‘What’s going on?’
‘Sorry – did I wake you up? I tried to be quiet, but I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to try some warm milk.’
He rubbed his stubble-covered chin. ‘Is it working?’
Cat pulled a face. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Then come back to bed,’ he said. ‘I know a much better way to make you sleepy.’
She couldn’t help smiling at his rakish eyebrow waggle. ‘Oh? And what’s that?’
Seb shook his head. ‘I can only show you once we’re in bed.’
Setting her half-drunk mug of milk aside, Cat padded over to him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. ‘I can’t imagine what you’ve got in mind.’
‘Like I said, I can only prove my point in bed.’ He waved towards the crumpled sheets. ‘After you.’
Feeling more awake than ever, Cat went back into the bedroom and slid beneath the still-warm covers.
‘Lie on your back,’ he instructed her once he had joined her. ‘And close your eyes.’
She did as she was told, savouring the small thrill of anticipation that shot through her. Any minor niggles she had with Seb’s behaviour in public always melted away once they were in bed. She heard him shift on the mattress and tensed, waiting for his touch. But it wasn’t a kiss or an intimate caress; with a gentle stroke so light that it felt like a feather, he ran his finger down the length of her nose.
Cat opened her eyes to give him a questioning look.
‘Keep them closed,’ he said, his voice low but firm. ‘Just go with it.’
It took her a few seconds to adjust, but once she had, the sensation was strangely soothing. With each slow, silent sweep, more and more tension slipped away until her limbs grew simultaneously heavy and weightless. She stirred a little as Seb nestled against her side, but he didn’t stop stroking and she gave a small, contented sigh as sleep came. And then she knew nothing at all.
*
‘I’ve had an idea,’ Cat announced when Sadie arrived at Smart Cookies the following morning.
‘Oh?’ her friend said, giving her a wary look. ‘Am I going to like it?’
‘Maybe not right away,’ Cat admitted. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s not good.’
Sadie sat down at the central worktop in the kitchen. ‘Go on, then. Let’s hear it.’
Cat explained her thoughts from the previous night.
‘It is a good idea,’ Sadie said, once she’d finished. ‘And we could certainly use the help. But can we afford it?’
‘I’ve done a few sums and if the business continues to grow then I think we can afford to take on one new full-timer.’
Her best friend grimaced. ‘But what if it doesn’t? I don’t know, Cat, it’s a bit of a risk. Can’t we leave things as they are for a while longer? Clare and Adam are both hard-working and enthusiastic – can’t we get by with just them for now?’
‘We could,’ Cat said. ‘But I think we need to plan for the future. What happens if more orders start coming in? Have we got the capacity to increase production – without killing ourselves, I mean?’
‘No.’
‘Or what happens if one of us falls ill?’ Cat went on. ‘Even a bad cold could cause problems with our levels of production – we might not be able to meet demand. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, and we need to make sure we’re ready.’
Sadie stared at her with an expression of amusement mingled with doubt. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the arty, overdramatic one?’
‘I’m a chef,’ Cat replied with a shrug. ‘I can be highly strung too. Seriously, though – we need to think about this now. Not when it’s too late.’
‘Okay,’ Sadie conceded. ‘What did you have in mind?’
Cat hesitated, marshalling her thoughts. She had to approach this in the right way. ‘Well, I wondered if maybe Adam might be interested in expanding his skills.’
Sadie let out a wry laugh. ‘He got a similar offer last night.’
Cat raised her eyebrows. ‘Really? Only one?’
Sadie explained how the hen party had been, complete with a full rundown of Adam’s embarrassment at Melinda’s blatant ogling. ‘So, I don’t imagine he’ll be up for helping out at any more evening classes,’ she finished.
‘No, I can imagine,’ Cat said. ‘But actually, what I was wondering is whether he’d be interested in learning the production side of things – baking the biscuits and icing them.’
‘Oh!’ Sadie looked astonished, then doubtful. ‘Are you sure you’d trust him to follow the recipe? You’re notoriously bad at delegating anything to do with cooking.’
