by Julie Caplin
I studied the mass produced black and white photos of European cities from the thirties. Despite the nod to heritage, there was nothing authentic or particularly inviting about this place. Convenience. Coffee on the go. As far away from hygge as humanly possible.
If this were mine, what would I do? What would Eva do? I looked down at my notes and straightened. At least I had the beginning of a plan.
The front of the department store was still covered in scaffolding and the sounds of hammers, drills and a radio came through the polythene sheets shielding the front doors. I pushed through them and stopped dead. Inside certainly didn’t look like a construction site. The interior was coming along well and already looked stunning.
‘Katie!’ I looked up and hanging over the balcony to my right waving madly was Eva in a bright yellow hard hat. The first genuine smile in days lit my face at the sight of her as she came rushing down the stationary escalator.
‘Hello.’ We hugged each other. ‘You came.’
She beamed at me. ‘Of course, I came. Lars says you have a meeting, but after that we can go to lunch and you can talk to me. I’m very intrigued. And you can bring me up to date with all the latest news. How’s Ben?’
I’d been really strong. Mad, furious, and determined to erase him from my mind. It was easy on the phone, social media, a quick swipe, delete, block and done. For the last two days, since I’d walked out the offices at the Machin Agency, I’d been busy, plotting and planning. Refusing to think about Ben.
The HR department couldn’t respond quickly enough when they saw my video. I had a settlement letter agreeing to a more than satisfactory pay-off. That gave me a lot of breathing space.
Eva’s gentle question brought Ben back to the forefront of my mind and immediately my eyes filled with tears.
‘Not who I thought he was,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘And I’d rather not talk about him … at the moment. I have a meeting with Lars.’
Eva nodded immediately understanding that I needed to ground myself.
‘And here he is,’ she nodded over my shoulder.
Now that I was sitting here in front of Lars, my palms had suddenly become very sweaty and I had the urge to keep wiping them down the skirt of my dress, but I needed to look in control. I was banking on coming across as gutsy and direct.
‘I’m guessing you’ve seen the coverage in Sunday’s paper.’
Lars nodded but didn’t look terribly perturbed.
‘I’m sorry about that.’
He held up a hand. ‘Wait. You are not responsible for what Mr Johnson chose to write.’
‘Well …’
‘Are you? I wasn’t worried by the article. You have managed to secure far more coverage than I would have expected and the key thing about the trip was that you came to understand the concept of hygge.’ He smiled gently. ‘And now you are here, we can start planning the opening without any talk of balloons, bombs or any other such nonsense.’
I gave a quick frown. ‘You do know I don’t work for the Machin Agency anymore.’
His mouth tightened. ‘I found out last night, but as you’d arranged a meeting today, I assumed you’d explain.’
‘I … resigned. They felt I could have done more to influence B- Mr Johnson’s article. They weren’t very happy about its tone.’
‘Their loss and my gain.’
He opened a desk drawer and pulled out an envelope, sliding it across the table towards me, his blue eyes dancing. ‘I have a proposition for you. I’d like to offer you a job here. As Press Officer for Hjem. Working here for me. I think you would do a great job.’
A few days ago, I would have snatched that envelope up, but now … I took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Lars. That’s a very kind offer.’
‘You haven’t even looked at it.’ He tapped the envelope with his hand.
‘I don’t need to. I want to do something else.’
Confusion creased his face and for a moment I wondered if I was completely mad but since I’d first thought of it, the compulsion wouldn’t go away. With the promise of a year’s salary I could afford to take some time for me. My conversation with Dad had replayed in my head. It was time to make a choice and do something that made me happy, instead of chasing promotions and hoping that ambition would one day pay off with the elusive golden ticket of happiness.
‘Did your florist ever find the flowers she wanted?’
‘No.’
‘So is that space still available?’
‘It is.’
I smiled at him. ‘Then, if your mother is willing, I’d like to make you a proposition.’
