by Anita Hughes
She placed the cookie tray in the oven and pushed a stray hair from her cheek. Noah was watching her as if she were an animal at the zoo.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked nervously.
“Do you always wear your hair in a ponytail?” he wondered.
“When I’m baking,” she answered. “I had it cut at the beauty school and she cut it too short. No matter what I do, it slips out of the elastic band.”
“What color are your eyes?” he squinted under the lights. “I can’t tell if they are brown or green.”
“They’re hazel,” she replied. “Why do you ask?”
“And would you say you’re five foot four, give or take half an inch?”
“I’ve been five foot five since my senior year in high school.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “What does any of this have to do with finding Bianca’s replacement?”
“Looks are important. Her replacement’s face will be broadcast in twenty countries,” he pondered. “But you have bone structure a camera loves, you just need some mascara and lipstick. And a new haircut of course, possibly with some highlights. I can’t see your figure underneath that apron, but you have good legs.”
“What are you talking about?” She suddenly felt naked.
“Do you really know a lot about baking?” he asked. “That’s very important.”
“Of course I do,” she bristled. “I’ve always wanted to be a pastry chef. When I was seven years old, I received a Fisher Price kitchen for Christmas. I tried to like the gift. But I longed to bake real fudge brownies instead of ones made of plastic. I attended the Culinary Institute in Hyde Park and since then I’ve worked as a dishwasher at a seafood restaurant in Chelsea and as assistant to the assistant pastry chef at a French patisserie in Union Square,” she continued. “I work ten-hour days and I’m saving all my money. Next Christmas I’m going to open my own restaurant specializing in desserts.”
“I know the feeling.” He sighed. “I work all day on the show and go to law school at night. It will be worth it when I pass the bar and hang my own shingle. I’ll be doing something useful instead of tracking down nail polish to match Bianca’s raspberry trifle.”
“Any kind of work is useful,” Louisa countered. “You said that millions of viewers count on Bianca to teach them how to make chocolate truffle layer cake.”
“You’re absolutely right, and I can’t afford to lose my job!” He nodded vigorously. “That’s why you’re going to be Bianca’s replacement.”
“Me!” Louisa exclaimed. “I can’t just waltz off to London at Christmas. And I’ve never been on television in my life.”
“Being on television is easy. All you do is stand on a piece of tape.” He shrugged. “And you’ll be working with the best chefs in the world. Pierre Gagnaire, who owns Osteria Francescana in Paris, will be there and Andreas Caminada whose restaurant in a historic castle is the only three-star Michelin restaurant in Switzerland. It took Kate months of buttering up the organizers to get this invitation. It’s going to be televised around the world and the British prime minister and her husband will dine there,” he finished. “But I forgot it’s Christmas. I assume you have a boyfriend. Tell him that when you return, the show will pay for you to have a belated Christmas dinner at the St. Regis.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend, I’m too busy.”
“Do you have a cat?” he asked.
“I’d like one. We had a gorgeous tabby when I was growing up,” she mused. “But I’d never see it. Besides my roommate is allergic.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend or any pets. And you have a roommate to make sure the radiator doesn’t catch fire. I don’t see the problem.” He stopped. “Unless you don’t have a passport. But Kate could fix that, she’s good at coaxing people in high places.”
“I have a passport,” she said. “I can’t go because the week before Christmas is the busiest time of the year for the bakery. Leaving Ellie in the lurch would be an awful thing to do.”
“Surely she can find someone else,” he urged. “We’ll pay your airfare and expenses and put you up at Claridge’s. You’ll have five days to explore London. Have you ever been to Harrods Christmas Grotto? It’s like entering Santa’s workshop. Or you can ice-skate at Hampton Court. Henry VIII’s sixteenth-century castle is lit up at night and it’s the most magical place you’ve ever seen.”
An all-expenses-paid trip to London at Christmas! She always wanted to visit the food halls at Selfridges and see the Changing of the Guard. And the fresh scones with marmalade and clotted cream at the Savoy were supposed to be heavenly.
