Mistletoe Mansion (39 page)

A gust of cold air gently tickled my neck and I heard three very light, skippity-jumppity thuds – plus the faint sound of the familiar White Christmas music. My cheeks glowed. So what if Mistletoe Mansion was bare and I might spend next Monday just with Jess? I had new friends. A great career ahead of me. Things could have been a lot worse.

Something bleeped and I reached for my phone. It was a text.

“Had 2 go – Melissa wants me 2 look at her guttering – but got surprise 4 U at market on Sat. U’ll never guess wot. Luke.”

Chapter 31

Oh my. Talk about white Christmasses. As the week progressed, the air became crisper than a Pringle from a newly opened tube. It was Saturday, the day of the Harpenden Christmas Market, and yay! Me and Jess had woken up to a carpet of sparkling snow. The impossible had happened – it made Badgers Chase look even prettier than usual. This would be great in the future, I told Jess, when she had the little one – it would give us an excuse to play in the snow.

Jess must have been feeling better, cos she’d chortled and said ‘Who needs an excuse?’ Cue both of us, outside in our boots and dressing gowns, pounding each other with snowballs. I know. Mature or what? But deep snow only came around now and again. If only we had a sledge to slide across the garden on. Mind you, in Jess’s condition that wouldn’t be wise. Perhaps, instead, I could pull my cakes along on it, for the walk into town.

Fortunately, however, Luke had offered to drive me in. I grinned at him, as we pushed our way through what looked like the entire population of Harpenden, crowded around the entrance to the town hall, in the high street. I loved how the fresh snow squeaked under our boots, without the slightest hint of slush. Fairy lights lined the road and everyone was well wrapped up in hats, scarves and wellington boots. Stalls served aromatic mulled wine and warm mince pies… I spotted hot chocolate stands and farmers’ cheese tables in all sorts of cute flavours like cranberry and Port… Mmm, breakfast suddenly seemed like a long time ago.

‘Now, tell me now what that text and my surprise is all about, or the dog gets it.’ I carried my Tupperware box of cakes carefully, as if it contained the unseen manuscript to JK Rowling’s next novel. Luke had offered to drive me into town “as a last favour” because I’d been paranoid that the box would fall over in my car, if the wheels had slid on the snow.

‘I mean it,’ I said and looked down menacingly at Groucho, who wore a cute navy waterproof jacket. I’d bought it for him this week, as the arctic air had descended, and amazingly Luke didn’t object. Just as well, cos Groucho now belonged to him – Luke had adopted the dog as Mr Murphy’s only other option would be to hand him over to the animal rescue centre. Two chocolate button eyes stared up at me and Groucho yapped. ‘Only joking, matey,’ I cooed at my canine friend.

‘I’ve told you all week – you’ll see your surprise once your cakes are laid out,’ said Luke, with one of his teasing smiles.

We headed towards a grand tent ahead, outside a wine shop, near the town hall. A banner was hung across the top of it saying “Harpenden Christmas Market Cake Competition”. ‘What time do they announce the winner?’ he asked.

‘After lunch. I’ve got to be back on the stall at two o’clock.’ Jess had the day off but was shopping in Luton this morning to “accidentally” bump into Ryan. She hoped to make it back in time for the announcement of the winners.

A few metres in front of the stall, Luke and I stopped. Several competitors were already there, wearing aprons and fussing over buttercream icing or glazed nuts. ‘Those entries all look so sensible,’ I muttered. ‘Maybe I should have left off the liquorice Eric Morecambe glasses.’

Luke squeezed my shoulder and tiny patches of pleasure burst into life, all over my body.

‘They’ll love your cakes,’ he said, looking particularly hot in a jacket as green as his eyes. ‘The flavour’s fantastic. Really outstanding.’ He groaned. ‘I should know.’

Poor Luke. And Terry. Plus Jess and Melissa. All week I’d worked to perfect the recipe and they must have each put on half a stone. Although Melissa had gone back to her habit of spitting each mouthful out or discreetly passed chunks under the table to Luke. Then, at the end of the week she’d cried off my tasting sessions, sounding really cheerful, with the only explanation that she was “busy” and vague talk about some sort of trip. Luke wasn’t around as much either, although they’d both been brill on Thursday, helping out with the Carmichaels’ friends when they’d come over to look through the personal items. Not that Luke had acted remotely romantically towards me, which was probably sensible. My stomach scrunched at the thought of him leaving for Brighton soon.

