The Little Cafe in Copenhagen

by Julie Caplin

  I hissed in an indrawn breath as we crept closer and closer to the top, rising up the first steep incline with agonising slowness. Below us the magical landscape of the park spread out, shadowy trees and the lake shimmering with reflections. Away to my left, the horizon with buildings and towers was lit up against the night sky. With a lift of my heart which had nothing to do with the rising fear, I felt the reassuring warmth of a solid hand placed on top of mine. I risked a quick peep at Ben’s face. His encouraging smile turned my bones to jelly.

  And then we teetered for a second at the very top, before plunging over the edge.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Lights flashed and sped by, a blur of neon colour. We rushed down, down, down, hair whipped my face and the air racing past stole my breath. My heart pounded, my stomach falling and falling and then seconds later we were flying upwards, to a chorus of screams as we whistled through the night.

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.’ And then we were upside down and this time I squeaked, too frightened to unclamp my jaws to scream.

  Ben’s hand tightened, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of my bone-white knuckles, his thigh nudging mine as he moved his body closer.

  With a wrench right, we twisted, tilting on the track precariously as if at any moment we might come off the rails. I hung on for dear life aware of someone ahead of us screaming like a banshee and people on the front row waving their arms in the air. I closed my eyes, as my stomach went into freefall. This was sheer hell. No bloody wonder the ride was called The Demon.

  I staggered from the ride, Bambi-legged, buffeted by the flow of people bubbling with enthusiasm for the ride. Ben looped an arm around me and dragged me out of the downward stream to the side by a railing.

  ‘Oh my God. Oh my God. I did it. I did it.’ Babbling, I turned to face him, clutching his forearms.

  ‘You did.’ His indulgent approving nod added to my sense of jubilation and something inside me flipped. Gratitude and euphoria guided me and all my earlier reservations jumped ship, I leaned in to kiss him.

  The minute my lips met his, with a ragged exhalation he pulled me to him, slamming my body against his. I squirmed as a shiver of uncontained delight flashed at the touch of his hand sliding up my back to hold me firm as his mouth slanted over mine, roving with determined possession. Another hand cupped my head as I kissed him back, thrilling to his muffled moan, my arms sliding around his waist, hanging on for dear life. I stretched up on tip-toes pressing my lips harder against his, diving headlong into the kiss. Nerve endings fried. I sank deeper, opening my mouth, giving in to the heady rush of emotion as his tongue touched mine, fireworks exploding like shooting stars. A languid warmth burned low in my belly, heating every vein. I wanted more and pressed against him, my hips nudging at his. In silent, heartfelt response he pulled me even tighter to his long lean body.

  Sensations built, passion firing as I met every move of his mouth with answered hunger. My fingers crept up into his short hair, relishing the tingling in my fingertips as I raked them mindlessly over the coarse bristles.

  Arms twisted. Noses bumped. Breaths came, punchy and erratic.

  It was as if we hadn’t got off the roller-coaster, feelings and sensation, looping and dropping with no control. I clung harder to him, trying to anchor myself, fearing if I let go I might fall. I’d never kissed or been kissed like this and I couldn’t bear to let go. I wanted to hang on for ever.

  It was almost too much to take. Breathing heavily, we finally pulled apart our gazes locked as I stood in the circle of his arms.

  ‘Wow,’ he said dragging in a long breath.

  I nodded, aware of the pounding of my heart thudding so hard I could feel it vibrating against my ribs.

  ‘Wow, indeed,’ I whispered, still unable to tear my gaze from his. Dazed he looked back at me, his pupils wide, his hair mussed. It made me smile.

  ‘Don’t look so smug,’ he growled, stilling but I could feel his ribcage rising and falling and see the racing pulse in his neck.

  I lifted my shoulders in a tiny gesture of feminine pride.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ he whispered. ‘Damn, the others will be waiting for us.’

  I nodded, my lips well-used and tingling.

  ‘Meet me later? When we get back to the hotel? There’s a bar around the corner.’