Chapter 31
I pulled the tray of golden cinnamon buns from the oven, feeling rather proud as the spiced scent filled the air. This morning’s batch was all my own work. Behind me I heard a chorus of sniffs and I turned to grin at three people waiting in a queue.
‘Not burned then, Katie?’ teased the middle-aged man who ran the printing business around the corner and produced our menus.
Since Eva and I had delivered baskets of freshly baked Danish pastries to the neighbouring businesses and residents the week before we opened, we’d quickly built up a loyal clientele, some of whom popped in every morning.
‘They’re perfect, Clive,’ I said reprovingly.
‘I’ll take three then. The girls in the office love them and a double espresso to go.’
As I put the three pastries into a paper bag, Eva had already stepped up to the shiny chrome Gaggia coffee machine, easily the most expensive bit of kit in the café and I listened to the familiar clatter, the quick burst of coffee aroma, the shh as the pressurized water shot through the grounds.
Funny how quickly the sounds of the café had become such an entrenched part of my daily routine. I skirted Eva, twisting sideways with my arms aloft carrying the pastries, as she slotted the white plastic lid on the cardboard coffee cup to ring up the items on the till. We were like a pair of dancers who knew all the steps as we whisked about the tiny serving area.
Taking Clive’s cash, I closed the till with a satisfying click.
‘Thanks, lovely ladies. See you again tomorrow.’
‘Bye, Clive,’ chorused Eva and I in unison and then we turned and grinned at each other. I got as much of a kick out of a satisfied customer as Eva these days.
From the moment, at lunch, when I suggested to Eva that we bring Varme to London, we hadn’t stopped. Like unleashing a tornado, Eva had immediately started making lists.
And she was doing it now. ‘Is that the shopping list for next week?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I think we need more beetroot. The beet, goat’s cheese and walnut open sandwiches have been very popular this week.’
I’d never met anyone more partial to a list than I was; the two of us were unstoppable.
‘That’s because Lars eats two for lunch every day,’ added Eva with a hint of pride. Without fail every day he came to collect his lunch. He was our biggest supporter and when I suggested that we create a café in the empty unit next door, he’d immediately transferred a group of his contractors; electricians, plumbers and decorators, our way to rejig the empty space to our specification.
For three frenetic weeks, the long thin room with its glass panels down the centre of the roof, had been full of sawing, drilling and banging, with deliveries of wood, tiles and kitchen equipment and piles of discarded cardboard and polystyrene beads, as a team of men worked miracles to bring the café to life, while Eva and I existed in a whirlwind of decision making. Lights. Tables. Wall paint. Coffee suppliers. Recipes. Menus. Chairs.
‘It is our most popular sandwich,’ I said with my own hint of pride. Despite her experience Eva had listened to all my suggestions, including my recipe ideas. After the depressing monotony of the coffee bar I stumbled into on the day I left the agency I’d been determined to create a little haven of cosiness. It would have been easier to attempt to recreate Varme but Eva insisted that this was mine and it should be my interpretation of
hygge.
I cast a smug glance up at the three horribly expensive vintage brass pendant lights, they were exactly right.
‘Yes, they are perfect,’ said Eva with a very slightly superior smile. ‘Aren’t you glad now?’ She’d had to talk me into buying them even though they were ridiculously over budget.
‘It’s a good job I love you so much, otherwise I’d think you were doing the old I told you so routine.’
‘Who me, darling Katie?’ She looped her arm around my shoulder and together we leaned against the kitchen units. ‘Never.’
‘Furniture looks good though.’
‘It does.’ Eva’s gentle shudder made me smile. ‘Even if you did drag me into some gangland turf.’
‘Sorry … it was a parent from Connie’s school. And we did save a fortune.’ The job lot of discontinued retro furniture wasn’t in mint condition but the scuffed chestnut leather worked well next to the assorted beech coffee tables and I wasn’t about to ask exactly where they’d come from. Old hotel stock was good enough for me. They were quite battered already; surely no one would have stolen them?