‘Not true,’ Cat said, picturing Seb’s galley kitchen. ‘Chefs delegate all the time. And obviously I wouldn’t just hand Adam the recipe and tell him to get on with it, any more than you’d give him a bag of icing and expect him to produce Instagram-worthy results. He’d need some training first, in the same way that we trained Clare.’
Sadie’s eyes became thoughtful, then narrowed slightly. ‘Is this another way for you to try and push me and Adam together? Because if it is—’
Underneath the table, Cat crossed her fingers. ‘No, of course not. I just thought a bit of on-the-job training might be useful. And that would mean we could recruit another sales assistant to take his place on the shop floor. What do you think?’
‘He did say he was itching to have a go at icing. But he might have been joking – we’d have to check.’
Cat studied her. ‘But in theory, you’re happy?’
There was a brief silence, then Sadie tipped her head. ‘Yes. In theory.’
‘Great,’ Cat said, mentally patting herself on the back for handling a tricky negotiation well. ‘Do you want to ask him, or shall I?’
‘I will,’ Sadie said. ‘After the relentless Melinda, he’ll probably jump at the chance to hide out in the basement for a while.’
‘Well, then,’ Cat replied, observing the hint of a blush as Sadie spoke, ‘everyone will be happy.’
*
Cat insisted that Sadie take Adam out for a coffee away from Castle Court to discuss his suggested change in role.
‘Neutral ground is better all round,’ she said firmly, when Sadie tried to argue. ‘There’s nowhere to chat in private here, anyway – not when the shop is open. Go and try that new café up by the cathedral.’
She waved her friend off and settled into making a new chocolate dough for a batch of Notre Dame biscuits. She had to hand it to Sadie – when it came to biscuit design, she had a talent for knowing what the biscuit-buying public wanted. The City of Love collection was selling like proverbial hot cakes and there were still five days to go until Valentine’s Day, when they could expect a flurry of last-minute sales from desperate husbands and boyfriends. And Cat had every reason to expect the Parisian-themed collection to keep on selling throughout the spring and summer – it might be La Ville d’Amour, but its appeal was timeless, after all.
She barely registered the arrival of the postman upstairs. His deep, cheery voice bounced down towards the basement as he exchanged a few words with Clare, but Cat was concentrating on ensuring the chocolate biscuits didn’t burn in the oven; their rich brown colour made it much harder to see when they were ready and even a minute too long might ruin the whole batch. It wasn’t until Sadie and Adam returned, both with pink cheeks that Cat suspected had little to do with the cold air outside, that she thought to collect the envelopes from underneath the till upstairs.
‘So?’ she asked Sadie in a low voice once they were downstairs. ‘What did Adam say?’
‘He said he’d be delighted,’ Sadie said. ‘But he also reminded me that this was only meant to be a temporary job – when the weather gets warmer, he’ll need to spend more time gardening.’
‘But by the winter, when his gardening work has dried up, he’ll be ready to come back here again – just when we’re building up to the Christmas rush,’ Cat replied. ‘So, I think it’s worth finding out whether or not he’s got the talent now,
don’t you?’
‘Of course he’s got the talent,’ Sadie said, a faint hint of indignation in her voice.
Cat hid a smile. ‘Let’s see how we get on,’ she said, flicking through the envelopes the postman had left. They were mostly bills or junk mail, but a French postmark on one caught her eye. It was addressed to her.
‘What is it?’ Sadie asked, noticing her puzzled expression.
‘No idea,’ Cat said, turning the letter over and ripping it open.
A flood of disbelief washed over her when she saw the letterhead: Martin et Moreau. The lawyers of her old employer, François de Beauvoir. She scanned the contents and let out a shaky snort.
‘You have got to be kidding me.’
‘What?’ Sadie said in alarm.
Cat read the letter once more, trying to ignore a sense of mounting apprehension and anger. ‘It’s a letter of intent from François de Beauvoir. He says he’s suing me for breaching the non-disclosure agreement I signed when I left La Perle.’
Chapter Four
Sadie turned pale. ‘Suing you? But you haven’t breached the agreement. Have you?’