  Our cold faces glowed as we swept into the warmth of the foyer of the hotel, David teasing Fiona about how much she’d squealed on the Sky Flier, Avril laughing at Conrad and Ben who’d chickened out of the Golden Tower and Sophie and I teasing each other over whose jeans were the wettest after the boat rides.

  Ben and I had kept a discreet distance after The Demon, exchanging frequent secretive glances and checking the time on our watches, waiting for when we could return to the hotel.

  ‘Kate,’ boomed a voice, carrying over the heads of everyone and silencing the group.

  I turned in the direction of the voice, an automatic response to my name as recognition hit ten seconds later like a dodgem slamming to a reverberating halt.

  I felt as if I’d run into a door. ‘Josh,’ I said weakly, as he stood up from one of the seats in the reception area. I stared at him, refusing to voice the question or give him the damn satisfaction of answering, What are you doing here?

  Instead I left him there, with everyone staring curiously at him.

  ‘Do you know this man?’ asked Conrad, his moustache quivering with gentlemanly valour.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ I muttered, my heart sinking like a suet pudding. I stole one last look at Ben.

  ‘Megan thought you needed reinforcements.’

  I wanted to ask where they were, but I stopped myself in time.

  ‘Hello everyone, I’m Josh Delaney, from the Machin Agency.’

  ‘How odd. We’re going home the day after tomorrow,’ I said trying to sound cool and unemotional.

  ‘Belt and braces. You know. Make sure the last few days go without any more hitches.’ He attempted a winning smile at the group. ‘It’s not been plain sailing so far, has it?’

  I heard Avril’s indrawn hiss and saw horrified guilt fill her face as she whispered something to Conrad.

  Feeling the quick flash of fury heat my face, I gritted my teeth at his patronising tone. What had I ever seen in him?

  There was an uncertain pause and then Avril, completely ignoring him, said with her best princess hauteur, ‘Are we still heading for the bar? I could murder a G&T. Do you want to catch us up Kate?’ She crossed in front of me and gave me a wink.

  ‘Yes, I’ll see you in there in a minute.’ I schooled my face hiding my amusement as bless them, they all patted me, waved and nodded as they trooped off towards the bar, Ben walking the most slowly as if checking I didn’t need any intervention.

  I could have kissed them all for the unspoken show of solidarity.

  ‘You all seem very pally,’ said Josh, reverting to his usual snide self the minute they were out of earshot. ‘No wonder there have been a few problems.’

  ‘Nothing that hasn’t been handled,’ I said, glaring at him. ‘How dare you try to suggest I’m incompetent in front of them?’

  ‘If the cap fits.’ He shrugged and gave a sharky smile as I wondered at the cost of punching his perfect white teeth down his throat.

  ‘Not one of them has any complaints about the way the trip has been run.’ Or not that they’d voiced.

  ‘Which is why Ed and Megan decided to let you stay.’

  ‘Let me stay,’ I squeaked like an irate guinea pig, taking a second look at his expensive dentistry. Maybe it would be worth the satisfaction.

  ‘I thought it would be helpful to have a second pair of hands.’

  ‘Pardon!’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Kate. Stop being so defensive. Think of this as an opportunity. I can report back on your performance over the next two days.’

  ‘Defensive! You think I should just ignore the fact that you’ve waltzed in, without any warning.’
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br />   ‘Come on, Kate. You’ve been making a right hash of things. Accidents. Losing journalists. Running up huge bills. It doesn’t look terribly professional and …’ he looked after the retreating group. ‘If I may say, I think I can see the problem. It all looks a touch too convivial. You’ve gone native instead of remembering you’re supposed to be working. It happens, when you’re not very experienced.’

  I wanted to growl at him. No, you may not say a damn thing. Instead, I said hotly, ‘We’ve been to the Tivoli Gardens. Everyone let their hair down. Funnily enough no one got lost or had an accident and if there was a place for that to happen that would be it.’

  ‘Was that wise? You should be keeping a professional distance. These people are journalists. Contacts. They’re not friends.’ He curled his lip obviously remembering how Sophie and I had marched in together laughing.

  His words also stung. These people had become friends. Sophie and I had already arranged to have lunch when we got back.