Anyway, I was so pleased with the little groups of furniture and the way that they were arranged to create the feeling of someone’s lounge, if they had been nicked, I might have overlooked the matter.
‘My favourite,’ I said, casting a look towards the front door, ‘is the bookshelf.’ I wanted people to come in and immediately want to sit down and stay because it felt comfortable and inviting. I’d filled the shelves with magazines, books and a couple of board games.
‘My favourite,’ said Eva, joining in the game that still hadn’t lost its novelty value in three weeks, ‘is the box shelf of tea cups.’ Eva and I had had enormous fun trawling Portobello Road and Old Spitalfields Market to find the three delicate, floral china tea cups, and haggled for half an hour to get them down to a reasonable price.
‘Not the wine glasses?’ I asked. We both gazed at the collection of coloured glasses in smoky greys, purples and blues on the far wall.
‘They’re a close second after the jugs,’ said Eva tilting her head in the familiar gesture which showed she was still thinking about them. We’d ummed and ahhed about buying them and left them and come back three times before we finally decided to buy them.
‘Morning.’ Both Eva and I jumped, startled.
‘Are you two still admiring your handiwork?’
‘Of course, we are,’ said Eva linking her arm through mine. ‘Morning Sophie.’
‘Hey Sophie, how are you doing?’ I said leaning against Eva.
‘Great. I thought I’d pop by and let you know I’ve booked the day off next week, so I can definitely help.’
‘Oh, that’s brilliant.’ I rushed over and gave her a huge hug. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘Katie worries too much,’ said Eva bustling up and giving Sophie a kiss on each cheek. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m not worried,’ I insisted, ‘just nervous. I’ve never catered for a hundred and fifty people before.’
‘You’re nervous?’ said Sophie putting her hands on her hips. ‘I’m going to be doing a cookery demonstration to millions of people on Avril’s breakfast show.’
‘Listen to you both. Katie, you’ve never run a café before and you’re doing fine. And Sophie the demonstration will be fine …’ Mischief danced all over Eva’s face. ‘Because Avril will demand it is. And the three of us will get everything ready and then the waitresses can take over and we can enjoy the party.’
Lars had asked us, no insisted, that we do the catering for the official opening of Hjem, next week, and Eva had come up with a menu of mini savoury Danish pastries, that she, Sophie and I would prepare during the day.
After staying for a coffee, Sophie skipped off as the café got busier for the lunchtime rush. Even though Mondays were our quietest days, the tables were all full. A gorgeous young blonde girl and an older, beautifully dressed, elegant woman were discussing a book deal over their pastries, while a young couple perused a guidebook to London and a steady stream of people came in for lunch. As Eva wasn’t going to be around for ever, we’d agreed that we’d keep our main menu small and simple with an offering of four different open sandwiches and a daily special of soup with rye bread rolls.
It was after two and I took advantage of the lull to sit down in the café, rest my feet and tuck into salmon, horseradish and cream cheese on rye bread, which had rapidly become my second favourite sandwich on our menu. When the door opened I automatically looked up to gauge if Eva might need my help in the kitchen.
My heart thudded hard and almost came to a stop as I met the cold blue grey eyes of Ben. I swallowed as my mouth dried out and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The air felt charged with tension as I stared at him. There was the briefest register of surprise before his eyes narrowed and he shot me an icy glare. He glared at me! Like he had reason to be aggrieved.
For a minute, I thought he was going to ignore me.
‘Kate.’ He nodded and stalked past me to the counter.
I flushed hot as I caught a glimpse of faded jeans and a blue shirt with white buttons. A mental image popped into my head. Wrestling with the button on his jeans. The feel of his smooth skin under my palms. Heat raced across my chest and I froze, trying not to squirm in my seat. I didn’t want to let him see the immediate effect he had on me.
‘Eva!’
‘Ben!’
Oh great, now I had to sit and listen to the two of them exclaiming how lovely it was to see each other. I hunched over my coffee keeping my back to Ben. What was he doing here?
