The Little Cafe in Copenhagen

by Julie Caplin

  Funny he could manage an apology to them.

  ‘Where’s Avril?’ I asked, noticing a lone coffee cup on the table and realising I was missing one. God it was like trying to herd cats. Was it going to be like this all week? No sooner had I got one journalist I lost another.

  Sophie frowned and looked at her watch. ‘She must be still in duty free. Do you want me to go and look for her? Oh, here’s your receipt, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I took it from her with a distracted smile. I’d have to go and look for Avril myself. I was supposedly in charge; I couldn’t keep asking Sophie to help. ‘Why don’t you all go down to the gate and I’ll go and find Avril.’ I wanted to add, and please for the love of God can you stay together?

  Thankfully Avril was in the queue at duty free. I looked at my watch. We had ten minutes before they officially started boarding, although she had more in her basket than my entire make-up stock. I hoped the check-out girl was on it today.

  ‘Just letting you know the others have gone down to the gate.’

  ‘Oh, really.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘I don’t suppose anyone got me a coffee.’

  ‘I don’t think so, no.’

  ‘I’ll have to grab one on the way to the gate.’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s going to be time.’ I did wonder whether I ought to offer. I wasn’t quite sure how far the duties of a host extended.

  Her lips pursed in a tight smile of self-satisfaction. ‘Of course there is. Our bags are on board, they can’t go without us.’

  I stared at her unable to find anything to say in response to her outrageous self-absorption.

  I finally steered her to the gate having given in and bought her coffee while she was paying for nearly two hundred pounds worth of face creams and perfume. As we arrived a voice over the tannoy announced that seat numbers one to thirty could board.

  ‘That’s us,’ I said brightly to the other … What! There were only four journalists waiting.

  Having to go and find Fiona in the loos made the two of us the last to board.

  ‘Let me take care of that for you, madam. You need to take your seat. Now.’

  The stewardess’s voice had a veiled hiss to it, as she added, ‘We need to leave. We’re already late.’ The unsaid, thanks to you hung in the air.

  ‘Can I just …’ I quickly pulled out my purse and a guide book, scattering tissues and receipts on the floor.

  Like a chastened schoolgirl, I finally slid into my seat which of course was next to Benedict. He and Conrad must have swapped seats, as I’d put him in the window seat, away from me.

  ‘I’m so glad I didn’t rush,’ he observed, not even looking up from his newspaper. I glared at the top of his head as I settled into my seat sorting out the seat-belt. In the seat behind I could hear Avril complaining about the amount of legroom and wondering rather loudly why we weren’t flying business class. Thankfully across the aisle I could see Sophie smiling and talking to Fiona in a reassuring way.

  Last-minute checks were done and then the air crew disappeared to their seats as the plane taxied down to the runway. All the usual excitement of going somewhere on a plane had been replaced by an overwhelming sense of responsibility. Suddenly I felt very small and inadequate, so I closed my eyes and pretended to go to sleep. How on earth was I going to manage the six journalists? Just getting them all on the plane had proved a Herculean task and I felt stressed out already. What was it going to be like when I had a whole city to lose them in? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  That stress must have taken more out of me than I’d realised because I fell into a doze and woke with a start, which made Benedict turn and give me an unfriendly stare. I hoped I hadn’t been drooling or anything. My scarf was draped across his knees and surreptitiously I pulled it back conscious of him ignoring me.

  All his attention was focused on the crossword he held up, although a small part of me was pleased to see that he didn’t seem to be making much headway.

  ‘Sorry chaps, I need to pop to the loo,’ announced Conrad, bobbing up from his seat. I moved out into the aisle and Benedict followed me. As I stood behind him, I could smell the same clean smell combo that I’d smelled before and it brought a vivid reminder of the details of that night and the shimmering tentative flirtation between us.

  Unable to help myself I studied the short hair at the back of his neck, trimmed neatly to the nape, fighting the sudden crazy urge to stroke down the golden hairs tracing down the column of his neck. Thank goodness I hadn’t given in to crazy compulsion and done anything stupid that night. At least I had the sense to run out before things had gone any further. And the jury was most definitely out on what might have happened if his mobile hadn’t rung.

