The Little Brooklyn Bakery. Julie Caplin
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was more like it. Familiar and routine. Apart from the American accents around her, it was just like an editorial meeting at home. Already their ideas were sparking a few of her own, plus she’d come armed with a few feature suggestions up her sleeve and had been scribbling a few notes on the foolscap pad.
‘Sophie, this’ll be your first rodeo. Any ideas?’
‘Well, Brandi emailed the outlines for Thanksgiving—’
‘She left notes,’ piped up Madison, her voice strident and a steely look of determination in her eye. ‘I’ve got it all taken care of. It’s not like it could wait.’
‘Oh,’ said Sophie because she had no idea what else to say.
‘Well, with due respect,’ drawled Madison in that deceptively casual tone which you knew really meant business, and was not respectful at all, ‘you were over a week late.’ With an insincere smile, she shifted in her seat, deliberately drawing attention to her long elegant limbs, and slight hint of tasteful cleavage. ‘So, I’ve got the recipes for a cheese grits-and-corn pudding, hints for perfect roast turkey and a darling recipe for pumpkin pie with walnut crust.’
All of which had been in Brandi’s outline.
‘That’s great,’ Sophie paused and gave a light-hearted smile, ‘and just as well, as being English, I know nothing about Thanksgiving … yet.’ Everyone laughed. ‘And I have only the vaguest idea what cheese grits are, but I’m hoping while I’m here to pick your brains and find out more … but I was thinking of perhaps an English afternoon tea feature.’
Madison smirked. ‘Isn’t that a bit too precious? This is CityZen magazine, not Good Housekeeping. Not grannies and their knitting.’
Sophie turned to her, with an even bigger smile, pumping up the enthusiasm. She’d been up against far bigger and bitchier foes and could out-smile anything Madison could throw at her. ‘Yes, but we would put a hygge spin on it, look after yourself and family and friends in preparation for those miserable dark nights when Daylight Saving comes in and the clocks go back. Scones and jam, I mean jelly, toasted teacakes, warming spicy parkin and delicate fairy cakes. In front of a roaring fire.’
‘Oooh yum,’ said Trudy with an approving smile. ‘Love it, love it, love it, especially the hygge angle, even though I have no idea what parkin is, but I’m sure it will be delicious. I’ll make sure I’m around the day that recipe gets tested.’
‘And who doesn’t love a fairy cake?’ piped up a very camp voice on Sophie’s left, making everyone laugh again.
‘Interiors, can you do anything in conjunction?’ asked Trudy.
‘Oh yeah,’ came an enthusiastic voice from the end of the table, where three women sat in a cluster, all nodding in unison. ‘We’re loving a bit of hygge,’ said one.
‘Cosying up the house in the fall,’ added the second.
‘Fireplace décor,’ chipped in the third.
‘Mantelpiece mania.’
‘Toasting forks.’
‘Burnt oranges, autumn tones.’
‘Velvet piles, sumptuous fabrics.’
‘Great, ladies,’ said Trudy, holding up her hand, clearly used to handling the trio. ‘And Paul. Does that sound like something the sales team can get a handle on?’ She turned to the tall blond man sitting next to Madison, who bore a distinct resemblance to a less-bulked-up Chris Hemsworth. He immediately gave an enthusiastic thumbs up, ignoring his neighbour’s less-than-discreet eye-roll.
‘Certainly can. I can see a year-on-year increase in ad sales for this issue compared to last year’s, which is great because revenue for this quarter is already up.’
Trudy held up her hand. ‘You do good work Paul, but spare me the sales figures until the senior management meeting.’
He beamed at her. ‘Sure thing.’
‘You’re off to a good start, Sophie,’ said Trudy.
As everyone’s attention turned back to Trudy, Sophie looked up. Paul gave her an encouraging smile, his eyes holding hers for that brief too-long second which no one else would have noticed, but it made her feel a touch warm. She focused on Trudy’s voice.
‘Sophie, after this meeting, I’ll get the team to show you the test kitchens and the studio. We’ve got a great roster of freelance food photographers. And the interiors team can help you dress the set for a photo shoot.’
Madison’s mouth settled into a sulky slash and she shot Sophie a look of dislike, but Sophie responded with a cheery smile. ‘Great. And I’m looking forward to Madison’s cheese grits and corn pudding recipe.’
Years of snuffing out pettiness with good cheer had stood her in good stead. Madison was a rank amateur in comparison with Sophie’s dad’s ex-wife.
The meeting drew to a close and as everyone drifted out, Paul stopped at Sophie’s chair.
‘Hi, I’m Paul Ferguson. Sales Director.’ He held out his hand.
Sophie took it and received a warm, dry and firm handshake. ‘Sophie.’ She winced. ‘Obviously, because Trudy introduced me …’ There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as she drew to a flustered halt.
‘Good to have you on board, Sophie. If there’s anything I can give you help with, I’m up on the next floor.’ With a quick lift of his eyebrows he looked upwards and added with a self-deprecating wink, ‘The executive suite. We have superior coffee up there,’ he paused, shooting her another twinkle-filled smile, ‘but we’re good at sharing. Come on up any time.’
Sophie nodded, trying to act naturally. She was so out of practice at this stuff. Maybe he was being super-US-style open and friendly, but her gut was telling her that there was definite admiration here.
‘Thanks, that’s great. I’ll remember that, next time I er … need superior coffee.’
‘Make sure you do,’ his smile was warmer this time and he held her gaze. ‘I’ll look forward to working with you, Sophie. And if you need anything, like I said. Just call. In fact,’ he pulled out a silver card holder, ‘here you go. My direct line. Welcome aboard.’
As soon as she walked into the test kitchens, the familiar sense of rightness settled upon her. This was home. She would always be OK here, even if the size and the state-of-the-art equipment along with the view of Central Park were pertinent reminders that she wasn’t in London any more. Everything was that much bigger and better. Her head buzzed with names and details as she was introduced to food technicians and the rest of the food-writing team. They all seemed friendly and envious, in terms of food, of her previous proximity to Europe, especially when she talked about her recent trip to Copenhagen.
By the time she came back to her desk, she’d decided that she was going to be alright here. Things were vaguely familiar, although she was going to have to get her head around cup measurements, which in her book related directly to bra sizes and not flour, butter and sugar. The big question was how many hours could she spend at work each day?
There was no sign of Todd but in the centre of her desk was a hard-backed notebook, with the words My Little Black Book etched in gold on the front, and on closer inspection, she saw that the first few pages had been ripped out. There was also a battered stapler; a box of pink paperclips; a selection of pens with various company slogans on them, in a white tin with a red circle bearing the words Japanese Condom Tin; and a green Perspex ruler printed with an advert for multivitamins. On top of the notebook was a yellow sticky: Desk-warming gifts. Todd —
With a reluctant smile, she touched the embossed letters of the notebook and then with a shake of her head, she opened it for a second time and, picking up a pen, wrote the date and started writing out a to-do list. Todd McLennan was too charming for his own good.