Cat lifted up the letter. ‘No, but according to this, I described the details behind the curtailment of my employment on 2 December in a public place to a crowd of over a hundred people.’
‘December?’ Sadie repeated. ‘But that was when you had that showdown with Greg outside the shop. How could François know about that?’
Cat stared at Sadie and a sick, acidic feeling rose up in her stomach. ‘Greg told him,’ she said. ‘They’re great friends, remember? That’s the whole reason Greg had it in for me.’
‘But you didn’t describe the details,’ Sadie said, shaking her head. ‘In fact, you conspicuously avoided mentioning any names or what actually happened. François doesn’t have a leg to stand on.’
‘I don’t suppose François is especially concerned with the facts of the case,’ Cat said, rubbing her forehead. ‘He’ll be going on what Greg has told him, and who knows how much that poisonous toad has twisted the truth? I’ve got a good mind to march over there and ask him what the bloody hell he thinks he’s playing at.’
‘Don’t,’ Sadie said. ‘Let’s sit down and think this through. Why don’t I make us some tea?’
‘It’s going to take more than tea to sort this out,’ Cat grumbled
‘Of course it is,’ Sadie replied soothingly. ‘But one step at a time, right?’
Cat read through the letter again. It demanded her attendance at a contract breach hearing on 13 February at the lawyers’ offices in Paris, where she would be able to put forward any counter-evidence she might have.
What kind of evidence could she give? Cat wondered; it was going to be her word against Greg’s. Unless—
‘Don’t worry about tea,’ she told Sadie, reaching for her coat. ‘I’ll have some when I get back.’
Sadie stopped, kettle in hand. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Evidence gathering,’ Cat said with a small, grim smile.
Outside, Castle Court was quiet. The temperature had barely risen above zero and Cat gave a tiny shiver as she paused beneath the blue and gold Smart Cookies awning, considering which shopkeeper to visit first. They’d all been there for her run-in with Greg, had all witnessed his aggressive, malicious treatment and taken her side. Or at least most of them had – Cherie had disliked Sadie and Cat from the moment they’d arrived at Castle Court and it had come as no surprise that she’d backed Greg up. Afterwards, when her fellow business owners had made their disgust known, Cherie had seemed to regret her actions, but she’d made no apology and Cat hadn’t sought one. She tried to avoid any contact with the older woman, which was a shame, because her cakes were really rather good.
Cat’s gaze came to rest on the orange and green sign above Let’s Go Dutch. The pancake house didn’t appear to be too busy – the lunchtime rush hadn’t started to build yet. Would Jaren have time to talk to her now? Or should she try Andrew and Earl at the Bus Stop diner? She hoped they’d want to help too. She glanced around at the shops, frowning thoughtfully. No, she’d start with Elin the chocolatier; if nothing else, the heavenly scent of the shop would lift her mood.
She was a little surprised to find Seb there, leaning against one of the glass-fronted counters and chatting to Elin. Both looked up as she walked in.
‘Hey,’ Seb said, crossing the floor to kiss her. ‘This is an unexpected treat.’
‘It is,’ Cat agreed, ‘although it’s actually Elin I’ve come to see. But it’s good that you’re here – I’m going to need your help too.’
Elin raised a cool, blonde eyebrow. ‘Help? What with?’
Cat pulled the letter from her coat pocket. ‘This.’
Seb and Elin huddled together to read it at the same time. Once they’d finished, Seb looked ready to punch something.
‘That doos,’ he spat, his South African accent growing suddenly more pronounced. ‘Why can’t he leave you alone?’
Elin gave Cat a sympathetic look. ‘Because she stood up to him. I’ve never met François but I recognise the type – they think being rich and important gives them the right to do anything. And they hate not getting what they want.’
‘She’s right,’ Cat said. ‘With the added complication that I embarrassed him. His father, Robert, is the real power behind La Perle – he must have known how François was behaving.’
‘Maybe he’s the same,’ Elin suggested. ‘The apple sometimes doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
Cat thought about that. There’d been rumours about François that she’d heard long before she’d started working for him – the catering industry was relatively small and gossip spread fast, especially about those at the top. But there had never been an outright accusation until hers. Now, of course, she knew why; the women he’d harassed had all been paid off and silenced, the same way she had. In some cases, it had probably cost them their careers. Elin was right – it wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine Robert de Beauvoir was a sexual predator, just like his son.