Okay! I admit it! Me and Luke… It felt so… right. He was exasperating and smug, yet ambitious and funny all in equal measure. But most importantly – yes, even more important than his hot bristly cheeks and tight embrace – he believed in me and in taking risks. A smile spread across my face. After the start we’d had, nothing surprised me more than how much we actually had in common. As for his deep, oh so tender kisses… my pulse quickened just at the thought of his tantalising lips on mine.

I nodded to the other competitors. One had visited Mistletoe Mansion on Thursday… Eleanor Goodman, that was it, Lily’s best friend, who’d been mentioned in the will. How carefully she’d searched through all of the bookcases, muttering about Lily’s coveted recipe book.

‘Good luck,’ said Luke. ‘And ta dah! Here’s your surprise – open this once you’ve set up.’ He thrust a small, flat package into my open handbag. ‘I’ve got time for a quick Christmas cinnamon hot chocolate and Stollen slice before I go home to pack. Meet you by the drinks stall in half an hour, if you like. Otherwise… Well. I don’t like goodbyes.’

Before I knew it… before we could, maybe, tell each other how we felt… he and his whistling disappeared into the crowd. I bit my lip. Couldn’t blame him. Most of the time I’d acted as if he and I gelled together as well as a cake mixture that had curdled. Perhaps he didn’t like me so much, after all? But this package… I glanced down. It was wrapped in silver paper. Surely this was proof that he liked me; that our random kissing hadn’t just been a one-off because I’d been spooked and he’d been hyped and we’d both been alone in the dark? I couldn’t remember the last time Adam had kissed me like that. Not even when we had that power cut last month and he’d ignored my suggestion of a candle-lit early night. Instead, he’d strapped a torch to the front of his head. The potholer look was not his most flattering.

I sighed for a second. The last day or two, when I thought about Adam and me, all I could recall was the negatives. I took a deep breath and, emptying my mind of men for a moment, made my way into the tent. A white haired woman in a salmon skirt and postbox red fleece came up to me. She held what looked like a list of names.

‘You are…?’

‘Kimberley Jones – my entry is “Bring Me Sunshine” cakes.’ I set my box down on a table and rummaged in my handbag. ‘Here’s the list of ingredients you requested. Sorry I’m a bit late.’

‘Better late than never. Thank you, dear.’ She nodded over to where Eleanor was standing. ‘You set up on that table over there.’

I headed over. Eleanor gave a tight smile.

‘You were lucky, getting a place in this competition,’ she said. ‘The rest of us had to register over two months ago. Friends in high places obviously help. Although your neighbour has obviously lowered her standards,’

My brow furrowed.

Eleanor passed me a newspaper from under her table. ‘Take a look at page three when you’ve got a moment. Mrs Winsford may not be in a social position to pull many strings next year if she moves in with her new beau.’

What was she going on about? I stuck the paper under my arm and glanced at her traditional Christmas cake, decked with Brazil nuts and cherries. She must have been referring to those photos Melissa had taken with… What was that model called? David Khan.

‘Mine’s a classic recipe, of course,’ she continued and puffed out her chest, ‘with a special homemade orange marmalade glaze on top… I strive for perfect depth and immaculate lines.’

Hmm. Those rows of nuts sure were, indeed, symmetrical.

Eleanor glanced across as I put out my cupcakes with the luminous yellow butter icing and black liquorice glasses on top. ‘Simplicity. Class. Good food suited to a given time of year. That’s what Harpenden judges admire.’ She smirked. ‘How unusual. Competitors don’t often enter children’s fairy cakes that also have nothing to do with Christmas.’

‘They aren’t for kids.’ I said brightly. ‘Cupcakes are big business nowadays and anything goes. I felt something different might go down well.’

‘How… inventive,’ she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand, before wandering off to steal a look at the other cakes on show. My gaze followed her and rested on a perfect chocolate log, with what looked like a marzipan robin on top. The woman standing behind it had a grey perm and wore sensible slacks with a hiker’s anorak. She blew on her red hands and smiled at me as I admired her cake’s cylindrical shape. Next to her was a young man plating up a gorgeous sponge with swirls of white buttercream icing on top, covered in a delicate array of tiny edible Christmas decorations – small sugar bells, green holly leaves, sparkly baubles – the effect was classy and subtle, completed with a silver ribbon tied around the sides.

