Christmas at The Little Duck Pond Cafe: (Little Duck Pond Cafe, Book 3) Read online

  I don’t know why, but I feel slightly ashamed of my passion for reading romance novels. I suppose it’s because deep down, I know I should be out there, experiencing the highs and lows of love for myself, instead of retreating into my safe fantasy world and reading about them instead.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ asks Jaz, holding up the magazine, a copy of a new publication called Bake! It’s open at a double page spread with a square cut out of it.

  ‘Oh, that?’ Ellie puts down the tray but doesn’t unload it, walking quickly back to the counter instead. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Someone must have entered the magazine’s baking competition,’ says Jaz. ‘They’ve cut the details out.’

  I glance across at Ellie. She has her back to us, crouching to rummage in a cupboard for something, and the penny suddenly drops.

  So it was Ellie!

  It all makes sense now.

  A month or so ago, I received a strange email, apparently from Bake! magazine, informing me that they were happy to announce that I’d made it through to the regional heats, which would take place in Guildford in January.

  Thinking it must be a mistake, I hadn’t even bothered to reply. But then a week ago, I received another communication from them - a letter this time - repeating the weird invitation. My heart did a little skitter of excitement when I realised it actually might be real.

  Baking is my absolute passion and to be recognised in this way by such a popular publication would be amazing.

  Then I thought of what it would involve and I fell back to earth with a crash.

  Going up to Guildford and competing with other bakers – all total strangers – made me feel sick with nerves. So I just tried to forget about it . . .

  I could be annoyed at Ellie for applying on my behalf without even telling me. But I’m not. Ellie is the best friend I’ve ever had and I know that in deciding to do this, she would only be thinking of me. She makes no secret of the fact that she thinks my baking is second to none and that I’m far too modest for my own good. (As my friend, she’s obviously completely biased.)

  I’d love to ask her about it and find out what baking samples she submitted in my name. I hope it was my Moist Chocolate Cake because most people seem to like that.

  But I stay silent on the subject.

  If I mention it, both Ellie and Jaz will try to persuade me I need to take part – and I’m definitely not brave enough for that!

  ‘I wonder if any of the cast will call in?’ says Jaz.

  ‘Ooh, speaking of which!’ Ellie waves through the window and goes to the door and my heart starts to pound.

  ‘Hi, there! Great production tonight,’ she calls, ushering the little group inside. Ethan appears, the only guy among the party of four, and my heart gives a giant thump.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Ellie is saying. ‘We don’t have a license yet so I can’t offer you alcohol but I’m trialling some festive hot drinks if you’d like to sample them?’ They sit down at the next table to us, and Ellie props the blackboard menu on the counter.

  Jaz starts chatting about the play and I smile shyly at everyone. When my glance lands on Ethan, he’s smiling at me, his gorgeous dark brown eyes all crinkled at the corners, and I quickly drop my gaze, feeling ridiculously self-conscious.

  It’s like I’m fifteen again, crushing over some boy at school!

  I scurry behind the counter to help Ellie with the drinks.

  Karen, who plays Jane Bennett in the play, glances around her. ‘Hey, this place is gorgeous!’ Her dark hair, which I know is a wig, is piled up elaborately and decorated with pearls. I’ve met her before briefly and her real hair was short, spiky and pink.

  Ellie goes over with a notepad and returns with their order.

  From my position behind the counter, I keep darting little glances over at Ethan. He still has his stage make-up on, and he even looks gorgeous wearing eyeliner and shadow. In fact, it rather suits him. Although to be honest, I’d probably find him attractive in swimming goggles and a Santa beard.

  Ellie takes over a plate of festive goodies and announces, to murmurs of pleasure, ‘Chocolate caramel marshmallow, Christmas rocky road and mince pies.’

  Ethan is chatting to Jaz about the am dram group’s rehearsals for the panto and suddenly he glances over at me. I freeze as our eyes collide and pretend I was looking out at the café in general, checking all the tables have bowls with little tubes of sugar on them. When I glance casually back at him, he’s studying me with a faint smile on his lips - still talking about the panto - and my heart does a gigantic leap in my chest. I only hope he doesn’t mention me joining the group in front of all these people.

