yes, she was an intruder bearing a pallet knife and chocolate buttercream, Ellie had joked.
Anyway, there she was driving rather precariously along the lanes, whilst securing her precious cargo. There was no way she was going to risk the whole lot sliding off the seat, down into the foot well, ending up a smashed mess.
She was on a long straight now and she relaxed a little. The panorama panned out ahead of her; sheep were scattered across rolling green fields, clusters of small villages, the foothills of the Cheviots. Cattle were languidly grazing, the odd shaggy head lifted and gazed across their domain. Could it be her domain? For a city kid she was curiously drawn to the countryside. When she was smaller the family used to come up for picnics to the Ingram Valley once or twice a year, park the car on the chewed-down grass of the river bank and spend the day in shorts and T-shirts paddling in the icy brown waters, damming up a small pool area. Finally coming out, to be wrapped in towels when the shivers struck, to munch away on cheese-and-ham sandwiches and packets of Mr Kipling angel slices or mini apple pies (her mother had somehow missed the baking gene). They’d often track down some other kids along the river bank and have a game of bat and ball or rounders, if there were enough of them. Then, the hour back down the road to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, tired and happy, leaving the sheep and the bracken in peace once more.
Her little Corsa wound its way down into the valley below, through a small village: stone cottages, a village pub, a friendly nod from an old man with his dog. She’d bet they all knew each other around here. Turned off at the sign for Claverham Castle.
That was when the nerves hit.
How the hell was she going to convince them that she could run a successful teashop and afford to pay the lease, when she wasn’t even sure of it herself? She didn’t even have any qualifications. She’d been chatting with Kirsty at her café, and she knew some of the basic health-and-hygiene and food-handling requirements from when she had worked there that time. And then there was the health and safety side of things to consider, customer service, staff issues – it seemed a bloody minefield. If she hadn’t spent half the night baking these bloody cakes, and the thought of her mother’s ‘I told you so’ ringing in her ears as she landed back at Fifth Avenue, then she might have turned around right there and then.
Thankfully her optimistic alter ego took over, in fact the voice in her mind sounded very like Nanna Beryl’s, ‘You’ve got this far, girl, keep going. Just try your best and see what happens’ and the warm flicker of her dream gave her the courage she needed to drive on. Turning into the castle driveway, she slowed instinctively to take it all in this time. Crocuses and snowdrops lined the grassy verges, making way for the tight yellow-green buds of daffodils just about to bloom; she’d hardly noticed these a few days before. Tall gnarled trees lined the track, dappling the road with shadows and light. Then the majestic outline of the stone castle itself, curls of smoke from a couple of its chimneys, the turrets along the rooftop. It was regular in shape, four storeys high with the main door bang smack in the middle and four square towers securing its corners; like a castle a child might draw. She wondered briefly what might have happened between its ancient walls, what trials and tribulations – the joys, the pain, loves, births, deaths?
And her own little bit of history about to unfold, would she ever be back? Was there a glimmer that her future might be here, for a while at least? What would it feel like to come here every day to work, to be baking cakes and scones, prepping sandwiches and soup in the kitchen, serving customers, dealing with Lord Henry, Joe? Her heart gave a tentative leap. If only she’d get the chance to find out.
She parked up, gave her hair a quick brush, then twisted it into a loose knot and popped it up in a clip at the back of her head. The last thing she wanted was a stray strawberry-blonde strand attaching itself to the chocolate buttercream of her pièce de resistance. She’d decided on wearing a dark-grey trouser-suit with flat black suede shoes this time – the high heels having proven tricky before, and she was going to have to carry the choffee cake and scones.
There was no sign of Deana or anyone at the front steps, so she would have to carry the goods all by herself. She took one last look in the rear-view mirror, slashed a little gloss over her lips. She’d have to do, it was ten to eleven, so she’d better get out and get on with it. Deep breath. Car door open. Check for muddy puddles – all clear. Phrases she’d practised were whizzing through her head, the likes of ‘I am organised’, ‘a team player, with leadership skills too’, ‘able to take the initiative’, ‘sole responsibility of bistro/café’, ‘good business mind’ (passed GCSE in business studies, got a B no less). Walk round car. Open passenger door. Hang the bag of scones from wrist. Lift cake box very carefully. A slow shift of the hip to close the passenger door. Proceed with caution to castle steps.
