The Seafront Tearoom

by Vanessa Greene

  As she waited for Kat’s response, Charlie finished the last piece of rose-and-pistachio cake. She had been drawing it out, savoring every bite—rich, indulgent and delicately flavored. It was one of the best cakes she’d ever tasted.

  “What kind of places were you thinking of?”

  “These.” Charlie got out her journal and showed Kat the list of tearooms she’d jotted down. “I could do with your help on the first few.” Kat read over the names, nodded and passed the list back. Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one being interviewed, rather than the other way around. It unsettled her—she was used to being the one in control.

  “I’d want to feature this place, of course,” Charlie said.

  “Here?” Kat’s hazel eyes widened.

  “Absolutely. It’s perfect. This is exactly the kind of place I’ve been looking for. A real hidden gem. In fact, I’d never have stumbled on it if the receptionist at the South Cliff Hotel hadn’t mentioned—”

  “Cally told you about this place?” Kat seemed to relax a little then, and for the second time that day Charlie felt as if she’d passed some kind of test.

  “Yes. Not right away, though. I got the feeling she was quite reluctant to begin with.”

  “That’s because the Seafront is as close as we have to a secret round here.”

  “I see,” Charlie said, her excitement growing as she considered the potential to change the tearoom’s fortunes. “Well, it’s one we can share now.” She smiled. “With a feature in Indulge, we could make this a real destination venue, drawing in customers from all over the country. Send it stratospheric.”

  “I don’t know about that . . .” Kat said, shaking her head warily.

  “Why not?” Charlie said, running with the idea now. “An article I wrote in the spring brought huge crowds to the cafés that I recommended. This place may be half-empty now, but it could turn into a gold mine.”

  Kat glanced over at Letty, who was taking a bill to an elderly couple in the far corner of the room.

  “And you think that’s what Letty wants?” Kat said, furrowing her brow. “She likes that it’s mainly familiar faces in here. That’s why Cally didn’t direct you here right away.”

  “But surely everyone wants more business these days?”

  “Not everyone. Letty’s got a cheap lease on the premises, and she doesn’t spend much money on luxuries. If she needs anything else her son, Euan, looks out for her.”

  “So she keeps the tearoom running because she enjoys it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Oh.” Charlie couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “Look, Charlie. It’s kind of you to ask me to help with your feature, but I don’t think—”

  Charlie had to act fast. Kat was the ideal person to assist her—she was sure of it now—but if she didn’t do something she was going to slip away.

  “I’m not asking out of kindness—I need someone like you on board.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Kat was shaking her head.

  “Last try,” Charlie said, summoning her best negotiation skills. “If I were to leave the Seafront out of the feature—so that this place stays a well-kept secret—would that change your mind?”

  The corners of Kat’s mouth twitched slightly, and after a moment, a broad smile came to her lips.

  “OK,” she said. “If the Seafront is out, then I’m in.”

  Charlie smiled back, relieved and excited. “Brilliant,” she said. “Although I have to say it pains me not to include this place—it’s perfect.”

  “Well, now it can stay that way,” Kat replied.

  Charlie walked back to Pippa’s house, full of enthusiasm for the feature she was going to write. She’d arranged to pick Kat up the following day so they could drive to York. With her help, Charlie was confident she could put together an edition of the magazine that would prove she’d make the perfect editor to take the reins from Jess.

  Pippa answered the door dressed in a pair of leggings and a lilac top that showed off her slim figure. Her blond hair was neatly blow-dried and she was cradling Gracie in her arms.

  “Hi, Charlie,” she said nonchalantly. She stood aside and Charlie came into the hallway.

  Charlie steeled herself for the conversation she’d been dreading. “Pippa, I don’t want to upset you, but I think it might be better for all of us if I stayed in a hotel tonight.”

  “In a hotel?” Pippa said, looking stung. “Is this because of what happened last night?”

  “Partly,” Charlie said. “We’re too grown up to be squabbling like teenagers.”

  Pippa bit her lip and looked down. “It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind.”

  Charlie walked past her and up the stairs.

  “You always have left when things got tough,” Pippa called up.

  Charlie turned around. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’ve tried everything I can to make you feel at home here, because I know how much it means to Mum and Dad that the two of us get along.” She sounded choked up. “But instead of trying to fix things, you’re giving up.”

  “I have tried. I think we’ll get on a lot better if I don’t stay.”

  “Go then,” sighed Pippa. “Although I have to say Flo and Jacob are going to be very disappointed.”

  Charlie ignored her sister, and went up to the spare room, stuffing her clothes and makeup into her suitcase. She was bristling with all the pent-up emotion of what remained unsaid. More than ever, she wanted to be out of Pippa’s house and in her own space.

  When she came out, she saw Pippa hadn’t moved from her spot in the hallway.

  “If you carry on pushing people away, Charlie, you may never find anyone to share your life with. You know that, don’t you?”

  Staying silent, Charlie wheeled her suitcase out of the front door without looking back.

  You walked out?” Sarah said.

  Charlie pulled her hair back in a ponytail as she spoke with her friend through the laptop screen.

