The Little Brooklyn Bakery

by Julie Caplin

  ‘Sophie, let me introduce you. Todd writes our Man About Town column.’

  ‘Hi, we meet again.’ Todd flashed her his usual lighthouse-beam grin. Seriously, that smile should come a health warning, it belonged in a Hollywood blockbuster.

  ‘You two have met?’

  ‘Remember I fixed up the rental on my cousin’s place?’

  ‘Yeah, of course. You’re our regular Mr Fixit. Need a new screen for your phone, know where to buy fresh Oregano or find a holiday let in the Hamptons? Todd is our man.’ Despite her brusque words, she shot him a wry, fond look. ‘And somehow, Todd has managed to appropriate a second desk.’ She wrinkled her forehead. ‘And I have no idea how he did that or how it gets to be in this state.’ Trudy gave the messy surface a plaintive frown.

  ‘Hey English, we’re going to be roomies.’ He swept a pile of paper from the surface of the desk and dumped it into a box which he then put under his own desk, with a cheerful shrug. ‘No idea what any of that is but I haven’t looked at it in a month.’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Todd McLennan.’

  ‘Work, boss. Work,’ supplied Todd.

  Trudy sighed, but smiled back at him. ‘That’s what you’re calling it?’ She turned back to Sophie. ‘I’m still not sure why we employ him, other than he’s cute to look at.’

  Cute was the understatement of the century but she said it without irony. Maybe familiarity bred immunity.

  ‘And the readers love me.’ He tilted back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

  ‘Unfortunately, he has a point there.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Voted most popular column last month, and he’s won a couple of awards, but we try not to let it go to his head.’

  At that point Todd, with a silly cartoon gesture, as if he didn’t take them terribly seriously, pointed to a couple of crystal-glass trophies on the shelf behind his desk which were doing sterling work as paperweights to teetering piles of paper.

  ‘However, he has volunteered to clean this desk up for you.’ Her pointed look had him jumping to his feet.

  Ignoring him, she focused on Sophie, ‘I’m really sorry about the mix-up. But if you can get yourself set up here … without the aid of a hazmat suit, hopefully … then you can join us for the editorial meeting at ten-fifty. Todd’ll show you where everything is.’

  Sophie nodded, noticing Madison gliding up behind Trudy.

  ‘Hey Todd.’ The younger girl flashed him the sort of predatory smile a prowling jaguar would have been proud of. ‘Look Trudy, maybe I should swap desks. Let …’ she nodded towards Sophie, ‘have Brandi’s desk. It’s with the other food writers. It probably makes sense. I can sit here with Todd.’

  Sophie just bet she could.

  ‘And how would I get any work done, Maddie? I’d be constantly distracted by your gorgeousness.’

  Oh please. Sophie schooled her face into polite indifference. He had to be kidding.

  ‘Oh Todd, you’re such a charmer,’ said Madison, dipping her head coyly.

  Really? That sort of cheese was digestible?

  ‘I know,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But English here is going to help me with a new feature, so it probably makes sense for her to be in the vicinity.’

  News to her. Sophie stuck her tongue firmly in her cheek, which only Todd could see. He gave her a twisted grin. ‘Yeah … er … An – um – Englishwoman Abroad, checking out what’s new in New York.’

  Madison frowned, or at least tried to. Her forehead didn’t seem to want to wrinkle like normal people’s did.

  ‘Oh, OK. Well, if you change your mind or finish your feature, I can always help on another one. I know all the most exclusive bars and I can get you into the member-only clubs.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind. Thanks, you’re a doll.’

  Trudi smiled pleasantly, the epitome of diplomacy. ‘Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. See you at the editorial meeting.’ She turned on her heel, making a pointed pause when Madison didn’t immediately follow.

  ‘I’ll see you around, Todd. Maybe we can have that drink sometime.’

  Todd waved a casual finger at her. ‘You bet.’

  Sophie stood helplessly, while Todd unearthed a phone extension from underneath a stack of magazines. ‘I knew there was one here somewhere.’ He stepped forward and then with a wicked grin said, ‘Let me clear these sex toys away.’ He paused, sorting through a pile of boxes before offering her an open one with a large pink plastic shape nestled in purple tissue paper. ‘Unless you’d like to try a couple out and review them for me. For the column.’

  Sophie gave him a level look which he cheerfully ignored.

  ‘Maybe not.’ He dropped the box on the floor and nudged it under his desk with his foot. ‘Here, grab these a second.’ He shoved a handful of flimsy silk underwear into her hands. ‘Help yourself to anything you fancy. They’re not my size.’