  ‘Gorgeous mince pies,’ says Julia, who was Elizabeth Bennet in the play. ‘The pastry is so buttery and melt-in-the-mouth.’ She waves one in the air and takes another bite.

  ‘Made by Fen here,’ calls Ellie, and I blush to the roots of my hair when everyone turns to look at me.

  It’s like when Mum starts chatting proudly about my brother Richard’s achievements to her friends when we’re actually in the room. I always cringe for him, although to be fair, he doesn’t seem to mind. He just laughs and says bragging about your kid is probably one of the main perks of having children in the first place, and if it gives Mum pleasure, it’s fine by him.

  I really admire Rich. He’s a clever, confident, gregarious sort of person and very ambitious.

  The total opposite of me, really.

  ‘Did you make the rocky road as well, Fen?’ asks Ethan.

  I swallow. ‘Yes. It’s – erm – quite an easy recipe to do, actually. Everything goes in the bowl together and it doesn’t even have to be baked.’

  ‘Well, it’s delicious.’

  ‘I – I could give you the recipe if you like.’

  He smiles. ‘Thank you. I’d like that.’

  ‘Ooh, I’m not sure you should be giving away your trade secrets, Fen,’ jokes Ellie, and everyone laughs.

  I stand there awkwardly, trying to join in the merriment. Why do I always end up blurting out something entirely inappropriate? Now Ethan will think I’m a total plonker.

  He was probably just being kind, saying he’d like the recipe. But at least he didn’t laugh when I offered it.

  I make myself useful behind the counter, cleaning the coffee machine and the counter, letting Ellie and Jaz chat to the visitors. I’m tuned in to Ethan’s voice, though, and at one point I hear him say, ‘Alicia and I have been over for a while. There’s only so many times you can give it another go before you’re forced to admit you weren’t right for each other in the first place.’

  ‘Wow, so Mr Darcy is footloose and fancy free?’ says Ellie, laughing, and the cleaning fluid bottle slips out of my hand, landing on the floor with a crash.

  Everyone turns and I duck down to pick it up.

  I’d heard rumours about Ethan and Alicia being in a long-term relationship. But now he’s saying it’s all over between them and has been for a while.

  ‘Lock up your daughters, Sunnybrook,’ giggles Karen.

  ‘Hey, watch what you’re saying about me.’ Ethan sounds indignant, although when I risk a glance in his direction, he’s actually smiling. ‘Unlike some of the acting fraternity, I’m not actually into quick meaningless flings. Believe it or not, I actually feel like I’m ready to settle down.’

  A chorus of ‘oohs’ goes up and Ethan laughs and holds up his hands, looking a little sheepish. ‘I know it’s not exactly a cool thing to say but it’s true. Just call me an old-fashioned romantic!’ He pats his pockets and frowns. ‘An old-fashioned romantic who’s stupidly forgotten he left his credit cards in the car back at the village hall.’ He groans. ‘Damn, this was supposed to be my treat.’

  He looks so crestfallen, my heart goes out to him.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ I blurt out.

  He glances over. ‘Really? No, I couldn’t let you do that, Fen.’

  ‘Honestly it’s fine.’

  He frowns. ‘Well
. . . if you’re sure?’

  ‘You can just call in and pay some other time if you like,’ says Ellie. She grins. ‘I’m sure I can trust you.’

  But I’m already at the till, putting the money in. ‘No problem. All sorted.’ I have an ulterior motive. I’ll see Ethan again when he comes in to pay me back!

  They all leave just before midnight.

  Ethan doubles back and I glance at the table where he was sitting, thinking he must have forgotten something. But he comes over to the counter. ‘Thanks for coming to the rescue. I’ll pop in tomorrow with the cash. And I meant it about the rocky road. I’d really like that recipe.’ His handsome face breaks into a huge smile that makes my insides flip. ‘And by the way, there’s a panto meeting in the village hall on Sunday at two o’clock. Maybe I’ll see you there?’

  He winks. And then he’s gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It’s the morning after our trip to see Pride & Prejudice and Ethan’s appearance in the café afterwards.

