Page 78 of The Fete of Summer

“Very nice. Have a lovely weekend.”

“You too, Nathan. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she said, turning for the door. “Oh, hello, Miss Wynter. If you’re after focaccia bread, you’re out of luck. I had the last piece.”

Nathan smirked at hearing Polly’s formal name. Whenever they walked the high street together, people would call out to Nathan by his given name but invariably to Polly as Miss Wynter. Ever the professional, she smiled and engaged Mrs Hassan.

“That’s my favourite, but I’m not here to buy today. Nathan’s buying me dinner.”

Halina waited by the door to say goodbye to Mrs Hassan and let her out before closing the door and flipping the sign to closed.

“Well done, Halina,” said Nathan, briefly checking the message on his phone, one from the person he had been expecting. He switched his phone to silent and came around the counter.

“Halina, lock the door. Fingal, can you lower the shop blinds? Arthur, can you or your son open the champagne? It’s in the office.”

“This is all a bit cloak and dagger,” said Polly. “What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” said Nathan. “Just be here.”

Nathan had invited Polly along for moral support, even though he hadn’t told her about the reason for the celebration. Arthur popped the champagne and poured glasses of bubbly into paper cups. Arthur, his son, Fingal and Halina stood around, and Nathan waited for everyone to hold a cup of bubbly before beginning.

“Okay, Nathan. What’s this big announcement?” asked Polly.

“The shop has a new owner,” he said, pausing to let the news sink in.

“Margie Hogmore,” said Halina, stealing Nathan’s thunder before turning to shrug at Arthur Meade and his son. Fingal smiled and shook his head at Nathan. He had been sworn to secrecy and could be trusted to keep a confidence. But Nathan’s team had worked with him for too long.

“Did she tell you?” he asked, deflated.

“Of course not. But she’s been in the country since July and always finds some excuse to pop into the shop to chat with you or Fingal at least twice a week.”

As she was speaking, a silhouette appeared in the front door blind and began tapping a knuckle on the glass. Nathan ignored them.

Margaret, Aunt Margie to Nathan, had wanted to be present when Nathan told the team—she had sent him the earlier message of moral support—but she’d had to fly back to LA to sort out the sale of her online fashion business.

“Look, you all know that I’ve had ambitions outside the bakery. This will give me the chance to see if I’m good enough. But it’ll be a slow handover. Margaret won’t take over fully until well after the new year. And she still wants all of you with her. She’s promised that none of your roles will change. I’ll even be working here part-time. Nothing’s going to change.”

The knocking at the door became persistently louder. Nathan sighed with irritation before looking to Polly, who was not really affected by the decision.

“Would you mind seeing who that is, Polly? Tell them we’re closed.”

Polly rolled her eyes—as usual—but put her cup down and headed for the door.

“Of course things will change,” said Fingal, of all people.

“Yes, well, maybe you’re right,” said Nathan, thrown by the comment. “But I’m sure the changes will be good ones. I mean, I don’t want anyone suddenly resigning. I hope that’s not what—”

“Nathan,” said Halina. “You haven’t asked us what we think yet.”

Nathan heard Polly unlock the door. Words passed back and forth with someone. The voice sounded male and wasn’t one he recognised.

“Sorry, sorry. Yes. Please tell me what you think.”

“I think it’s a bloody marvellous idea,” said Arthur Meade. “I remember the Hogmore family. Crumbington stock, born and bred. Margaret Hogmore used to be best friends with your mother, Nathan. Do you remember? One of the few who would give me her honest thoughts and suggestions about our offering. And rumour has it she’s a successful businesswoman in her own right.”

“Doesn’t she live in America?” asked Halina.

“She’s moving back here permanently. I think she misses her roots. She plans to renovate the upstairs flat, where she’ll live and manage the business. Like me, she’s not a baker, but as Arthur says, she’s a shrewd businesswoman. More importantly, she used to live in Crumbington and knows many of the residents. She also wants to be closer to her parents in Mayfield.”

“Nathan,” said Polly, closing and locking the door, her back to the blind. “I think you’re going to want to speak to this chap.”

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