“I’ve never been to London. Who wouldn’t want to see the holiday lights on Oxford Street and the countdown to Christmas at Trafalgar Square?” She sighed. “But Ellie has bills to pay. I can’t desert her because I want to visit Buckingham Palace. Though I always dreamed of meeting the Duchess of Cambridge and giving her one of my cupcakes. She is serious about helping others and her children are gorgeous.”
“If you’re so concerned with helping others you might start with me,” he reminded her. “It is because of you this happened.”
“We went over this, it was an accident.” She suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work. Leave me your number and if I think of anyone, I’ll call you.”
“It’s too bad your cakes won’t be featured on TV.” He glanced at the counter. “Can you imagine if viewers saw your croquembouche. When you open your restaurant, there would be lines around the block.”
“How did you know that was a croquembouche?” she asked. “Most Americans have never heard of it.”
“We filmed a segment of the show in Paris,” he explained. “Yours looks better than the one baked by the chef at the Hôtel de Crillon.”
“Do you think so?” She pulled off a puff and handed it to Noah. “Here, you can take a piece with you.”
“It’s fantastic,” he said while biting into the pastry. “The cream is sweet without being cloying.”
“That’s what I was hoping to achieve.” She brightened. “It would be wonderful to serve it at Claridge’s. And of course, I’d love the publicity.”
“And you’d be working alongside Digby Bunting. I’ve never met him, but I heard he’s the best pastry chef in England. Kate says his crumble pudding is perfection.”
“Did you say Digby Bunting?” Louisa gasped.
Digby was in his midthirties and was one of the most revered pastry chefs in the world. Louisa tried to master his cherries jubilee, but it always came out a bit tart. And she was dying to ask him how he stopped the meringue on his chocolate meringue cake from flaking all over the plate.
“Didn’t I mention that Digby was invited?” Noah asked. “Apparently he’s the IT chef in London. When he gives a cooking demonstration, it’s like the second coming of the Beatles.”
“I could ask my friend Lenny to fill in for me,” she wavered. “We were classmates at the Culinary Institute. He’s on vacation, but if I promise to pay him double he might do it.”
“Why don’t you call him?” Noah suggested. “The network will pay him, you don’t have any excuse not to come.”
Louisa pulled out her phone and entered the storeroom. She returned to the kitchen and her face broke into a smile.
“I had to promise him my macaron recipe on top of his fee, but he’ll do it.”
Noah leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.
“I don’t mean to keep doing that but being around you is like riding a roller coaster,” he said. “One minute you’re flying high and the next you feel like you’re plunging to certain death. I have to tell Kate and book your flight. We’ll work on your wardrobe in London and I’ll call ahead to get a hair appointment at Taylor Taylor.”
“My hair is fine if I wash it.” She touched her hair and suddenly wondered what she had gotten into. “And I’m sure I have a black cocktail dress in my closet.”
“Leave it all to me.” He beamed. “Wri
te down your address and a car will pick you up and take you to the airport.” He took off his wool coat and handed it to Louisa. “One more thing, this is for you.”
“What’s this for? It’s a little big and I don’t need a wool coat.” She frowned.
“It’s for the homeless man who sleeps in the alley,” he explained. “There won’t be anyone here to give him blankets.”
Louisa noticed a speck of cream on Noah’s collar. She wetted a napkin and dabbed it gently.
“What was that for?” He looked down.
“I didn’t want you to leave with a stain on your shirt.”
“Thank you.” He smoothed his collar and smiled. “We’re going to have an excellent working relationship.”
Louisa smiled back and felt a shiver of excitement. “I agree.”
Noah left and Louisa glanced at the clock. Noah said he had four hours and thirty-six minutes to get to JFK and that was half an hour ago! That meant Louisa had exactly four hours to finish the crescent cookies and race to her apartment and pack. She had to tell Ellie the news and call her parents and leave a note for her roommate.