  On the way down for breakfast, I pop my head round the library door, just as a huge yawn is escaping.

  Dad looks up from his desk and smiles. ‘It was obviously a late one, love. Good play?’

  ‘Very good.’ I feel a blush starting at the memory of Ethan striding onto the stage.

  ‘I’ve heard an old school pal of your brother’s is the star of the show,’ he says. ‘Evan, is it?’

  ‘It’s, er, Ethan, Dad. Ethan Fox.’ Now, of course, my face is blazing as heartily as the fire in the library grate. You could seriously roast chestnuts on my cheeks.

  ‘Ah yes, Ethan.’

  I hurriedly change the subject. ‘Seeing Pride & Prejudice brought back memories of you diving into the lake for the TV cameras on Brambleberry Manor launch day.’

  Dad groans. ‘Don’t remind me, Fen. Most embarrassing moment of my life.’

  I laugh. ‘At least it had a happy ending.’

  For a few horrible months earlier this year, Dad walked out on Mum and Brambleberry Manor because he’d had enough of her obsessive desire to transform the house. He rented a flat in the village and I was devastated. So was Rich, my older brother. You never want your parents to split up, whatever age you are.

  Then Mum had a crisis.

  She’d been counting on publicity from the local Press and TV for her grand opening. But by the day of the big Brambleberry Manor launch party, she still hadn’t managed to lure the TV people along. She was terrified that after all her hard work, opening day would turn out to be nothing more than a damp squib.

  But what she hadn’t imagined was Dad riding to the rescue – quite literally – and saving the day. In a hilarious re-enactment of Mr Darcy’s plunge into the lake, he rode in on his chestnut mare, stripped down to his shirt and breeches and dived in, to the astonished cheers of the visitors. The TV cameras caught the whole thing and made a big feature of it on the evening news.

  Being an introvert myself, I knew what it would have cost Dad to do what he did – and Mum realised that, too.

  They got back together and now they seem stronger than ever.

  ‘Breakfast?’ I ask.

  ‘Coffee would be great. I’ll join you downstairs in a minute.’

  I close the library door. It’s my favourite room in the house and it doubles as Dad’s study.

  It has polished wood shelves and an enormous antique desk at which Dad sits when he’s working in a pool of light from the angle poise lamp, surrounded by paperwork and coffee mugs. There are a couple of comfy old armchairs to sink into by the huge windows that look out over the parkland. In winter, a log fire burns in the grate and it’s the cosiest place in the world to be. Whenever I walk into that room, the scent of old books instantly relaxes me and makes me feel happy, whatever my mood.

  Mum hates it. She thinks it’s too old-fashioned and needs brightening up, and she dislikes the slightly musty smell of the books. But one day, when I have a house of my own, I plan to have a sanctuary just like Dad’s. Of course it won’t be on such a grand scale as this one. But I love the idea of having my very own little hidey-hole to escape to with my growing collection of books.

  I leave Dad and head for the kitchen.

  The real reason I’m yawning this morning is because I didn’t sleep particularly well, what with Ethan’s invitation to attend the meeting on Sunday going round and round in my head.

  In the kitchen, Mum is already there, scrambling eggs on the range.

  We still use the old kitchen from Georgian times when the cook used to rule the roost, and it’s huge and a bit draughty in winter. Mum’s got her horrible woolly waistcoat on over a tracksuit to keep warm. Dad keeps saying we should relocate the kitchen to somewhere smaller and more convenient – ‘It’s not as if we’re short of rooms!’ is something he’s fond of saying – but Mum is determined the kitchen will stay where it is. She loves the sense of history attached to our house and she always says it’s an absolute honour and privilege to live in it, so I can understand why she wouldn’t want to change things.

  It’s bloody cold, though.

  But at least we have the house to ourselves until March when it opens again for the start of the season.

  You would think Mum would take the opportunity to relax while the pressure is off – but if anything, she seems busier than ever. She’s now plunged herself into refurbishments – mainly, organising a team of painters to freshen up the rooms on show to the public, and supervising the transformation of an old barn into a café.

  ‘Morning, Fen. Breakfast?’ says Mum.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She brings me a plate of eggs and some toast in a rack. ‘Good night last night?’

