Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café
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Copyright
HarperImpulse
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Georgia Hill 2018
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Georgia Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008212162
Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780008222178
Version: 2017-10-17
Dedication
To the people and town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. Thank you for the fabulous holidays.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Spring Beginnings
Summer Loves
Christmas Weddings
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 1
Millie wiped the table and then straightened to enjoy the view. Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café must have one of the best in Berecombe. Situated halfway along the flat promenade leading to the harbour, its wide windows looked straight out onto the seas of Lyme Bay. And what a view! Now, in early January, a chill bit into the wind and the light was crystal clear, making the azure blue of sea and sky deeper and rain-washed. One or two gulls wheeled about in the light breeze, chattering to the skies. Even though she’d lived in the little flat above the café all her life, Millie would never tire of how beautiful her home town was.
She carried the tray, full of empty plates and mugs, back to the kitchen and began washing up. Some people might say she was mad to stay open in the winter. All the other cafés and restaurants in this part of town were firmly shut up until March. Even the chip shop only opened on weekend nights.
But Millie loved this time of year. Yes, it was dark in the mornings, but the winter winds whipped up the sea into towering waves and she fed off the energy from a good storm. There was nothing more exhilarating than a walk along the promenade watching the waves tear into the beach and being deafened by the roar. She frothed the washing-up water in the sink with enthusiasm. Yes, there were only a few people about but she’d pick up a bit of trade from the literary festival later in the month. Besides, there were always one or two weekenders wanting a good foamy latte. There were all her regulars too. Biddy, with Elvis the poodle, would be along in an hour and Zoe and her friends would pop in for hot chocolate; fresh off the school bus and wanting a place to gossip in until it was time to go home. During the low season, Millie relished the luxury of having lots of time to talk to her customers.
‘And besides, Trevor,’ Millie called through the kitchen door to the cockapoo snoring in his basket by the radiator, ‘What else would we be doing? I can’t knit and daytime telly bores me rigid.’ The dog, worn out from his run on the beach, didn’t grace her with an answer.
The familiar jingle-jangle of the bell on the door alerted her to a customer. Wiping her hands on her apron – hand sewn by Biddy and turquoise-blue and pink to match the decor – Millie grabbed her pen and order pad.
There was a stranger sitting at the best table, next to the middle window. A man and alone. It was unusual. Not many men came into the café in the afternoons. She had a few who popped in for breakfast, but men weren’t usually, in her experience, afternoon-tea-and-cake type of people.
‘Hello there,’ she said, pinning on a welcoming smile, ‘What can I get you?’
The man lifted his face from the menu and gazed at her. He had dark eyes and blond hair. A striking combination. He was about her own age and very, very attractive.
‘Good afternoon.’
Cultivated voice. Expensive-sounding, to match his heavy overcoat. Millie glimpsed a snowy white shirt underneath, with a red tie and charcoal-grey striped suit. Definitely not her usual sort of customer. Perhaps he’d got lost on his way to the Lord of the Manor Hotel? It was far more exclusive and upmarket than Millie Vanilla’s.
‘What cake do you have?’
Millie relaxed a little. This was much safer ground than dwelling on how hot he was. ‘I’ve some Victoria sponge and a coffee and walnut cake. I also have a light fruitcake, which is iced, and freshly baked scones with jam and cream. Clotted, of course.’
‘Of course.’ He smiled back.
Millie’s heart did a flippoty-flop and her knees weakened. The smile transformed his features. He was gorgeous! Trevor, as if aware of his mistress’s agitation, stirred in his basket and gave a little snuffling snore.
The stranger looked at the dog’s wicker basket. ‘You allow dogs in the café?’
Millie stiffened. No one criticised her café and certainly not her dog. ‘He’s allowed in the seating area, but nowhere near any food preparation.’ She jerked her head towards the kitchen. ‘And, as you can see, there’s a door separating the two parts of the café. We’re very dog-friendly in Berecombe. Always have been. Lots of visitors bring their pets with them on holiday and want to eat out with them. In the better weather we have tables outside on the sun terrace and, of course, there are no restrictions on dogs out there.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’ve obviously touched a nerve. I apologise.’ That devastatingly charming smile again.
Millie felt the tension leave her shoulders. He hadn’t meant to criticise after all. ‘No, it should be me apologising. It’s a defence I have to produce every now and again.’
‘And you find it’s better for trade to have dogs in?’
Who was he to be asking all these questions? Suspicion prickled. ‘I do. There’s always the occasional customer who prefers to eat without having a dog around, but most people, even if they don’t have one of their own, actually like it.’
‘Good. Interesting.’
This was getting weird. ‘Now, what can I get you?’ Millie asked bracingly, to avoid further interrogation.