My stupid dumb brain insisted on the walk back to his flat from the restaurant. Heated kisses. His hands on my body. Sliding into my clothes. The touch of fingers inside my bra. Shit! I could feel my nipples hardening. Bastard traitors.
‘Take a seat and I’ll bring you a kanelsnegle right out.’ Eva’s voice sounded overly bright and cheerful. I was bloody going to kill her. Now I bitterly regretted not being more honest with her. I’d told her that neither Ben nor I had wanted to keep in touch after Copenhagen.
I hunched deeper into my chair, which was a bit pointless because in an empty café, he was duty bound to come and sit at my table. My vision had gone a little blurry and I felt sick.
He sat down opposite me; I could almost feel the fury coming from him in waves.
The air around us felt charged with emotion. Well I wasn’t going to rise to it. What right did he have to be angry with me?
‘Mad Fox is back with a vengeance, then,’ I blurted out, unable to stop myself, feeling my heart rate pick up.
‘I beg your pardon,’ he spat in a low voice with a quick glance at Eva who was busy in the kitchen.
‘I don’t know why you’re so cross.’ Bravely I met his furious glare as his eyes widened and his mouth pinched.
‘No one likes being used.’
‘Used?’ I echoed, flinching at the sharp dislike in his words.
‘Yeah, the minute you got your article, you threw a hissy fit because it wasn’t what you wanted and dumped me.’
I opened my mouth. ‘I … I …’ He thought I’d used him!
Like a pair of prize fighters circling each other, our eyes held. Sharp pain encircled my heart, like a fist squeezing. It hurt to be this close and remember. Remember him touching my face. Teasing my curls with his fingers.
‘Got the invitation to the opening night of Hjem. I see your mate Josh is in charge.’
I lifted my shoulders in a dispassionate shrug. I’d had absolutely no contact with anyone but HR since the day I’d walked out.
The door opened and a group of six people walked in followed by another couple. Hastily I stood up and grabbed my apron from the back of my chair, pulling it on before looking at Ben.
Confusion marred his face, the blue eyes sharpening as he worked it out.
As I turned to walk back to the kitchen, he grabbed my arm.
‘You work here?’ He glanced at t
he menu on the table and realisation bloomed on his face. ‘Katie’s Kanelsnegles.’
‘Yes,’ I snapped shaking his hand off, anxious to be free of his touch in case I did something I regretted. He thought I’d used him. Was he hurt by that? Had he cared? I couldn’t get my head around the implications. It hadn’t occurred to me that he would see things differently. In that headlong flight I’d only been thinking of myself but surely he must have known I’d feel betrayed by the article. Confusion warred against pride.
‘Why?’ He paled. ‘You didn’t … you didn’t lose your job because of the article?’
With a sneer, I turned towards him. ‘You mean the article where you completely shafted me. The one where you knew it was coming out but you still slept with me the night before. The one that made me look like a complete idiot in front of my colleagues, my client and the people that had been on the trip with us. Is that the one you mean? The one that came out but you still slept with me.’
Ben rose and put his hands on the table glowering as he spat, ‘Yeah! Because that’s the sort of man I am.’ The words dropped one by one like stones, the emotion of them striking right into my heart.
Too livid to give an inch and determined to salvage something, I said, ‘Well you’ll be pleased to hear that I quit. I suppose I ought to thank you for opening my eyes.’ With that I tossed my head and lifted my chin staring hard at him. Eva stood in the doorway, quietly observing, sadness haunting her eyes.
With an angry expletive, he pushed himself from the table, backing away, his furious gaze holding mine until the last minute, when he turned and stormed out of the café, the door slamming with an earth-shattering bang behind him. Ignoring the wide-eyed interest of the customers now gathered around tables, Eva came to stand behind me, her hand resting on my shoulder and we both looked out of the window watching as he strode down the street.
Neither of us voiced the words but I knew we were thinking what was all that about?