  It had been a silly transient moment that meant nothing. Too much champagne, two strangers and a touch of bravado. Totally meaningless. A possible hook-up that thankfully we hadn’t pursued.

  And now I was going to pretend that that evening had faded so far into insignificance that it hadn’t even registered.

  Unfortunately, certain parts of my brain hadn’t got that memo and when he turned around to face me, something inside me went a little haywire. I think my mouth dropped open a little bit, and I might have let out a stuttery breath as his cool blue-grey eyes met mine. I didn’t even like the guy for crying out loud, so why was my heart tripping the light fandango, like it had never laid eyes on a handsome man before. Seriously, he was rude, arrogant, horrible. He wasn’t even that good looking. Not really. Passable. Nice shoulders. Nice eyes. Nice face. Interesting face, one of those all put together nicely sort of faces. Just nice, mind you, not drop-dead gorgeous or anything. OK, he was drop-dead gorgeous but that didn’t mean anything.

  He blinked and for a second we were back on the balcony of the Great Room, awareness buzzed through me and I was horribly conscious of him. A flash of sensation as my memory unhelpfully reminded me of the charged moment when he’d touched my back.

  I stiffened and took in a sharp breath.

  ‘Everything alright?’ I asked, being ultra-professional.

  He pursed his lips. ‘No.’ With a flick of his wrist, he looked at his watch. ‘I should be sitting at my desk, typing up the notes from an interview I did last night. Instead I’m here, at twenty thousand feet, stuck with a group of people I have nothing in common with,’ at this point he glared pointedly at me, ‘away from home, for a whole week.’

  Any lingering butterflies upped and died right there. I studied him for a second seeing the tension sitting in the taut lines around his mouth.

  ‘Look Benedict—’

  ‘Ben,’ he corrected.

  No, Ben was the tempting, teasing guy in the tuxedo. Benedict was Captain Grumpy, and him I could handle.

  ‘We can go over and over this. How much you don’t want to be here. Blah, blah, blah. The fact of the matter is, you are. You can choose to be miserable and resentful and not get anything out of it or you can suck it up and enjoy yourself.’

  The woman to my right raised her head listening eagerly, enjoying the show.

  ‘Or,’ he smiled grimly, ‘I can enjoy myself at your expense and find my own stories.’

  ‘There is that,’ I said, ‘but it would be a little unethical, don’t you think?’

  ‘Unethical. Me? After you set Dawkins on me. I think your own ethics need a little polishing.’

  I ducked my head; he might have a very slight point.

  ‘I’m off to the loo, while I can,’ he said indicating over his shoulder with a nod before he turned his back and stalked off down the aisle.

  Two air hostesses, a good ten seats away working their way down the aisle, doing battle with a trolley both gave him appreciative second glances.

  With him gone I sat back down out of the way and pulled out a guide book to Copenhagen that I’d ordered and not got around to reading, but it didn’t hold my interest. The huge range of choices belied the slim volume, and although I tried to dip in, the more I read the mor
e daunting it felt or maybe there was something else on my mind. Idly I picked up Ben, no Benedict’s, crossword, with a quick look over my shoulder.

  He’d got a couple of clues. As I read some more, one caught my eye Foxy lady’s top, after sound measurement before long (7).

  Some of the letters had been filled in, including a V which gave me the biggest hint. I smiled, no I smirked. Vulpine. Another word for foxy. The l from the top of lady, vu was volume unit and another word for long was pine.

  Six across was definitely vulpine. Grabbing the pen tucked into the seat pocket, I filled in the answer in small neat capitals, grinning from ear to ear as I did it and then casually replaced the pen and crossword as if I’d never touched them.

  ‘Alright Kate, dear,’ asked Conrad suddenly appearing at my shoulder. I jumped and moved to let him back into his seat.

  ‘Yes fine.’

  ‘Intense young fellow, our Ben,’ he observed with a knowing glint as he settled back into his seat. ‘Not sure he’s over fond of you.’