‘Maybe,’ Cat said out loud. ‘I only met him once or twice.’
‘So, what are you going to do?’ Seb asked. ‘Apart from giving François the slap he deserves?’
Cat took a deep breath. ‘That’s why I’m here. As you’ll have seen, I need to go to the meeting next week and submit my counter-evidence. And since all François has is Greg’s version of events, I thought that perhaps if you all gave your version, I might be able to use that to disprove the case.’
‘Of course,’ Elin said immediately. ‘Whatever I can do to help.’
Seb slipped an arm around Cat’s shoulders. ‘We’ll get through this. Don’t worry.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Elin was studying the letter again. ‘I hope you’ve got a good lawyer of your own, Cat. I have a feeling you’re going to need one.’
‘I’ll use the same firm who negotiated the original settlement,’ Cat replied. ‘At least they’ll be familiar with the case.’
‘Just tell us what you need us to do,’ Seb said. ‘And if you need someone to do the slapping for you, I’ll be happy to oblige.’
Cat shook her head. ‘Tempting, but if anyone is going to hit François, it’ll be me. Right after I’ve cut him down to size legally.’
Seb grinned. ‘Attagirl. I’ll hold your coat.’
*
Cat resisted the temptation to glare through the window of Patisserie Cherie and kept her gaze fixed resolutely ahead of her as she crossed the Court. She had no idea whether Cherie would be aware that Greg had tossed another grenade into her life, but she had no interest in finding out.
Jaren was behind the bar of Let’s Go Dutch. He smiled and waved a hand when he saw her in the doorway, and Cat was struck once again by how good-looking he was; his dark hair was tumbling across his forehead in unruly curls and she could almost imagine him scowling from the pages of a glossy magazine in some perfume advert. Except that she wasn
’t sure she’d ever seen him scowl – he was more likely to offer up a wide, laid-back smile, no matter what the situation.
‘Hey,’ he said as Cat wove her way between the tables. ‘Have you come for an early lunch?’
‘I wish,’ Cat said regretfully, glancing at the Specials menu behind the bar. ‘No, it’s you I’ve come to see. Is now a good time?’
Jaren glanced at his watch and pulled a face. ‘Not really – I’m a staff member down today and the lunchtime rush is about to start. But I should be free later if that’s any good?’
‘Great,’ Cat said. ‘I don’t need long.’
He spread his hands. ‘I’ve got the evening off. As long as no one else calls in sick.’
‘Shall I drop by once the shop closes? Around 6 p.m.?’
‘Perfect,’ he said, flashing her a lightning smile. ‘Maybe we can grab a coffee or something.’
Cat returned the smile. ‘I’d like that. See you later.’
Her final call was to the Bus Stop diner. She stepped through the double doors just to the right of the bright yellow bonnet and asked for Andrew or Earl.
‘Hi Cat,’ Earl said, beaming at her as he came nearer. ‘Andrew’s out saving a galaxy far, far away, but I’m here. What can I do for ya?’
Cat couldn’t help grinning. Earl and Andrew were New Yorkers with exactly the same sense of humour; they were so funny that she and Sadie often remarked that they should have their own sitcom. But her smile faded away when she remembered why she was there. ‘I need your help,’ she said.
Earl fired an appraising look her way and gestured behind him. ‘Sure – we can go and talk in the office. Can I get you a drink – tea, coffee, Banana Boozle milkshake?’
Cat shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Although I might take you up on that milkshake another time.’
She waited until they were seated in the office before explaining her situation to Earl. When she’d finished talking, he sat back, a thunderous expression on his face.
‘Of course we’ll support you. We’ll even have a quiet word or two with that weasel Greg, if you want us to.’
‘Thanks, but the less he knows about what’s going on, the better,’ Cat said. ‘I don’t want to give him any more ammunition to pass on to François.’
Frosty Mornings at Castle Court Page 3