‘I suppose I’m too late for lunch?’
‘Not at all. I’ve some curried butternut squash soup and homemade bread. Or a sandwich on granary?’
‘The soup sounds wonderful. I’ll have that. And a piece of the Victoria sponge for pudding. Oh – and tea.’
‘I have Earl Grey or English Breakfast. The Breakfast tea is from a local Devon supplier and is particularly good. Or I have a variety of fruit and herbal teas.’
‘English Breakfast it is, then. Thank you.’
‘Thank you. Won’t be a minute.’
As Millie prepared his meal, she couldn’t resist sneaking peeks through the porthole window in the kitchen door. Who was he? Health and Safety? One of those secret review customers? Someone from the tourist board? He’d slipped off his overcoat and she’d been right about the suit. Very well cut and fitted to his long legs. No, he couldn’t be any of those. No tourist-board official had ever looked that beautiful. Did people really have cheekbones like that? Trevor, she saw, to her intense annoyance, was now nosing around and making friends. She’d expected the stranger to bat him off but he was tickling Trevor’s golden ears, to the dog’s great delight. And dogs were supposed to be loyal! Looked like Trevor couldn’t resist a handsome man either.
Feeling more than a little flustered, Millie put the soup on to heat and took over a tray with teapot, milk jug, cup and saucer.
‘What pretty china,’ the stranger exclaimed. ‘I like the way it’s all mismatched but goes together so well.’
Millie’s suspicions grew.
He looked around him with open admiration. ‘And I love the turquoise starfish and pink shell mural. You’ve obviously thought a great deal about the image for this place.’
Millie hadn’t. She’d got her best friend’s husband to paint it colours she liked and the china choice was forced on her by economy. She’d picked up a load at a car-boot sale. Was he being sarcastic? ‘Thank you.’ She forced a smile through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll just go and get your soup.’
Again, Millie watched avidly as the stranger examined his cup, turned the handles of the teapot and hot-water jug this way and that and lifted the saucer to examine the maker’s mark. The delicate flowery pattern should have looked ridiculous in his long-fingered grip, but it didn’t. Who was he?
There was one way to find out. She carried his soup and bread over, determined to ask questions, only to be thwarted as Biddy came in with Elvis. Shaking sea spray off her woollen beret, the elderly woman said, ‘Afternoon,’ in her over-loud voice. Millie served the stranger his meal and noticed with amusement that Biddy was glaring at him. He was in her favourite seat.
Biddy settled noisily at a table nearer the kitchen and made a great fuss over taking off her coat and settling her poodle.
Realising the interrogation would have to wait, Millie went over to her. ‘Your usual, Biddy?’ Millie didn’t need an order pad for this customer. Biddy always had the same thing.
‘My usual,’ the woman barked. ‘What else? A coffee and scone. And a shortbread for Elvis.’
‘Coming right up.’ Millie made sure she was facing her as she spoke. Biddy was really quite deaf but could lip-read. When she chose. Millie tried to be charitable and sympathise with how frustrating it must be but suspected Biddy’s permanently bad mood was nothing to do with her hearing loss. ‘How’s Elvis today?’ Normally Millie would fuss over Biddy’s hearing-assistance dog but she was too aware of the stranger. He seemed to be watching everything that was going on.
‘Upset, that’s what he is. That bitch has been after him again.’
Millie sensed rather than saw the stranger’s shoulders tense. ‘What, Arthur Roulestone’s retriever? She’s as quiet as a mouse.’
‘Not when she catches sight of Elvis, she isn’t. I swear he makes her randy.’
‘Oh dear,’ Millie murmured. ‘Just as well he doesn’t have the same effect on Trevor.’ They looked to where the dogs, having had a sniff to say hello, were now studiously ignoring one another.
‘Yes well,’ Biddy sniffed. ‘Folks ought to control their dogs, especially when they’re around others that work.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Millie saw the stranger’s shoulders quiver. Was he laughing – or about to complain? He’d been friendly towards Trevor, but maybe two dogs in a café was too much?
As far as she knew, Arthur’s Daisy never had the energy to raise her head, let alone pester a poodle a quarter of her size, but she supposed Biddy knew what she was talking about. ‘I’ll just get your coffee.’
Unfair though it seemed, maybe today wasn’t the day to let Biddy sit in a corner with Elvis nursing a solitary cup for an hour or two. The sooner she served her, the sooner she might leave. Taking Elvis with her. Millie immediately felt guilty. Why shouldn’t Biddy take as long as she wanted? The café was hardly busy. It was just this stranger. He made Millie uneasy. In lots of ways.