The counter was littered with powdered sugar and chopped pecans and she wondered whether she had done the right thing. Then she pictured the windows of Liberty filled with Burberry sweaters and Oxford Street strung with fairy lights and the aisles of Fortnum and Mason stocked with shortbread.
The rain fell outside the window and she hugged her arms around her chest. The first thing she would do when she arrived was buy a raincoat and wellies. She was going to spend Christmas in London!
Chapter Three
FOURTEEN HOURS LATER LOUISA SANK onto a red velvet sofa in her suite at Claridge’s and let out a small sigh. She felt like a puppy that had played with a ball and now was happy to curl up with a favorite blanket. If she never left her suite and explored London at all, she’d be perfectly happy.
The suite’s living room had crown moldings and white pillars and art deco mirrors. The walls were painted yellow and the parquet floor was scattered with geometric rugs. Scarlet armchairs were arranged around a glass coffee table and a crystal vase held the tallest flowers she had ever seen. The valet said the arrangement was replaced daily by McQueens, one of the most famous florists in London with a shop inside Claridge’s.
And the bathroom! Louisa pictured her bathroom in New York with the sink jammed against the shower and the fire escape outside the window. The suite’s bathroom was like entering Atlantis. The floor was heated white marble and the walls were painted ivory and everywhere you turned there were mirrors. The ceiling was mirrored and the side of the bathtub was mirrored and the walk-in closet had so many mirrors she felt dizzy.
When the front desk manager handed her the gold key for the Mayfair Suite, Louisa said there must be a mistake. Noah couldn’t possibly have reserved a one-bedroom suite with a baby grand piano and furnishings designed by David Linley. She didn’t need a balcony with a view of Brooks Mews, and a sideboard set with raisin scones and Marco Polo jelly.
The canopied king-sized bed in the master bedroom was so large, sleeping in it would be like being stranded in a rowboat in the middle of the ocean. And the ivory quilted bedspread made her nervous. What if she got face cream on it and it never came out?
But the manager explained the suite was reserved for Bianca and it was the only available room. It was completely paid for: she could eat anything from the minibar and every morning there was a complimentary room service breakfast of pink grapefruit juice and brown eggs scrambled or poached, with grilled tomatoes.
Noah had dropped her off at Claridge’s entrance to run an errand and Kate stayed at the airport to locate a missing suitcase, so Louisa had no one to ask. Finally she gave up and followed the valet to the elevator.
She was so tired she could spend the whole morning soaking in the bathtub. Maybe in the afternoon she’d venture down to the lobby. She read all about the Map Room with its red-lacquered walls and burgundy carpet and curated library of books.
And she couldn’t wait to poke her head in the Foyer with its creamy beige décor and plates of smoked salmon sandwiches and Cornish lobster salad. Noah said it was the perfect place for celebrity watching and it would be fun to bump into Nigella Lawson or David Beckham.
But she hadn’t slept on the plane and she felt as if there was an orchestra playing inside her head. Noah and Kate had boarded the plane and pulled out eye masks. They wrapped themselves in cashmere blankets, downed two glasses of champagne, and fell asleep.
Louisa had never been in the business-class section of an airplane. She hadn’t wanted to miss the movies showing on her personal iPad or the assortment of expensive lotions handed out by the flight attendants.
Now she walked to the marble sideboard in the suite and filled a brandy snifter with golden liqueur. There was a knock at the door and she answered it.
“Do you mind if I come in?” Noah asked. “I was afraid I missed you and you were already sightseeing.” He glanced at the glass in Louisa’s hand. “Isn’t it a little early for a drink?”
“I wasn’t going to drink it. I’m going to inhale it.” She held it to her nose. “It’s the perfect cure when you haven’t slept. The brandy wakes your senses and makes you feel warm and alive.”