  ‘He doesn’t like PR people. His editor insisted he came on the trip.’ I shrugged.

  ‘Ah. So, nothing personal then,’ he winked, ‘I’m sure you’ll win him over.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said with a forced smile. It was personal with a capital P and there was sod all chance of winning him over.

  I glanced at the crossword with the ghost of a smile. It wasn’t as if I was planning on trying that hard.

  It was a relief when the air hostess appeared to take tea and coffee orders, although ordering for the whole party across several seats took a while and it was only when the hot cups were safely installed on the seat back trays, that Benedict picked up his newspaper again.

  Holding my coffee cup with great care, I pulled the itinerary out of my bag. It would be just my luck to spill boiling hot coffee over Ben’s leg. I scanned the list of activities of the latest version, which now had much more detail added to it, when he took in a short sharp breath.

  I reread the same sentence again, keeping my eyes peeled to the words on the page and didn’t say a word.

  ‘You filled my crossword in!’ He sounded horrified and disconcerted.

  I didn’t say a word, simply looked at him, dispassionate and cool.

  He rustled the paper and slapped it down onto his lap, glaring at me.

  With a gentle smile I looked down at the crossword. ‘And I think nine down is environment.’

  With a casual shrug I turned back to my book which was pretty difficult because I wanted to laugh at how mad he was. You could almost feel the kettle about to blow. Understated fury steamed from him, almost evaporating from his skin. Copenhagen was going to be hard work, but perhaps I could have a little fun too at his expense …

  PART TWO

  Copenhagen

  Chapter 9

  Slick and modern, Copenhagen Airport looked very much like every other airport I’d been to, except that the signs were indisputably Danish with their funny slashed Os and As with tiny round circles and there was a replica statue of the Little Mermaid.

  With all bags reclaimed, I led my unruly group out through nothing to declare. I could have quite happily kissed the man holding up a white board which read Hjem Party/Kate Sinclair. He stood directly opposite our exit and there was no missing him.

  Suddenly feeling much more confident and sure of myself, I strode over to him. Once he’d introduced himself as Mads, thankfully appearing quite sane, he quickly led us out of the terminal to a waiting mini bus.

  ‘So, this is the beautiful city of Copenhagen, capital of Denmark, the happiest country in the world.’ He grinned. ‘You’re going to hear that a lot over the next few days, but it really is true. We have our own institute of happiness. And you’ll hear a lot about our social care, our taxes and our liberal approach. My job is going to be to show you a little taste of the real Denmark, but there’s gonna be lots of downtime for you to go out and do a bit of exploring for yourself.

  ‘Tomorrow, we will see the city from the water, which gives you the best views.’ He pulled out a rolled scroll of tatty paper, unfurled it with a flourish and waved it like a flag. ‘And you’ll also get your first taste of proper Danish pastries. You have to try one of our famous kanelsnegle. But for today we will stop for lunch, followed by a tour of the royal palace at Amalieburg followed by dinner in the hotel this evening.’

  He finished every sentence with a triumphant uplift in his tone that was charming and endearing at once.

  Benedict was absorbed in his phone, looking utterly disinterested. I wanted to kick him in the shin and tell him to stop being so rude, but Mads, who shared a few genes with the Duracell bunny, seemed totally oblivious and continued pointing things out from the windows.

  ‘What’s kanelsnegle when it’s at home?’ asked Avril, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Cinnamon Snail,’ piped up Sophie, gesturing the shape with her hands. ‘A cinnamon flavoured roll. Proper Danish pastry. I can’t wait for that. I’ve been trying to get the recipe right for the magazine.’

  So that’s what they were, I’d never got around to looking them up … or Eva Wilder’s café Varme. Lars had included his mother’s café on the extensive itinerary as a regular pit stop. For a big successful business man he’d been surprisingly soft and rather sweet about his family.

  Fiona had perked up since we’d got off the plane and was busy taking photos of absolutely everything. I could sense suppressed excitement as she sat on the edge of the seat gripping the door, although she didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Next to her Sophie and David seemed amused by her snap happy attack on the view through the glass and chatted between themselves including her in their comments, although she didn’t respond. Conrad and Avril were laughing together at the very back and already getting on like the proverbial house on fire, I just didn’t want to get burned.