She busied herself in the kitchen, served Biddy, gave Elvis a homemade dog biscuit and took away the stranger’s empty soup bowl.
‘That was absolutely delicious.’ He gave her the megawatt smile again. ‘Is it really homemade?’
‘It is.’
‘By you?’
‘By me. As is the sponge cake.’
‘Then I can’t wait!’
He was being friendly. Saying the right things. Even Trevor, tart that he was, liked him – and she trusted Trevor’s opinion implicitly. But still, there was something not right about this whole encounter. She couldn’t quite place what it was. Maybe she was just unused to dealing with men who made her hormones fizz?
‘I’ll go and get it.’ The sooner he ate and left the better. Then things might get back to normal. She might get back to normal.
‘Could I trouble you for some more boiling water?’
‘Of course,’ she breathed. Bugger. He was going to linger.
As she served him, Zoe and her collection of friends clattered in, bringing the fresh January cold with them. They deposited their school bags and coats in a pile and slumped onto their usual corner table, phones in hand.
‘Hiya, Mil,’ Zoe called.
‘Hi, girls. Hot chocolate?’
‘Hot chocolate,’ they chorused back.
‘We’ve had PE,’ Zoe explained further. ‘Had to run around the field for hours. Supposed to be cross-country training,’ she added gloomily.
‘You poor things. I remember it well. Extra marshmallows, then.’
‘Thanks, Millie,’ came another chorus and they disappeared into scrolling down the screens of their phones.
After distributing mugs of hot chocolate, liberally laced with marshmallows and cream, Millie glanced around. Against the silvered light of the winter afternoon Biddy sipped her coffee, one hand protectively on Elvis’ black woolly head and Zoe and the gang were giggling over something on their phones. There was a comfortingly warm fug in the place. She sighed with pleasure; she loved this little café and cherished its place at the heart of her community.
Then she noticed the stranger pushing away his empty cake plate.
‘May I have my bill, please?’
‘Right away.’ Millie had already prepared it. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
He glanced at the amount and paid cash. ‘So, you’re Millie?’ he asked, putting a note on the saucer.
Blimey. More questions. She forced a friendly smile. ‘I am.’
‘And you own Millie Vanilla’s?’
‘I do.’
‘Great name, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
In a bid to encourage him to leave, Millie picked up his payment, her eyes widening at what he’d tipped. As he stood up and put his coat back on, she noticed he towered above her. Another point scored. She liked tall men.
‘That was really delicious food. And you’ve got a marvellous place here.’
‘Thank you,’ Millie repeated. Why didn’t he just go?
‘I hope I can find the time to come back.’
As he went out, Clare, Zoe’s best friend, wolf-whistled. The dogs’ noses shot up at the sound. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, her eyes like saucers. ‘He’s gorg!’
‘And totally too old for you,’ Zoe replied.
Clare rolled her eyes. ‘I so totally don’t care.’
Zoe craned her neck to view him as he sauntered along the prom. ‘Nice bum.’
Millie giggled. ‘That’ll do, Zoe. I’ve told you before to stop ogling the customers.’
‘Hope he comes in when I do a shift on Saturday, then. He can have my extra-extra-special service.’ She waggled her eyebrows comically.
‘Oh, Zoe,’ Millie put her head on one side with pretend concern. ‘Whatever has he done to deserve that?’
Clare poked her friend in the ribs and cackled. ‘Yay, Millie’s got you there, Zo.’
Something drew Millie to the door. She watched as the man strode towards the harbour, the low sunshine lightening his blond hair. He had a loose-limbed style that was very sexy. Confident, assured of his place in the world. Arrogant almost. As if sensing he was being watched, he turned back to the café and raised a hand.
Millie ducked out of view, blushing furiously. She still hadn’t a clue who he was.
Chapter 2
Millie didn’t have long to wait until the gorgeous stranger returned. He came in a few days later on a bright, cold morning when the wind whipped up white horses.
‘Good morning again,’ he greeted her cheerfully.
‘Morning.’
He extended a hand. ‘As I know your name, I think I’d better introduce myself. Jed Henville.’
‘Nice to meet you.’ Millie wiped her hand unnecessarily on her apron (bright pink with turquoise stars today). ‘Emilia Fudge. But everyone calls me Millie.’
She waited for the laugh. For a quirk of amused eyebrows. For the jokes over her name being as sweet as her cakes. None came and she blushed with gratitude. This guy had class. ‘What can I get you today?’
Jed grimaced. ‘I shouldn’t have anything, really, as I’ve just had a rather mediocre English cooked breakfast. But when I was in the other day, I couldn’t help but notice you do raisin toast. It’s my all-time weakness. Is that homemade too?’