  ‘Seriously Kate, there is a question over your professionalism. Getting too close to press contacts is always courting disaster. Look how Conrad presumed on your good nature. Next thing we know you’ll be sleeping with Benedict Johnson.’

  I coloured and he gave me a sharp assessing look, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘That would be an unpardonable professional transgression.’

  Chapter 20

  As I rolled out of bed, a sense of depression descended. It was tempting to stay in bed. Text Josh, tell him he could take over.

  That damn promotion was floating away like a helium balloon, with me destined to run after it for ever more trying to grab at its string. I flopped back onto the mattress. I’d rather think about Ben and that kiss.

  Last night Josh had insisted on sitting in the foyer, going over the next two day’s itinerary in detail, assessing all the possible risks, while the others had decamped to the bar. If only he knew that the biggest risk at that moment in time was Conrad doing serious damage to the hotel tab back in the bar, with a round of brandies for everyone.

  ‘So, you’re sure the walk to the Design Museum will only take twenty minutes.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mads.

  ‘And we’ll leave straight after breakfast?’ asked Josh again.

  ‘People like to go back to their rooms. So, we will meet in the foyer at nine a.m. Everyone comes to breakfast at different times.’ Mads and I exchanged a smile. Fiona was allergic to mornings and always rushed into breakfast at the last possible minute, invariably forgetting something that she had to return to her room for.

  ‘No wonder you’ve been having problems. You should have insisted at the outside. Stick together. Stop people wandering off and doing what they please. These people will take advantage as soon as look at you.’

  ‘What people?’ asked Mads looking confused as if he’d had a complete lapse in his understanding of English.

  ‘The press. The journalists on the trip. They’re … well not quite the enemy but they’re not our friends.’ He shot me a dark warning look.

  Mads continued to look perplexed and Josh tutted.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He turned to me. ‘It’s mine and Kate’s job to keep a tighter rein on everyone. We’ll lay down the law at breakfast tomorrow. Make our expectations clear.’

  ‘Josh they’re adults … it’s not a school trip.’

  ‘No, Kate,’ he said emphasising the t in my name with a snap, ‘it’s a business trip, with clear aims, objectives and goals. And it’s our job to see that they are all met. I think you might have lost sight of that.’ His eyes bored into me. ‘Give journalists an inch and they take a mile wherever they can. They’re on the opposite side of the fence.’ With a humourless laugh, he added, ‘They rarely do us any favours. We’re here for the client. This isn’t a jolly; they’re here to work too.’

  ‘I-I know that,’ I said trying to sit up straighter.

  ‘Now, tomorrow’s itinerary. I don’t want anything to go wrong. Let’s go over it and identify potential threats to our plans.’ He’d pulled out of his Paul Smith man-bag, an A4 foolscap pad.

  Seriously? We were going to the Design Museum. What did he imagine might happen? A large sideboard falling on someone? One of the group swallowed by a particularly over stuffed sofa?

  In the pool of morning sunshine, I lay in bed with my wrist over my eyes mulling over Josh’s words. Had I been too lenient with everyone? Been a bit too laissez-faire? Megan had said I needed to have more gravitas. Maybe I hadn’t been quite as professional as I should have been. Wanting too much to be part of the group?

  Kissing Ben.

  No, not professional. Not professional at all. What had I been thinking? Stupid question, I hadn’t been thinking at all. A dull ache in my heart throbbed at the thought of Ben. Held to ransom by hormones and post roller-coaster euphoria. If Josh got so much as an inkling, my career would be dead and buried. I still had two days to prove I could do this. I needed to speak to Ben. Tell him last night had been a mistake and that we needed to talk press coverage. That was being professional. That was looking out for my career. That had to come first. I’d worked too hard to get here to give it all up for a couple of kisses, no matter how mind-numbing, heart-stopping and brain-scrambling they might have been.

  I sighed again. God it was only six o’clock. There was no way I could get back to sleep.

  The lights glowed in Varme and down the steps I could see Eva flitting about. She probably wasn’t even open yet, but when I appeared at the door, she rushed over and let me in.