  ‘Brilliant.’ I search my brain for another topic, just in case Ethan happens to come up again. ‘Ellie entered me into a baking contest – and I’ve been invited to compete in the regional heats.’

  Mum stops in her tracks and stares at me.

  ‘Really? When’s that?’ Dad asks, entering the room.

  ‘Oh, I’m not going.’

  ‘But why ever not?’ demands Mum.

  ‘Well, I . . .’ Swallowing, I stare down at my plate.

  Mum sighs. ‘Fen, please don’t say it’s because you’ll be nervous because really, that’s no excuse at all. You need to go along and show them what you’re made of. Make us all really proud!’

  I shrug. ‘I love baking, of course I do. But I’m not sure I’m good enough to enter a contest on that sort of scale.’

  ‘Yes but you’ll never know unless you try, will you, Fen?’ she raps out impatiently.

  ‘Marjery,’ murmurs Dad, looking as uncomfortable as I’m feeling.

  Mum sighs. ‘I don’t understand you. It’s just such a great opportunity.’ She shakes her head sadly. ‘But obviously I can’t make you do it.’

  ‘Maybe when Fen has had a chance to think about it, she might decide she’d like to take up the challenge,’ murmurs Dad, smiling at me, and I relax slightly.

  ‘Well, I hope she does,’ says Mum, as if I’m not even in the room. ‘You’d never hear Richard saying he’s not going to court today because he’s nervous the opposing counsel will wipe the floor with him.’

  My heart sinks. I love my brother but I can’t help feeling needled when Mum holds him up as the shining star I should aspire to be like. Every time I think I’ve got used to being thought of as a disappointment, Mum will say something provocative and it rankles all over again.

  ‘Our children are very different, Marjery, as you know,’ says Dad, looking at me and flicking his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

  ‘Well, of course I know that, Will. I just want the best for Fen, that’s all.’ She forces a smile. ‘On your way out, Fen, can you take a coffee along to Rob? He’s working on the chairs for the new café in the barn today.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m heading out now.’ In fact, I can’t wait to be gone!

  ‘And where’s Richard? I want him to talk to Rob about the design
for the café tables. I’ve decided I like the idea of leaves carved around the outside.’

  Rich walks in at that moment. He’s in jeans as it’s his day off and his curly dark hair is even more untamed than usual.

  ‘Any eggs for me, Mum?’ he asks, looking at my plate.

  ‘Sorry, darling, I didn’t think you’d be up this early on your day off. But I can make some more in a jiffy. Just give me a minute.’

  Rich shakes his head. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make myself some toast.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’

  Rich grins at her. ‘Honestly, it’s fine, Mum. In fact, I’d rather have toast.’ He sits down opposite me and steals a forkful of my eggs, and I slap his hand away with a smile.

  ‘Did I hear my name mentioned there, by the way?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh yes, talk to Rob about the tables, will you?’ says Mum.

  He frowns. ‘What about the tables?’

  ‘Rob suggested carving a leaf pattern round the edge,’ I explain. Then I glance at Mum. ‘I can talk to Rob about it when I take him his coffee if you like?’

  Her glance sweeps over me. Then she turns to my brother. ‘Rich, make sure he knows which design I mean. I’ll give you the page from the magazine.’

  I grit my teeth. Normally I wouldn’t react, but this morning, for some reason, her reliance on my brother, who can clearly do no wrong in her eyes, hurts even more than usual.

  Perhaps it’s because I’m starting to feel I should be braver in life. Have more faith in myself . . .

  ‘Mum, I’ve already shown Rob the magazine and talked to him about the various designs. I know which one you mean.’

  ‘Yes but Rich is going to finalise things,’ she says firmly, attacking a pan with a wire scrubber.

  ‘Because I’m not able to?’ I stare at her back in frustration.

  She turns and looks at me askance. ‘Well, I never said that, Fen.’

  ‘Crikey, Mum, you don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. I might not have a law degree like Rich but I do actually have a brain!’

  She stares at me, looking quite shocked. I suppose the mouse doesn’t usually roar!

  ‘I really don’t know what you mean, Fen,’ she says at last.