Page 24 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Fifteen
POLLY
They reached the apartment building, a wide, glass-fronted edifice, whose structure curved like a wave. They tentatively rang the shiny, golden bell and were promptly greeted by a doorman.
“Hi, we’re… Polly and Annabelle—”
“Ah, the Williams cousins,” boomed a seriously Queen’s English voice from a gent who wouldn’t have looked out of place at the gates of a royal palace. “At long last. The name’s Cecil, and I’ve been expecting you. Come in, come in. You look like you’ve both had rather a long day, if it wouldn’t be too discourteous of me to say so.”
“Yes… you… could say that.”
Polly could barely get her words out as she turned full circle to take in her surroundings. This place was seriously swish, and about as far removed from Amber Magnolia’s tent as could be. A thoroughly modern hall (the size of a small cathedral, no less) held them awestruck – with the added bonus of stunning Annabelle into a deep silence.
“By the way, Amber Magnolia said that if one arrived here late today, one should feel free to tune into the stash of recorded Nigella andGBBOprogrammes tomorrow instead – for your ref, I think the latter are from the good old Beeb days with Mary; Ms Magnolia’s not so taken with Channel 4 and poor old Prue… neither has she quite caught up with the technological times. It would have been so much simpler for you to watch them on iPlayer, but she had me go to the laborious lark of taping them all on that clunky, antiquated VHScontraption in the apartment.”
Okay, this was so surreal it was flying over Polly’s head. “Oh, and there are munchies in the fridge, and enough cava to fuel a small wedding party. Sleep well, ladies. I’ll give you a half hour prompt before I deliver your tutorial on the use of the laptop and Internet, that would be just a tad too tricky for Her Majesty to explain in her little red book. And just one more thing,” Cecil broke off then to cough a cough that Polly sensed he really didn’t need to cough, “I’ll be certain to give you ample warning beforeNigel’s…ahem… arrival tomorrow afternoon.”
“Who’s Nigel?” probed Polly.
“Nigel will be your designated driver for the year, but anyway, that will all become clear once you read tomorrow’s instructions, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” He winked and retreated to his desk. “Floor five. Panoramic views of the Thames, London Eye, and Houses of Parliament. You’ve got the penthouse. Current value of approximately five point five million on the property market,” Cecil arched his bushy elephant-grey brows and Polly gulped. “Yes, it’s quite a pad! Anyway, make way: keys airborne.”
He tossed a bunch of keys their way. Polly’s reflexes were particularly polished tonight and she caught and clutched them as tightly as though she’d taken possession of the crown jewels themselves, before gripping hold of Annabelle, who still had a zombie-like demeanour, and escorting her to the lift.
***
“Outta sight. This is just a bit blooming well surreal. What do you say, kid?” Polly was the first to partially rediscover the English language.
She fell back onto the giant couch as her cousin silently swished open curtains that revealed the glow of the Houses of Parliament, the giant River Thames that made their homely River Brue feel like a trickle – and oh dear God – a T-Rex of a fairground wheel that made a mockery of her fears over the timid sparrow-sized Glastonbury version. Polly let out a nervous laugh and Annabelle sped to the kitchen, where fridge doors opened and shut, and glasses chimed in record time. Her hands shook as she handed Polly a large crystal flute of said ‘cava’, which she guessed must be a cheaper version of champagne. It hit the spot so quickly that she almost necked it in one.
“I feel like I’m having a weird out-of-body experience,” Annabelle whispered at last. The irony, now it was just the two of them in a private space where nobody could hear their business! “I really can’t process the events of today.” Her teeth chattered audibly. “Although, this is certainly starting to help,” she lifted her glass as if toasting their success. “It’s quite delicious… and that view. Oh, man. I could get used to the high life.”
Polly held her glass out as if she were offering her cousin a single-stemmed rose; eyes glazed, floored by the strangest turn of events of her life – to date, anyway. Annabelle took this as her immediate cue to quickly re-fill it.
As if the quantum leap hadn’t been enough for Polly to contend with, now there was this sudden and rather unexpected acquisition of vast wealth (however temporary that may be). And, not a couple of hours ago, there had been the fleeting feeling of almost certain love at first sight for a guy whose chat-up lines made Polly cringe; despite the fact she was hardly the definition of sober, despite the fact she couldn’t stop replaying every detail about him. Just as well he was a one-off. She doubted she could remember the way back to the café where they’d landed if she tried. Add to that a mission of multi-tiered wedding cake proportions; a mission they were only permitted to take one day at a time. Probably just as well, since the vast scale of responsibility that a certain stranger had bestowed upon them seemed wholly impossible.
Where the hell did they even start? An entire bottle of cava (each) felt like a very sensible idea.
“So, this Nigella bird?” said Annabelle, sipping again at her glass, pinkie outstretched as if she’d already adjusted to the millionaire way of life.
Nigella Lawson. Yes, that’s where they’d begin.
Polly flipped open the folder on cue, pointing at the image of the stunning dark brunette ‘celebrity chef’, whose picture Amber Magnolia had childishly glued onto page two.
“We may as well tackle the insurmountable now,” said Annabelle decisively, “because talking of Niges… that Nigel bloke is arriving tomorrow, and I doubt we’ll get a whole lot of viewing time then. Plus, it’s not like either of us will get any sleep tonight. But let’s take a proper tour of the apartment first. You, at the very least, should be used to mammoth living spaces, hailing from a farmhouse.Ifyoufeel daunted, imagine the kind of somersaults my stomach’s indulging in.”
She kind of had a point there, and Polly let Annabelle haul her to her feet – not for the first time that day. She drained the moreish fizz in her flute and obediently followed her cousin to the kitchen where her jaw hit the floor – again, not for the first time since the break of dawn. The space was incredible, andspace-agewas the endless bank of appliances! Then there was the long black and white marbled island in the middle, a place where she could already picture them both knocking up a few hundred Victoria sandwiches to be deposited at Amber Magnolia’s mystery list of destinations.
“Boss!”
No, it wasn’t the most creative of words, but ‘nice’ would never do. Yes, her farmhouse kitchen was roomy, had its fair share of work surfaces and wooden chopping blocks, Welsh dressers with higgledy-piggledy – and mostly chipped – china, church pew benches, and cupboards besides, but these high specification fittings were mesmerising.
Reluctantly, she let Annabelle drag her further through the penthouse and into the dining-room; she could’ve spent her entire life in that kitchen. And certainly there was enough room for a bath and a bed. Double glass-fronted doors parted at the press of a remote-controlled button to reveal something straight out of a Prime Minister’s meeting room, and they tiptoed inside.
“I have no words,” muttered Polly.
“And I might not be into pub games but I think I might be swayed when it comes tothis!” Annabelle stampeded to the dining table with a difference, fashioned, as it was, in the design of a snooker table!
“Wow. Think of all the fun and games I could have aiming at my brothers’ plates – and privates – if we sat around something like this every night.”