The main door was closed. There was an old-style bell button apparent, but how the hell was she going to press it without dropping the cake? She was starting to feel flummoxed when a crack appeared between the two heavy wooden doors. A gruff male voice said ‘H’lo?’ The crack widened to reveal a young man with a gappy grin and shorn-short hair, dressed in camouflage-style jacket and trousers.
‘Hello, there, it’s Ellie.’ She was just about to add that she was here for an interview when Deana appeared at the lad’s shoulder.
‘Ah, Ellie, lovely to see you.’ She was smiling broadly. ‘Well, don’t just stand there, James, let her in. And maybe give her a hand with that box. You can see she’s struggling.’ Deana’s tone was bossy but not unkind; it seemed the young man needed help to understand what was required of him. Though he looked adult physically, there was something in his face, his eyes, that suggested to Ellie that his mind wasn’t quite as advanced.
He made to grab the box. Ellie didn’t want to reject his help but urged, ‘It’s a cake, be careful with it. Please hold the box flat, thanks.’
He nodded, holding the box like a fragile gift, his eyes lighting up at the word ‘cake’.
Deana smiled again, ‘If it’s to be cut and there’s any left later, we might just save you a bit, James, if that’s alright with Ellie?’
‘Yes, of course. I thought it might be a good idea to show Lord Henry a sample of the kind of things I’d like to be baking for the teashop.’
‘Hmn, now that sounds good.’
They followed Deana into the courtyard and then into what seemed to be her office on the ground floor. It was small and crowded with files and paperwork.
‘Can I have a peek?’ Deana asked.
‘Yep, go ahead.’
Deana got James to lower the cake down onto her desk, then Ellie lifted a corner of the lid. They all peered in.
‘Wow! That looks amazing. Well, there goes my diet if you get the job. I’ll not be able to resist. It looks a darned sight better than anything Cynthia brought out at the end of last year when she was standing in, I must say.’
James stood there gazing in, eyes wide. He looked like he might actually drool.
‘I’m sure there’ll be some spare, James. Just ask Deana later,’ Ellie said.
He grinned widely, showing the gap in his front teeth.
‘Right, I’ll just give Lord Henry a call and see if they’re ready for you yet,’ said Deana.
Ellie felt the nerves tightening inside her. The clock on the wall said five to. James was standing quietly.
‘Thank you, James. Why don’t you go and see Colin in the yard. He had some wood for you to chop for kindling.’
The young man nodded and left, with a last longing look at the cake box. Once he was out of earshot, Deana began to explain, ‘He’s a nice lad. Lives in the village. He had an accident on one of the farms when he smaller, never been quite the same since. He’s a hard worker, mind. Lord Henry likes to give him some work when he can.’
That seemed a nice thing to do. Her opinion of Lord Henry lifted. He didn’t seem quite as scary.
As Deana dialled through, Ellie looked around the office. There was a portable gas heater that looked like something out of the seventies; she seemed to remember Nanna having a smaller version in her flat years ago. A romantic novel was open, pages splayed face down, on the antique wooden desk; it looked as though Deana had been reading just before Ellie had got there. There was also a mobile phone, a computer monitor, a small framed photo of what looked to be Deana and her husband, and a half-empty cup of coffee with a pink lipstick mark on the rim. Behind Deana’s head, on the wall, was a pen-and-ink print of the castle in former days, and a stuffed red squirrel in a glass box. The room was a curious combination of old and new.
‘Just letting you know that Ellie Hall’s here.’ Some muffled words came back down the line, ‘Okay, I’ll send her up, then.’
Deana gave a small thumbs-up signal, then placed the handset down.
‘You’re on. Good luck, pet. Can I give you a hand up those stairs with that cake? And I’ll make a fresh pot of tea and coffee and bring them up after, shall I? I assume you’ve brought the cake and scones to try, they’re not just for looking at?’
‘Yes, that was the idea. Thanks, Deana, that would be lovely. Perhaps if you can take these scones, I’ll manage the cake.’ She didn’t want any accidents at the last.
‘Of course.’