  “Yes. I’m in a hotel now. I had to get out of there or I think we would have ended up strangling each other.”

  “So things haven’t got any better?”

  “Good God, no. She’s still the same old Pippa. In fact, she’s worse. I don’t know what’s happened to her. She’s turned into some kind of yummy mumzilla.”

  “That sounds scary.”

  “It is. I know we’re different, but I’ve always respected her decisions. She shows zero respect for mine. It’s all a game of one-upmanship to her. She even started sticking up for Ben at one point.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I drove him away by being too obsessed with work, according to her.”

  “That’s not the way I remember it. Don’t want to rub salt in the wound, but wasn’t there a lap dancer involved?”

  “Urgh. Yes, there was. So classy.”

  “And Pippa has the cheek to accuse you of driving him away! That’s ridiculous. So, what’s the plan now, are you leaving?”

  “No, I’ve already made arrangements to stay on and do some research for the magazine. I’ve met someone up here who’s going to help me out, a woman called Kat—she’s an expert on tea. I can’t wait to get started.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Sarah said. “Good luck.”

  9

  Tuesday, September 9

  Séraphine kneaded croissant pastry on the worktop, the repetitive motion soothing her. Through Adam’s kitchen window, she could see a mist over the park that morning. Only one dog walker was out braving the drizzle: an old man who carried an umbrella as he strode around the lake with his greyhound. Séraphine couldn’t help but wonder if the photos of a sunny seaside town she’d looked at online had been of some other place.

  Back in France her days started
when the twins came and sat on the end of her bed, chattering about cartoons and games they wanted to play. Here in Scarborough, it was the glint of gray morning light through her curtains that greeted her each morning. On her first day, she’d woken bleary-eyed, her fingers touching an unfamiliar quilt. It had taken her a moment to remember where she was.

  She’d grown accustomed to her room, but some things had been less easy to get used to.

  Séraphine placed the neat pastry crescents she’d made on a baking tray, and put them in the oven. At the sound of Zoe’s footsteps on the stairs her heart sank. She told herself to be positive—today was a new day. The day she would make it work with Zoe.

  “What are you making?” Zoe asked, calling over from the kitchen doorway. She was dressed in yellow pajamas, and her long brown hair was mussed from sleep.

  “I made croissants,” Séraphine said brightly, pointing to the oven. The room was starting to fill with the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries.

  “But you know I always have cereal,” Zoe said, narrowing her eyes.

  Séraphine held in a sigh. “Well, today we’re going to try something different. Your dad said you used to love these when you were little.”

  “Oh? I don’t remember,” Zoe said, pulling out a chair at the table and slumping down on it.

  “You’ll enjoy them,” Séraphine said, bringing some fresh orange juice over to the table, and a small cafetière of coffee for Adam.

  “How do you know?” Zoe retorted, with that expression—tilted head and eyes half-closed with suspicion—that Séraphine had seen so often during her short stay in the house.

  “I hope you’ll enjoy them, then. Please don’t be rude, Zoe.”

  “I was only asking.”

  “So, today, after school, maybe we could go for a walk in the park. They said the sun is going to come out later.”

  Zoe looked at her, silent and unflinching. “Maybe.”

  “We could read The Little Prince when we get back in.”

  “That book’s stupid. I don’t even understand it.” Zoe pouted. “Can I have my cereal now?”

  “OK,” Séraphine said, reluctantly getting back to her feet. She stood for a moment and took a breath, composing herself, then got a packet of Cheerios out and poured them into a bowl.

  “Morning, Séraphine.” She turned to see Adam, dressed in a shirt and trousers, his hair still damp from the shower. “Wow, something smells delicious.”

  “Thank you. I made croissants,” Séraphine said wearily.

  “Fantastic.”

  “That’s what I said,” Zoe told her father, her eyes brightening. “Fantastic.”

  That afternoon, Séraphine and Zoe took off their muddy boots in the hallway. “Let’s go through to the living room,” Séraphine said.

  “What for?”

  “To study. It’s time for your French class.”

  “No way. I’m going to my room.”

  “Look, I’m not here to punish you, Zoe. Your dad wants you to learn French, and he’s asked me to teach you. Now come with me and let’s get started.”

  Zoe followed her, dragging her heels. In the living room she slouched down in an armchair. “You’re not the first, you know.”

  “Sorry?”

  “You’re not the first French tutor I’ve had.” Zoe twirled a strand of her long dark hair. “Although I suppose you’re the only one Dad has insisted on having actually live with us. None of them have managed to teach me anything.”

  “You seem proud of that fact.”

  “I’m not. I just don’t care. What am I supposed to do with French, anyway? I’m never going back to France.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I don’t know. But I am.” Zoe looked down, pulling at the loose stitching on her sock.

  “Why is that?”

  The girl shrugged. “It’s a horrible place.”

  Honestly, Papa. I’m fine,” Séraphine said on the phone that evening. She perched on the edge of her bed, towel-drying her hair after the bath. “It’s an adjustment. A different culture.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a cultural difference to me, it sounds like bad behavior.”