“I did say you should sleep on the flight.” Noah entered the living room. “It’s important to adjust to local time. Eat a good lunch and drink lots of coffee. If you stay awake until 10:00 p.m., you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not the least bit hungry and the thought of coffee makes my stomach turn,” she groaned. “I’m going to run a bath and take a long nap. Then I have to finish my recipe card for Ellie’s daughter, Chloe. Chloe and I usually bake a different kids’ Christmas dessert every day of the week before Christmas. She comes in after school in the middle of my shift. I’m not there, so I thought I’d send her one recipe card every day. It will be a bit like the Twelve Days of Christmas but instead of partridges in pear trees and drummers drumming there will be mini elf donuts and Christmas tree pops.” She picked up the embossed Harrods stationery. “I’m starting with Rudolph’s Shortbread. The shortbread is simple to make and you add M&M’s for the reindeer’s eyes and pipe cleaners for antlers.” She beamed. “The cards won’t arrive until after Christmas, but I told her she could save them and we’d bake them together. It will be so much fun.”
“That’s a wonderful idea. I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Noah suggested. “Give the card to the concierge each day and I’ll make sure it is overnighted to Chloe. But I’m afraid you’ll have to finish the card later. I have today’s entire itinerary.” He examined his clipboard. “At twelve thirty we’ll meet your personal shopper at Harrods. We shoot B-roll around London all week: you shopping for ingredients at Selfridges and posing with the wax figure of Julia Child at Madame Tussauds.
“You’ll need a selection of cashmere dresses and shoes. We should stay away from beiges, and we need to make you a bit taller, so we should find pumps with a heel.
“You have a three o’clock makeup session with Daniel Galvin. It’s just preliminary, we don’t know what will work until you’re in front of the camera. But he can shape your eyebrows and see if we can get your cheekbones to look a little narrower.
“Lastly, we’ll select a few pieces of jewelry at Asprey. They’re only on loan, of course. It is Christmas at Claridge’s; you have to look glamorous. A classic Asprey watch, the camera zooms in on it when you’re mixing a bourbon sauce.” He put down the clipboard and grinned. “That should bring us to the evening when there will be cocktails with the other chefs in the Fumoir.”
“I’m not going to do any of those things! I never wear jewelry when I bake. What if I get molasses on a bracelet or an earring falls into a chocolate mousse? And if I’m going to be traipsing around London, it’s going to be in comfortable boots, not pumps with a heel.” She stopped and her eyes watered. “And I’m so tired, I couldn’t possibly try on dresses. Can’t I do all that tomorr
ow?”
“Tomorrow morning you have an interview with BBC One, followed by hair and highlights at Taylor Taylor.” He looked back at the clipboard. “I wanted to get the hair done first, but we’re lucky they squeezed you in. This is the most important culinary event of the season and you’re one of the star chefs. Do you really think you get to lie around in a Claridge’s robe and slippers?”
“I just wanted one day.” Louisa dragged herself off the sofa. “I didn’t realize how tired I was until I sat down. I feel like there’s a bus sitting on my chest. And I don’t want to disappoint Chloe and not send the recipes. It’s bad enough that I left the week before Christmas.”
“As long as you finish the card by this evening, I promise it will be overnighted in tomorrow’s mail. Speaking of buses, I want to get some B-roll of you riding a red double-decker bus,” he said and smiled. “We’ll find one on the way to Harrods.”
* * *
Noah waited while Louisa showered and slipped on a sweater and pair of slacks. She forced herself to eat a cucumber sandwich and gulped a cup of Earl Grey tea. They took the elevator to the lobby and suddenly Louisa felt silly for wanting to stay in her suite.
She had been so exhausted when she arrived she hadn’t appreciated the black-and-cream-diamond marble floors and beveled mirrors. Glass vases were filled with white roses and an original Gainsborough hung over a stone fireplace. And the Christmas tree! It reached the ceiling and was made out of gold and silver metallic umbrellas.
“It’s magnificent! Look at the way the light from the chandelier reflects off the umbrellas.” She tilted her head. “It seems like it’s actually raining.”
“It’s a promotion with Burberry,” Noah explained. “Every year Claridge’s partners with a fashion brand to create the most extravagant Christmas tree. They used one hundred umbrellas and it took three days to install.”