Ellie sensed that she had someone on her side. Back across the courtyard they headed up the stone tower, Deana first, to the second-floor study again. Ellie took each step cautiously. She was glad of the black polo neck she’d popped on under the grey suit, and the cerise-pink scarf gave her a splash of colour as well as warmth – she was learning.
Well then, this was it, Round Two.
‘Good luck.’ Deana’s smile was warm and genuine as she knocked on the office door, opened it, and gestured for Ellie to go in. Ellie tried to look her most confident, smiling as she placed the box carefully on Lord Henry’s desk. Both he and Joe raised their eyebrows inquisitively. Joe then gave her a small grin. She felt a little flip inside. Deana said she’d be back with some tea and coffee, taking the scones back with her to plate up. The two men stood up at the same time. They were roughly the same height. Lord Henry shaking Ellie’s hand first, ‘Good morning, Ellen.’
‘Morning.’ She still didn’t have the nerve to correct him. Then she turned to Joe.
‘Welcome back,’ the younger man’s tone was warm as he took her palm in his own for a second or two, which gave her a weird, tingly feeling, probably just the nerves. ‘Did you have a good journey?’ he continued.
‘Oh, yes, fine.’ She held back a grimace; if only they could have seen her wrestling with the cake box around the corners. ‘Except for some interesting cake-balancing in the lanes at the end,’ she added, deciding to break the ice with some humour.
‘Aah, I see.’ Lord Henry smiled.
‘Hmn, I hoped there might be something along those lines in there.’ Joe was smiling too.
‘Well, I thought you might like to actually taste my work, rather than me just tell you about it.’ Cos there isn’t much to tell. ‘Give you an idea of what I might be serving in the tearooms, should I be lucky enough to obtain the lease.’
They were nodding as though that were a good idea, so Ellie warmed to her theme, ‘Well, anyone can say they’re a good cook or baker, but as my Nanna always used to say, “The proof of the pudding is in the eating”.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Lord Henry.
Right on cue, there was a knock at the door and Deana reappeared with a tray laden with a teapot, cups and saucers, the scones piled enticingly on a plate, with a mountain of butter in a dish beside them, forks, tea plates, the works.
‘Thank you, Deana,’ Lord Henry’s tone was warm but still formal.
Ellie took this as the cue to unbox the choffee, spotting that Deana had thought to bring both a cake slice and large knife. ‘Wow!’ Deana exclaimed convincingly, despite having already seen the cake, ‘That looks amazing. You lucky devils.’ She grinned at the two men, in a show of envy.
Thank you, Deana. Ellie appreciated the support.
‘Well, I’d better be on my way. Enjoy. It looks delicious.’
Ellie sliced the cake carefully. It was deep, moist and very chocolatey. The chocolate-coffee frosting was more or less intact, as were the chocolate curls and decorations, even after the zig-zag journey. ‘Would you like to try some?’
Her hand was trembling a little as she placed a slice onto a tea plate.
‘Certainly,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Yes, please,’ Joe added.
‘Choffee cake,’ she announced, ‘A favourite family recipe.’
The ‘mmns’ that accompanied their eating cheered her, though she had no appetite and hadn’t taken any for herself, her stomach still suffering from the nerves that had gripped it for days now. Joe poured them all some tea.
The two men sat back in their chairs after polishing off the slices of choffee. Then the more intense questioning began.
‘Right then, Ellie, what do you know of the health and safety and good hygiene requirements for running a catering outlet?’ Joe. ‘And do you have the relevant certification to show for this?’
Gulp! Hold your nerve, girl.
‘What experience do you have of dealing with and managing staff?’ Lord Henry.
‘How will you keep an eye on the accounts side of the business?’ Joe.
‘Have you taken any business advice?’ Joe.
Questions were fired like bullets. She tried her best to answer honestly yet positively. It was like an interrogation, far more searching than last time, and Ellie’s initial confidence surge from the high of the cake-tasting was plummeting fast. But she did have some kind of answer for every question: the nights spent fretting had meant she’d already gone over much of this in her mind, and she’d done a lot of research in her breaks at work. Yesterday, she had also got in touch with the small business advisor at her local bank for advice. Google had helped no end, too, and what she didn’t yet have in the way of certification she’d already got her name down to take as soon as possible – her only white lie of the interview.