  Although I did note that Avril had posted on Twitter, Arrived in Denmark, home to popular royal family, cinnamon snails and happiness #WonderfulCopenhagen #presstripantics

  If this was work I could take it. My chin almost hit the floor when we pulled up outside the hotel. It was abs-o-lutely bloody gorgeous, none of your three-star rubbish I was used to. This was five-star all the way, from the top hatted and grey wool coated doormen with their brass railed luggage trolleys to the quiet stately elegance of the vast reception area.

  ‘Now this is more like it,’ said Conrad, a broad grin wrinkling his face, making his moustache twitch with pleasure as he looked around. I tried to look as if it were all part and parcel of another day at the office but failed miserably when Sophie sidled up to me and whispered, ‘Wow. Seriously.’

  ‘I know,’ I whispered back, almost giggling with a mixture of giddiness and terror. ‘I wasn’t expecting this.’

  Shit. I wasn’t expecting this. Putting six people up in a hotel like this was going to cost a fortune. My stomach turned over. This was serious business. And I was in charge.

  There was a slight rushing in my ears as I stood there. How quickly were they all going to realise that I was a complete fraud. I knew about as much about hygge as could be written on the back of a fag packet and believed in it about it as much as I believed in fairies.

  Avril, the first to hand her cases over to the doormen, didn’t bat an eyelid as she sauntered over to one of the sumptuous grey velvet sofas and sank down gracefully crossing her slender legs, the epitome of elegance. David was a lot less sangfroid, if the little jerky movements and grins at the sight of everything was anything to go by and lord love him, he didn’t mind who knew it. He followed Avril and sat down in a pale lemon upholstered chair with the same furniture arrangement but not too close. The scene reminded me of our old dog, Toaster, whose distance from the gas fire was measured by the mood of Maud the cat who ruled the house with an iron whisker.

  Fiona slowed right down, and turned on the spot, head tilted upwards as if trying to take in every last detail of the décor. The walls held the sheen of expensive wallpa
per, a subtle stylish grey against the white wooden trim around the floors and ceilings. Exquisite flowers, their colours harmonising perfectly, decorated the room; purple cala lilies arranged in a tall simple glass vase on a mantelpiece reflected two-fold in a gilt-edged mirror, large tied posies of blousy ranunculas in a gorgeous warm pink filled the centre of occasional tables and tiny pots of white cyclamen tastefully dotted the dark mahogany reception desk.

  I sent a dozen pictures of my swanky hotel room via WhatsApp to Connie, a tad mean, perhaps, as no doubt she’d be knee deep in reception children at this time of day. It was a delaying tactic as I almost didn’t dare touch anything. The bed with its crisp pure white sheets and designer accessories was so huge you could get lost in there. Like a thief in the night, I opened drawers and cupboards, checking out the sewing kit and shoe cleaning cloth before moving into the bathroom and hesitantly picking up the posh smellies, Sage and Seaspray. I took a quick sniff of the opulent scent which made me feel even more like a fish out of water.

  I perched on the very edge of the bed, bouncing slightly on the soft mattress, wondering what to do, unable to dispel the sense of being an intruder casing someone else’s life. Unpacking seemed presumptuous; it almost didn’t feel right to put my clothes in the wardrobe. Unsettled and lost, I took in a deep breath, wishing I wasn’t on my own.

  My mother loves looking after people. Lars’ words floated in my head. Suddenly I longed for a touch of down to earth normality. A café with coffee and warm pastry sounded perfect.

  In my newly purchased feather down coat, which from looking at everyone at the airport was going to make me fit right in, I felt awfully brave stepping out from the hotel, even though according to my map, Varme was only a few streets away. It felt like an awfully big adventure. This was my first trip abroad on my own and the poshest hotel I’d ever stayed in. With a quick look heavenwards, I beamed to myself. Mum would definitely approve. With a brief pang, I imagined what it might have been like, if I could have told all her all about it.