‘Alas, I can’t lay claim to being a bread-maker. My pal Tessa makes all the bread I serve in here. But it’s very much made in her home. She’s a fantastic artisan baker. I’ll get you some of her fabulous raisin toast, then, shall I? Would you like some coffee with that?’ Millie smiled and wondered where he’d eaten his very ordinary breakfast and if he’d shared it with anyone. Who was he and why was he in Berecombe? It was a sleepy place and not considered as trendy as Lyme Regis, further along the coast. At this time of year any stranger stood out a mile, especially one as good-looking as him.
‘Thank you. I’d love a large latte. It’s cold today; I need warming up!’ Taking off his stripey scarf, he settled at the same table he’d sat at the other day and spread out a broadsheet newspaper.
He was less formally dressed today, in dark moleskin jeans and a buttery suede jacket. With his out of season suntan, he looked just as buttery and edible himself. So he was in need of being warmed up? Millie could think of one or two things that might do it. She gave herself a shake. Honestly. Grow up, woman! She was as bad as Zoe and her gang going weak at the knees at the sight of a hot man. She ran into the kitchen and put herself to work as a distraction.
The morning passed peacefully enough. Jed had eaten his toast and drunk his latte with enthusiasm, declaring both delicious and had thrown on his scarf and jacket and departed. As she cleared his table, Millie was prevented from watching where he was headed by the arrival of Arthur Roulestone, breakfast regular and owner of Daisy, Elvis’s arch enemy.
‘Morning, my dear,’ he called, as he came in with the puffing retriever in tow. He followed her look. ‘Stranger in town, then?’
‘Morning, Arthur.’ Millie picked up the tray and paused, with her bottom pushed against the kitchen door. ‘You don’t happen to know who he is, do you?’
‘No idea.’ He tapped his nose cheerfully. ‘I can keep my ear to the ground for you, though.’
‘Thanks.’ Arthur was a member of Berecombe’s town council. What he didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing. ‘Your usual?’
‘Bless you. A trifle chilly out there today.’
‘Isn’t it just? But I love these crisp days,’ Millie shouted from the kitchen.
‘I’ve heard we might have snow later.’
‘Snow?’ Millie put the tray down on the draining board and poked her head out of the door. ‘It never snows here. We don’t even get so much as a frost.’
‘Not strictly true. I can remember it snowing one winter when I was a boy. Covered the beach. Magical. Funnily enough, I always find it’s the coldest just before we get the first of the spring days.’
‘Some warmer weather would be welcome and good for business too. But snow, eh? How exciting! Must have been years ago. Before my time.’
‘Thank you for reminding me what an old codger I am.’
‘Sorry, Arthur. Extra sausage? And one for Daisy as an apology?’
‘Accepted with pleasure. Organic sausages from Small’s farm, I assume?’
Millie nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
Arthur went over to the table Jed had just vacated. ‘Ah,’ he called through to her. ‘I see your mysterious customer has left his newspaper. I might just have a quick look.’ He bent and picked it up. ‘Oh, how disappointing. The Financial Times. Not quite my choice of reading matter on a Friday morning.’ His brows rose over his steel-rimmed specs. ‘Might be a clue to his identity, however! A businessman, perhaps?’
‘Perhaps.’ Millie stepped around Daisy as she brought over Arthur’s mug of tea. ‘Strong builder’s as usual.’
‘Bless you, my dear.’
‘And how’s the old girl?’ She bent to tickle Daisy’s ears. ‘I hear she’s been annoying Elvis again.’
‘Well, at least it shows there’s some life left in her. She’s getting on a bit now. Like me.’
Millie saw emotion contort Arthur’s face. She straightened. ‘Oh Arthur, you’ve both got years ahead of you yet.’ Goodness knows what the old man would do when Daisy went. They were devoted to each other. ‘And if she can still chase after a poodle, there must be hope.’
‘Indeed. However, I fear Biddy does not quite see it that way. And Elvis is an assistance dog. Daisy shouldn’t interfere when he’s working.’
‘I think they’re secretly very fond of one another,’ Millie said, reflecting that the same could be said of their bickering owners. ‘And don’t worry, Biddy’s fine. Never happy unless she’s got something to moan about.’
‘As my granddaughter Zoe would say, ain’t that the truth?’
Laughing, Millie went to get his breakfast ready, confident her cooked English could never be described as mediocre.
Chapter 3
Early on Saturday morning, when the sun was just rising over the bay, Zoe crashed in to begin her shift.
‘Like your hair, Zo. What colour is it this time?’
Zoe pulled a lock of her purple fringe and went cross-eyed looking at it. ‘Plummy Aubergine.’