  ‘Morgen Katie. You’re very early. Do you need coffee or perhaps a hot chocolate today?’

  Eva’s question was loaded with more than polite enquiry.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ I shrugged off my damp coat. The morning air held a touch of sea mist and the promise of rain.

  ‘Something is bothering you.’

  ‘Someone.’

  ‘Ah, I did wonder.’

  I gave her a sharp glance and couldn’t help smiling. ‘Are you a white witch or something?’

  ‘No, just an observer of human nature. Come in the kitchen with me, while I make some hot chocolate. It will go perfectly with the chokolade snegle I’m making and I could do with some help. Then you can tell me all about it.’

  She handed me an apron, pushed me to the sink to wash my hands and by the time I’d dried them, she’d switched on the espresso machine and put out several mounds of dough on a floured board. Quickly she showed me what she wanted me to do which thankfully was quite simple. Just roll them out into rectangles. Even I could manage that.

  As I picked up the rolling pin, she held up a finger making me pause.

  ‘And remember, do it with love. Think of the people who are most special to you. Who would you make this for?’

  She waved the finger. ‘And don’t tell me. Just think of them.’ When I levelled a polite but slightly disbelieving look her way, her eyes twinkled in merriment.

  I rolled the first rectangle out, next to her, thinking of my dad, Brandon and John. God, they’d demolish a whole plate of Danish pastries faster than a horde of locusts. Connie would love them too.

  The dough felt soft under my fingers and I took extra care, copying Eva’s careful rhythm not pressing too hard and using the rolling pin in the way that I’d seen Sophie teaching Fiona. My rectangle was almost as perfect as hers. ‘Look Eva! I did it.’ I felt a ridiculous sense of achievement.

  ‘Well done. Now for the next bit.’ With her usual economic efficiency, she showed me how to spread the cinnamon mixture over the dough and then roll it into one fat sausage that she then sliced into the individual pastries. I copied her.

  ‘OK, now we have several more batches to do.’ She handed me a coffee. I took a sip, feeling a lot better as the hot strong coffee hit the spot.

  ‘My company have sent someone out to … keep an eye on me, I guess.’

  ‘Oh.’ Eva looked up, surprised.

  With a scowl, I put down my cup, mis
sing its heat and picked up my rolling pin. ‘I feel a bit of a failure.’

  ‘Careful,’ she pointed to the pastry which had suddenly gone a bit wonky. I concentrated for a second and managed to get it straight again.

  ‘Do you think you’re a failure?’ Eva waited as if she expected an answer.

  I finished rolling the pastry before I lifted my head to look at her.

  ‘You’re doing it again, that white witch thing.’

  She didn’t deny it but instead prodded my dough. ‘Gently.’

  ‘You’re worse than the Spanish Inquisition,’ I said shaking my head, turning the dough, ready to spread the filling across the surface. I stopped because I was supposed to be thinking good thoughts. ‘It’s bad enough that they sent someone because they don’t think I’m doing a very good job. Sending Josh Delaney, my ex and the man that was promoted rather than me has rubbed salt in the wounds.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Ah indeed.’ I could see nothing but the full story was going to satisfy Eva. I put down the spatula. ‘Josh and I were together for a while but we kept it quiet because we worked together. I was too stupid to realise that he was keeping it quiet because we were both going for the same promotion. Which he never mentioned. And now he’s here to report back on my performance.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Ouch indeed. Apparently, I’ve been too familiar with the journalists. Not keeping my distance enough.’

  ‘But, why should you? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Because I’m working and I should have maintained a professional relationship and kept a business-like distance from them.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Josh is my senior and he’s reporting back to my bosses. For the next two days, I’m going to have to toe the line.’

  ‘Why? Lars clearly thinks you can do this. And I’ve seen nothing that indicates otherwise.’

  ‘That’s very kind, Eva, but unfortunately Lars doesn’t have any say in my promotional prospects.’ I paused and picked up the spatula again. I might as well be honest with her; she had a habit of getting you to do that. The café had become quite the confessional over the last few days.