counted out the beeps on the answering machine. ‘Hello, Clarissa, it’s Amy Edler here, at Edlers Bakery. Sorry to hassle you, but you did say that you would get back to me about the orchids for the Shaw-Gerard wedding. Please call me as soon as you can.’ Then she added a cheery, ‘Thank you!’
Amy exhaled a slow calming breath, before squeezing her eyes tight shut and pressing the cool telephone to her forehead.
I have the situation under control. The wedding is not until next Saturday.
The cake is going to be perfect. The wedding is going to be perfect.
I can make sugar orchids in any colour Lucy likes. Not a problem.
And I will be transformed from a humble baker into a lovely bridesmaid.
This was going to have to be her mantra for the next seven days.
Of course it was entirely her own fault for offering to make Lucy’s wedding cake in the first place. The perfect cake, as her personal wedding present for two of the best friends she had in this world.
It had to be chocolate, of course. No dried fruit, thank you. Shudder.
And decorated with sugar flowers the same colour as Lucy’s bouquet—no sludgy icing to drip on the designer wedding dress.
And three tiers, made from different types of chocolate—all organic, of course.
Thank you for the sleepless nights, Lucy.
A peal of bright girly laughter broke through her thoughts, and Amy opened her eyes as the last girls from her after-school club waved on their way out, their arms laden with cupcakes and muffins, and their care worker tried her hardest to persuade them to get back to the home for dinner. It was like herding cattle.
‘Make sure some of those make it back!’ Amy called after them.
‘Not a chance. Sorry we can’t stay to clear up,’ the flustered care worker answered.
Amy grinned as the gigglers swept out of the kitchen and into the shop, taking with them the life and energy she loved, and leaving behind…Oh, dear.
With one shake of the head she was on her feet. Time to get busy.
Jared Shaw weaved his way along a pavement crammed with commuters rushing to get home on a hot Friday evening, before taking advantage of a red traffic light to jog across the road between the cars, messenger bikes and cabs to a row of three small shops.
Not that much had changed over the past eighteen years.
The newsagent where he had bought his first car magazines was still there, but the ironmonger who had mended their leaking tap in exchange for one of his father’s silk ties had been replaced by a swish-looking estate agency.
He couldn’t help but smile at the irony of that.
Friends in the trade had laughed out loud when Haywood and Shaw had bought properties in this part of London. ‘No profit there, mate.’
Well, he had proved them wrong. Many times over.
But it was the last shop in the row he was interested in. Edlers Bakery shone out from the brick and stone surroundings, with its familiar navy and white awning.
How many times had he pressed his nose against the cold glass, jaw slack, gazing at the cream and chocolate treats which might as well have been objects on a distant planet to a boy without the money in his pocket to buy them?
A giggling little girl on a tricycle trundled towards him on the pavement, followed by a man of about his age. She looked so like the young Lucy he caught his breath. Long straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile that could melt the hardest heart.
Jared pushed back his shoulders, sensing the tension.
Perhaps this was a mistake? Too many ghosts lived on these streets.
There was only one person who could have persuaded him to come back to this part of the city.
‘It will only take five minutes to pop in and say hello to my pal Amy Edler,’ his sister Lucy had said, in her special pleading voice. ‘Just to make sure that she’s not running herself ragged trying to organise my wedding. She has enough to do making my cake, and you are going to be in London anyway!’
Right. Thank you, sis. He had just worked a ninety-hour week. The last thing he wanted to do was chat to a frilly bridesmaid about wedding cakes when he was already paying for the most expensive wedding planner in the city.
He earned the money, and Lucy and their mother spent it for him.
But when could he ever refuse his baby sister anything?
She was the only girl who knew exactly how to twist him around her little finger! He had somehow agreed to make a detour on his way back to his penthouse apartment from Heathrow airport and make time to chat to her friend Amy, when all he truly wanted was a good Internet connection to catch up with the New York office before they closed for the weekend.
Time to find out if Lucy had been right to trust Amy Edler…
A bell tinkled over his head as Jared swung open the door onto the terracotta-tiled floor of Edlers Bakery—just in time to hold it open for an elderly couple who were still laughing as they thanked him, their hands curled around the handles of Edlers Bakery bags, before chortling their way down the street.
As he turned back to face the counter, his senses were hit with a solid wall of lively chatter, bright lights and the aroma of baked goods. Spices and vanilla, combined with the unique tang of burnt sugar and buttery pastry and fresh-baked bread.
The overall effect was overpowering, compared to the metallic bitter diesel fumes from the black cabs and London buses on the other side of the glass, and as he inhaled a couple of times to steady his senses he picked up some type of perfume—not from the flowers he was carrying. Roses? Oranges?
He glanced around the room, his property developer’s brain taking in the cream and navy paintwork broken up by pale wood shelving.
It was a world away from the dingy brown wallpaper and cracked wooden shelves of the old Edlers Bakery he remembered. Yellowing torn posters for flour and fizzy drinks had been replaced with clean smooth walls in warm colours.
The overall effect was modern, stylish, but welcoming. Interesting. He should mention the idea to his design team.
Someone here clearly had an eye for texture and colour.
The bread was laid out behind the counter, but it was the display of cakes and pastries that had been designed to tantalize. Under pristine curved glass was a collection of amazing individual cakes, tarts and scones which any French patisserie would have been proud of. Most of the trays were almost empty.
Right on cue, the navy curtain swished open, and Jared looked into the brown eyes of a teenage girl in a smart navy apron over a T-shirt decorated with a strange combination of brown and white splodges. A small white badge declared that he was looking at ‘Trixi’.
‘Hello, handsome. Those for me?’
Jared
