Page 51 of The Cake Fairies
Chapter Twenty-Three
POLLY
Scone like gone, not scone like stone, said the Fortnum website on the apartment laptop. It was just about the only piece of modern kit Polly had managed to master so far, but in her experience, the most important; for it had helped her get to grips with all manner of contemporary conundrums. As well as providing some ‘phwoar blimey’ pictures of one late Patrick Swayze.
She part-giggled, part-sighed when she thought back to the pickle she’d landed herself in that afternoon. Why hadn’t she taken advantage of the fact that her little mishap could have turned into the world’s sexiest food fight? Annabelle had been too kind, instinctively leaving her alone with Alex so they could get to know one another. Her cousin was right: time was of the essence, and she was now determined to give herself every chance to let romance blossom, in case Alex really was the eponymous letter Z.
Cake carriage, lemon curd with scones, Piccadilly, tea salon.
This was getting better the more she read. Even the Fortnum savouries sounded out of this world: Cornish Lobster Scone – how she loved that they pronounced it the proper West Country way – with Brandy Egg Cream Cheese.
Oh. My. God.
Even if you ate there alone, you couldn’t fail to feel you had company with all this lot.
There was no listing of cakes, but that was okay because it gave Polly’s imaginationcarte blancheto run wild. She could already taste the Battenberg in all its moreish marzipan magnificence; then there would be rows of delicately fragranced and pastel-hued macarons, as well as a bloom of rosebud madeleines fit for royalty.
Her elated mood was a far cry from yesterday evening. At eleven o’clock, tempers had frayed in the penthouse kitchen, when Annabelle’s matching lemon and mascarpone cake pop dip had failed to set properly on the tiny cake balls that Polly’d whipped up in blind panic. A furious hunt on the Internet for a failsafe recipe had followed, and, finally (and by the skin of their teeth) the trio had hot-footed it to Fe Fi for the 2 a.m. spill out.
“I don’t feel one-hundred per cent comfortable about leaving you here, ladies, it has to be said.” It was really quite reassuring to know that Nigel could do caring when he wanted to.
“Now, now. We’re just as well equipped to deal with potential lager louts as any man. Let’s not be sexist,” Annabelle had barked.
“You’re off your bleedin’ rockers; that’s what you are. This place is full of coke heads! At the very least hardened spirit drinkers. And I’ll say it again: I’m not at all ’appy you’re leading little miss here astray with your fanciful ideas about thatpaying it forwardnonsense. She’s already fallen into a hole in the pavement – which did wonders for my backache, I might add. This doesn’t work, ladies, okay? And I’m sorry to burst your bubble but some relationships are beyond repair.”
“Yours and Cecil’s, you mean?”
Polly squeezed her eyes tightly shut and clenched her teeth.Annabelle, that was totally tactless.
“Don’t even utter that name in this vehicle,” Nigel snapped. “Out you hop now, the lot of you. I’ll be waiting around the corner with my newspaper. Beam me up if there’s trouble and you need me to wade in.”
Polly and Ivy stepped their way gingerly under the railway bridge. They passed the shuttered cafes, shops, and betting establishments, approaching the violet lights of Fe Fi, while Annabelle stormed on ahead. Polly wasn’t sure what had got into her in the past twenty-four hours; much less what was troubling Nigel, but something had definitely changed. She could only put it down to lack of rest and relaxation, plus the fact they were living in each other’s pockets, in an admittedly roomy penthouse apartment… but still.
Annabelle was dogged in her determination to carry the bulk of the cake, while Polly and Ivy trailed behind with the very fragile cake pops; hoping against hope they’d still be intact when they opened the box.
The steps to the club were unhelpfully teeming with bodyguards, even though there were only a handful of remarkably peaceful-looking youths standing around smoking cigarettes and vaping (a contemporary pursuit she’d yet to get her head around) and the venue still had ten minutes worth of silent bopping left in it.
“Never mind any of that lot in there, we’re the ones who look well dodge,” whispered Ivy.
“I was kind of hoping you’d been here before and would know the lie of the land,” Polly found herself whispering back.
“I’m sorry to break it to you, but you hoped wrong. My mother would have a field day if she knew I was here!” Now she told Polly! “Samuel upped and left me in some pretty sleazy hangouts in his time, as was his style, but even he wouldn’t come to this place.”
Ivy seemed too smart to date the kind of loser she was describing, thought Polly. “Can I ask when it ended with your ex? It’s just that whenever you mention him you seem less than enamoured.”
“Let’s just say he was a poor choice. A bad egg whose ungentlemanly behaviour led me to empower myself, via Israeli-style self-defence. I’ve learned my lesson and am steering well clear of males for the foreseeable future.” Ivy was unable to take her eyes off her baseball boots, whose toes she began to scuff along the edge of the step.
Polly wanted to hug her, instinct telling her that here was yet another backstory to share. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to sew up the gaping holes in those hideously ripped skinny jeans of Ivy’s while she was at it. She knew times had changed – and fashion with them – but how anyone could be brainwashed into wearing denim rags frayed with scruffy white knee goatees, she had no idea.
“Come on,” Annabelle shouted, not the least bit worried about the decibels that trailed in her wake. “Don’t just stand there. Let’s build this thing.”
Polly hoped she wasn’t going through the early menopause; heat flooded her body and her chunky parka jacket was almost too much to bear, hardly helped by the fact she knew they had several pairs of eyes on them – not to mention a profusion of security cameras. People didn’t just plant gifts on the floor nowadays. Well, on a makeshift table fashioned out of a couple of super-strength cardboard boxes. Any behaviour out of the ordinary screamed SECURITY RISK with a loudspeaker; even if it was an act of altruism flowing from the purity of the heart.
But all of this went over Annabelle’s head. She tutted and scowled as Polly clumsily attempted to stud the frosting with cake pops, snatching the little buttercup-yellow lollipops from her trembling hands; a green-fingered goddess able to adapt to the wind and rain – as well as the steely gaze of some seriously butch males.
“Hey up! What’s all this then?”
Shit. Now there would be trouble, thought Polly. Thankfully, Annabelle’s sass came into its own. “Fancy a slice?”