I scoured the other tables, feeling less confident by the second, as each and every one had something to do with Christmas – but there had been nothing about that in the rules. There was a golden coloured Stollen log, dusted with snowy icing powder. Plus another fruit cake decorated with royal icing. Then a sponge in the shape of Santa which would be a huge hit with any kid.

I put down the newspaper and filled in the small name card, writing “Bring Me Sunshine cakes” in my neatest handwriting.

‘Clever. A nod to Morecambe and Wise, no?’ said a voice next to me. I glanced up at a woman, probably around my age, with short auburn hair. She wore a white apron and looked very professional. ‘Been making cupcakes long?’ she said and held out her hand. ‘I’m Ruth.’

‘Um… Kimmy.’ I shook her hand.

‘Love the colour of that buttercream icing. Have you got a website?’

‘I’m, um, in the process of setting one up.’ I smiled. ‘Where’s your entry?’

She jerked her head towards a table a couple of rows behind. Wow. There on a miniature cake stand sat the most amazing chocolate cakes, with green buttercream icing swirled upwards into a pyramid, on each one, to look like Christmas tree. Then tiny sparkly sugar balls had been pressed into the sides, to look like baubles. A gold star topped each one.

‘Awesome,’ I muttered and sniffed. ‘Mint icing?’

‘Yes – these are “After Dinner Muffins”!’

‘What a fabulous concept.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I came third last year. I’m keeping everything crossed this time. Good luck to you, though.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Nice to see someone else daring to enter something less predictable.’

We smiled at each other then she zipped up her duffle coat, grabbed her handbag and disappeared into the crowds. I took one last look at my cakes and headed off to meet Luke at the hot chocolate stall. Delicate snowflakes had started to fall – the first of the day. I reached into my bag to put my gloves back on. Ah ha! I’d almost forgotten – at last I could open my surprise. I stopped for a minute by a candyfloss stall and fumbled with the silver wrapping. Inside, tied with a little silver bow, was a pile of small white, gilt-edged cards. Printed on each was a watercolour sketch of a cupcake and in gold italic letters it said: “Let KimCakes bring you sunshine. For uniquely delicious cakes, made with the finest ingredients, contact Kimberley Jones on …”and there was my mobile number.

Wow. My very first business cards. Tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t believe Luke had gone to such trouble. This was the ultimate gesture of confidence in me. Lovingly I stroked the surface of one, feeling more certain than ever that a future in the baking business was for me. Carefully, I slipped them into my bag, grabbed the newspaper and pushed my way through the crowd, towards the hot chocolate stall.

Luke. I had to find Luke. To kiss that flirty mouth – to breathe in his musky smell. I passed tables of Christmas decorations – wooden toys for the tree, festive wreaths and garlands… Luke had even knocked off the “Ltd” on those cards because he knew my business wasn’t yet off the ground. But that made it seem all the more real, and I liked using my full name for once.

My brow furrowed for a second. For God’s sake, this was the twenty-first century. Why had I waited all week for Luke to kiss me again? Why hadn’t I made the first move? In the distance I saw Melissa, wearing an amazing white Russian fur hat, with a matching fur-trimmed white coat and jeans. That reminded me. I was curious about the page three Eleanor had been banging on about. Quickly I stopped, turned over the front page of the newspaper… A report on the rising price of petrol, the fattest dog in the world… and right at the bottom, a photo of… A shard of hurt pierced the centre of my chest. I gulped for air. No. Could it really be Melissa and… Luke? They were facing each other, him staring deep into her eyes and running his fingers through her hair.

My chin trembled and I loosened the top of my coat. No wonder she’d kept asking me how I’d feel if he met someone else. Unlike me, he couldn’t have… clearly hadn’t tingled after our kiss. This explained why Melissa had really cheered up the last day or two. And “the trip” – she must be travelling to Brighton with him. I looked back over the last week – them laughing together over that wig; her arm linked with his. My throat ached. Stupid, stupid me. I’d paved the way for their relationship, insisting every time she asked that I felt nothing for Luke and that our snog was a one-off. Vision blurry, I sniffed and tossed the newspaper into a nearby bin.

‘Kimmy! Darling!’ called velvety tones.

I stopped in my tracks. Took a deep breath. Turned around.

‘Wow. You, um, look fab,’ I said to Melissa in a flat voice. A ponytail trailed out of her hat and was an impossbily creamy blonde. Her skin glowed and the white outfit contrasted her caramel tan. A silver designer bag was slung casually over one shoulder. She looked every inch the celebrity – a happy one, at that.