  “I’m sure things will improve when we get to know each other better. How are things going with you, anyway?” she asked, anxious to change the subject. She pictured herself with her family—laughing with her mother in the kitchen, reading her little brother and sister bedtime stories—and felt a pang of homesickness.

  “We’ve had a wonderful weekend. Ravi and Anna had a party for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary on Saturday night, so your grandmère looked after the children and your mother and I went along. Hélène made some of her famous tarte tatin. Almost everyone in the village was there. We really enjoyed ourselves.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She tried to push aside thoughts of how she’d spent that evening, alone in her room reading.

  “They asked if you were enjoying Scarborough. Actually, come to think of it, Anna mentioned something I should tell you . . .” His voice went muffled as he called out into the room. “Hélène, what was it that Anna said?”

  Hélène took the phone. “Hello, sweetpea. So, Anna says there is a gorgeous little tearoom overlooking the sea that has the most delicious cakes and pastries. Run by a lovely lady, she said. Lucy or something. The Seafront Tearoom, on South Bay by the beach huts.”

  Séraphine hadn’t walked past the lighthouse and harbor yet, so that end of the beach was unknown to her, but she’d seen the huts from a distance. “I’ll take a look,” she promised.

  “OK, ma chérie,” Hélène said. “Dinner is ready, so we’ll have to say good-bye. Sending kisses.”

  This place is boring. I’m going to play my DS,” Zoe said, sitting down and immediately getting the game console out of her bag.

  After picking Zoe up from school on Wednesday, Séraphine had brought her to the tearoom that her mother had mentioned on the phone, but she was already starting to regret it.

  The owner, seated behind the counter, caught Séraphine’s eye and gave her a sympathetic look. Séraphine smiled and went up to order. “Could we have some of your scones with jam please?”

  “Of course.” She reached into the glass cabinet to retrieve a flowered plate piled high with them.

  “They look delicious.”

  “Thank you. My specialty. I’m Letty, by the way.” Her voice was kind and welcoming.

  “Séraphine.”

  “You’re from France?”

  “Yes. And I wouldn’t mind being back there now. Is the weather always like this in September?” Séraphine gazed out of the window, where the raindrops dripped heavily from the red awning onto the ground below.

  “Oh, we never know quite what we’re going to get. Only thing you can rely on is the chill wind.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Letty continued, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Even in that rain you’d rather be out there alone than in here, trying to get Zoe to cooperate.”

  Séraphine laughed in spite of herself. She wondered how old Letty was. Despite the papery-thin quality of the skin on her cheeks and around her eyes, there was a playfulness about her that defied age.

  “Yes. Is it that obvious?”

  “You’re not the only one to have your patience tested by her,” Letty said, cutting the scones in two and placing them on fine china plates, next to a tiny dish of raspberry jam and another of butter.

  “How do you know her?”

  “Her father, Adam, and my son have been best friends since school. Nearly twenty years now.”

  “Adam’s a fantastic guy.”

  “Isn’t he? Life’s dealt him a tough hand, but you’ll never hear him complain. It can’t be easy for him, bringing Zoe up on his own.”

  “He’s patient. Maybe I need more pa
tience,” Séraphine said. “I always thought I was good with children. But this . . .”

  “Don’t be hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Letty said gently, putting a hand on her arm. Séraphine felt the warmth of her touch, and it calmed her a little. “She’s a challenging girl, Adam knows that.”

  “Yes,” Séraphine said, biting her lip. Now she’d started talking she was terrified at the way her feelings had come to the surface.

  “You miss home, don’t you?”

  “Very much,” Séraphine said, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s the little things. I spoke to my family last night and my mum had made tarte tatin—”

  “Ooh, delicious.”

  “It’s one of our favorite dishes to make together. I can almost smell and taste it now.” She recalled the sweet apple flavor and her mouth watered.

  “I’ve always wanted to be able to make that.”

  “You have? I can show you.”

  “Would you? That would be lovely. Why don’t you come by on Friday evening?”

  Séraphine hesitated. “I think I’m meant to be looking after Zoe then.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with Adam, he won’t mind. And if you enjoy those scones”—she pointed to the plates she had prepared—“I’ll share my secret recipe with you.”

  “You would?” Séraphine said, her spirits lifting. “I’d like that very much.”

  “It’s a date, then. In the meantime,” Letty told her, “there are a couple of people I’d like to introduce you to.”

  Séraphine looked over at Zoe, who was still immersed in her game.

  “She’ll be OK for five minutes,” Letty reassured her. She led Séraphine over to a table in the corner, where two women were huddled over an iPad. A blonde, in jeans and a black blazer, and a woman with cropped brown hair, dressed in a vintage flowered dress and biker boots.

  “Kat, Charlie—this is Séraphine. She’s an au pair, new to town. I thought I’d bring her over to say hi.”

  “Hello. Lovely to meet you,” Kat said, shaking Séraphine’s hand. Séraphine noticed the tattoo on the underside of her wrist: a bold, unbroken circle. Letty smiled and left them.