The Cosy Teashop in the Castle: The bestselling feel-good rom com of the year. Caroline Roberts
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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