Page 24 of The Custard Tart Cafe by the Sea
“Nothing riveting,” Leona replies. “I’m a part-time tout. I hand out leaflets for a nightclub.”
“Are you kidding?” I swear Radhika is going to pull the tablecloth off and upturn the breakfast dishes in her enthusiasm. “That’s really cool. Room for a little one to tag along?”
“Are you for real?” Leona knits her brow.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have imposed myself upon you. Forget I…”
“Of course you can join me.” Leona half giggles. “As long as you’re up for a bumpy ride down the hill on the back of my moped. Helmet not optional. And as long as you’re prepared to hand out half of the leaflets so I can get home quicker and out of the midday heat.”
“Am I ever!” Radhika belatedly turns to Kelly and me. “You two don’t mind, do you?”
“If it gets it out of your system.” Kelly eye rolls.
“Before you go.” I raise my hand as if we’re in class. “Where’s the nearest place to get a proper Portuguese custard tart?” I say. But Radhika is already speaking, wanting to know what do people do in the quieter São Brás for nightlife. Predictable!
“Surely you can ask Leona later, when you abandon us?” Kelly tuts.
“What a contrast in priorities,” Leona smiles. She puts her tray down. Frankly, I’m amazed she’s carried it for this long, as it’s laden with empties from the early bird guests. I’m not sure my own biceps could perform as well, back in my own establishment. “So, you’re basically here on the pull?” Leona gestures at Radhika, who nods uncharacteristically shyly. “And you’re one of those foodies,” she turns to me. I can’t argue with the way she sums me up, so I nod my head too. “I’m guessing you’re the peacekeeper, Kelly?”
I love this girl’s bluntness.
“Something like that,” Kelly replies.
“Okay. If it’s decent-looking men you’re after, Radhika, don’t make the rookie mistake of thinking you’d be better off staying at one of the busy resorts. Cupid works in mysterious ways. Yes, the hot lads are two-a-penny there.” At the turn of this phrase, we are treated to Leona’s gorgeous Liverpudlian accent. It shines through every couple of sentences. “But it’s quality not quantity we women want. I’ve met past boyfriends and girlfriends here in our humble São Brás. So my humble bisexual advice would be to stick around here as much as possible and see what drifts your way. You’d be amazed.”
Radhika snort-giggles.
“You’re still very welcome to tag along with me today, though. I sense it’s the only way you’re going to see what I mean.”
This Leona is a sage. Never mind Kelly and her new age pearls of wisdom. Short, sharp home truths are this girl’s MO.
“As for the tarts, step this way, please, Madam.”
I follow Leona’s command as if I’m in a trance. She leads me to the side of the quinta. In the dusky light last night, I hadn’t been aware of any of this, which is silly really, given I had seen the photos online.
“It’s more of a confectioners than a bakery but we do makepastéis de natahere a couple of times a week. One of those times just happened to be this morning. However, none of the custard tarts made it to breakfast as Mum has been on a cake-baking spree with the lemons and needed to showcase her infamousbolo de limãoinstead. Anyway, I’m waffling now. The point is, you’re in luck.”
“I should say,” I reply as I take in my surroundings.
Leona dips behind the counter and plates up a tart for me, depositing it on the glass top. It seems impolite not to dig in immediately, but I have to take stock of the other wonders in front of me. As is so often– and frustratingly– the case in a bakery whose language I cannot speak, few of the products are labelled. Not that any customer could possibly be disappointed… unless they had a food intolerance, I guess. The fragrance is intoxicatingly uplifting; almonds, figs, honey, orange and lemon permeate the air. Piles of sugar-dusted treats lure me toward them. Then there are pastries in every shape and size, and dinky little morsels ranging from chocolate balls to candied fruits, elegantly glazed and nut-topped squares of plain and chocolate sponge, and a side table groaning with hearty rounds of carob cake and fig and almond cake. I’m in rustic bakery heaven.
I sift out a couple of Euros from my pocket to pay for the goods, but Leona assures me this pastry is on the house. It beggars belief that I can still find room in my stomach, after the delights of breakfast just five minutes ago. That’s the power of custard, as Frank often reminds me. I take a small bite and I’m rewarded with a smooth, soft, rich vanilla centre, with the most delicate of pastries encasing it.
“Like I say, if you’re looking for a traditional custard tart place, this isn’t it. The closest and the best on the Algarve is in Tavira. IMHO anyway,” Leona advises. “Just follow the hill back down to the coast, head into Tavira town centre and it’s this little place right next to the river as you turn left at the bottom of the main street. You can’t miss it. You’ll know you’re close when you see the kiddie’s fountain with the stepping stones in it.”
I will beg Kelly to go, of course I will. And if I don’t manage to convince her then I will happily embroil myself in a spot of car-napping. But for now I am entranced enough by the sweet pleasures that lie in front of me, and I continue to inhale their perfume greedily.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Can’t we leaveit until the middle of the holiday?” Kelly asks. “You’ve had quite the custard tart fill this morning as it is, greedy guts.”
My request to head to Tavira isn’t greeted with the fanfare I’d hoped for, but I suppose that’s to be expected. Kelly chose the quinta for rest and relaxation, and this is only the first morning. Three has already become two, with Radhika about to depart for the glitz and glamour of the Portuguese seaside, and we’ve not even dipped a toe in the serenity of our own aquamarine pool yet.
“Okay, then,” I surrender. I’m happy to fall into step with Kelly’s plans. Much as I adore custard tarts, they are my working life. I really ought to be switching off here; swimming, sunning myself and reading, forgetting about the hiccups (and random heroics) of yesterday. Utter bliss. I ignore the kernel of guilt that has lodged itself unhelpfully in my brain, telling me Tiago might not be able to do the same, after I disclosed that he works with my sister. Still, it’s not my fault he irked me to the max. He’s brought all of this on himself, and I have no intention of passing on Reggie’s discoveries about Tiago to Lauren anyway. Tiago doesn’t need to know this, though. Maybe a week in the sun will give him a chance to rethink his impetuous behaviour and withdraw that petition from wherever it’s been submitted. I can but hope.
Kelly readjusts the large sunshade to a position that’s more to her liking, mindful of her milky, easily burnt skin, and I lie on my ridiculously full tummy, squinting at the first page of the latest Liane Moriarty paperback.
“See you later, girlfriends! Enjoy your day!” Radhika cries, making us both jump and gasp. Her yellow helmet zips past us over the top of the hedge which separates the pool area from the track leading to the quinta.