  ‘Fan mail?’ asked Sophie dryly, beginning to wonder quite what the scope of his column was. The one she’d read entitled ‘West Bank’ had been a recommendation of the best restaurants and bars, with multiple escape routes for those dates that went West, as well as a guide to decoding what men meant when they said certain things on a first date. It had been funny, witty and irreverent, poking fun at men’s hapless approaches to dating.

  Todd let out a bark of laughter. ‘Funny, English. Funny. No, they’re samples. Sometimes I recommend gift-buying ideas. I get sent all sorts of stuff.’

  ‘So I gathered.’

  ‘Comes with the territory of being New York’s Man About Town, aka expert on everything.’

  Todd’s idea of tidying up was simply transferring most of the mess to a pile behind his desk, but she could hardly complain as it meant she now had a clear space to work in. A bit too clear. She gave the bleak desk a baleful look, regretting not even bringing her own notebook to lay claim to her new territory. Digging in her handbag, she pulled out a solitary biro – it was the one Todd had lent her yesterday morning – and put it out in front of her. It looked a little sad. Lost and alone. Her mouth twisted.

  When she looked up Todd was studying her.

  ‘You OK? You need anything?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said with a wan smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got some paper I can borrow to go into the meeting. I packed in a hurry … I didn’t bring …’ On her desk at home, she had a pretty pot with pens, a magnetic bird that held paperclips and … a photo of James in a silver frame. Pain pinched at her heart.

  ‘Sure.’ He tossed towards her a lined foolscap pad emblazoned with a company logo. The phone on his desk shrilled. ‘Todd McLennan. Hey Charlene,’ his voice dropped an octave and he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. ‘Course I haven’t forgotten. Charlene, how could I forget you?’ He winked at Sophie.

  She rolled her eyes and his grin widened.

  Utterly shameless. Sophie stared at the soles of his trendy lace-up boots.

  ‘Seven o’clock is just great, Charlene. Can’t wait.’ He put the phone down.

  ‘Was that Charlene by any chance?’ asked Sophie, amused. ‘Worried you were going to forget her name?’

  ‘It has happened,’ replied Todd. ‘But it’s a good psychological trick, builds rapport.’

  Sophie could see exactly why Bella had said he was bad news.

  ‘And now on to the November edition. The fashion section is all sewn up. We’ve got the “Hundred Best Boots for the Fall” feature. Health, we’re focusing on supplements and vitamins that beat lethargy and tiredness. We’re testing cookers for best buys.’

  As Trudy spoke, Sophie glanced around the meeting room, receiving tentative nods from the people assembled around the large oval glass table. She’d been introduced at the start of the meeting with little fanfare or fuss, which suited her fine.

  This 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, plu
s 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.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Hey there Sophie, how is it?’

  Kate’s voice spilled from Sophie’s phone, propped on its side on the breakfast bar of the kitchen, her slightly blurry image dancing across the screen.

  ‘Hi Kate. How are you?’

  ‘Little bit tipsy. Me and Ben have been out for dinner with Avril and Christopher. She sends her love, by the way. She’s not drinking, so I drank her share of prosecco. And Ben was being sensible because he’s playing football tomorrow. He’s going to bed.’ Kate raised her eyebrows in mock disgust and in the bac
kground Ben’s figure appeared and waved.

  ‘Night, Sophie. Hope it’s going well.’

  There was the sound of a door closing and Kate leaned closer to the screen.

  ‘So how are you? Are you cooking loads of brilliant food? New York delis are supposed to be amazing.’

  ‘Mmm,’ replied Sophie with a guileless expression and a noncommittal nod, thinking of the succession of ready-roast chickens she’d eaten since she’d arrived. Chicken and salad nearly every night for two weeks. So much for being an award-winning food writer with an explorer’s quest for new and native tastes.

  ‘And how are you?’ repeated Kate, leaning even closer to the screen, as if that would help her get a closer look at Sophie’s guarded face.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Sophie with a gentle smile.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to talk about James, unless you want to.’

  ‘Definitely not. This is a James-free zone.’

  ‘So what’s it like? Have you been up the Empire State Building? Have you been to Central Park? Have you done any shopping? Or are you too busy? I get the impression that New York is so busy and people work really hard there. Is it crazy?’

  ‘Yes, it is a bit. The subway’s crazy. Manhattan is busier than London. But I’ve got into a good routine.’ She made her eyes deliberately bright as she talked. Why couldn’t she match Kate’s enthusiasm?

  Perhaps because the routine was quite dull.

  Up at seven-thirty. On the subway at eight-thirty, coffee at Starbucks at nine-fifteen. At her desk at nine-thirty. It was all very Abba’s ‘The Day Before You Came’. Except there would be no one coming for her this time. During the day she was fine. The job was absorbing, busy and familiar, and she was getting plenty of sleep. Most nights she was in bed by nine.