Christmas at Tiffany's (53 page)

She closed her eyes instead, letting the sun do what the tea had tried to do earlier – warm her up. Spring was blossoming nicely now. It was early May and the trees were fully laden with leaves again, beautifully maintained flower beds blooming almost garishly against the muted colours of the area’s unofficially adopted Farrow & Ball palette. The birds were back too, tempted by the sunny skies which even managed to make the Thames a shimmering blue.

But it wasn’t the sights that made her feel she was in London Town. With her eyes closed, she could hear its distinctive soundtrack. New York’s had honking cab horns as its brass section; Paris had the tinny percussion of whining brakes; and London had a phlegmatic woodwind chorus, courtesy of the chesty engines of the iconic black cabs and red buses.

‘Hungry?’ Suzy asked, clocking the newly carved hollows of Cassie’s cheeks. She’d not put more than a dab of tinted moisturizer on, and it was clear that the months’ stresses had taken their toll on her.

‘Nope. But let’s eat anyway,’ Cassie smiled, sensing that the question had been rhetorical.

They linked arms and walked slowly along the pavements, letting other pedestrians swerve round them. Pregnancy gave you that prerogative, and absolutely no one was going to confuse Suzy’s condition with indigestion.

‘Had an email from Henry this morning.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Mmmm. Sounds a bit low. He says they’re having a bit of difficulty getting the ship past West Svalbard – too many polynyas, whatever they are. Anyway, he sounds pretty pissed off. For once, I get the impression he really doesn’t want to be there.’

‘Oh. That’s too bad.’

‘Mmmm. Can’t usually stop him going on these adventures.’

‘Well, it is his work. He’s not just a boy scout shinning up a tree for fun.’

‘No, I guess not. I think he just wants to get back. Probably missing Lacey.’

‘Yeah, I bet he’s
gutted
to be missing out on the wedding hysteria countdown. How is Lacey, anyway?’

‘I think she’s all right. I’ve not seen her for a while. She’s been working on secondment in Bristol for the past few months.’

‘What does she do?’

‘Private Wealth Manager at Cazenove.’

‘Really? Huh.’ That figured – gorgeous
and
high-powered.

They carried on walking, eventually stopping at a little shop painted all around in pale turquoise with bold white polka dots and chocolate lettering above the door:
Kisses from Heaven
.

‘So this is where you come to worship?’ Cassie asked, eyebrows raised as Suzy practically butted the door open with her tummy.

‘Oh yeah,’ she nodded. ‘I’m a devout disciple. Go grab the table in the window. I just need to talk to Julian about Saturday’s wedding.’

Cassie took a seat as Suzy started talking to a small, slim man behind the counter. He had a thatch of dark brown hair and really dark eyes. He looked up and waved at Cassie as Suzy pressed her nose against the glass counter, looking at the day’s fresh offerings.

Cassie looked all around her at couples and small groups, mothers and children all huddled at their tables, laughing and gossiping and chatting among themselves, picking at their cupcakes, which were whipped and frothed dashes of whimsy, iced in all the colours of the rainbow. It was a world away from the pared-back, biodynamic vision Claude had had for C.A.C., where the food was to be served up on sheets of slate and oiled slabs of balsam wood, and flowers were intended for ingestion, not just decoration. In fact, she almost smiled at the thought of his bear-like reaction to this den of kitsch; he was, after all, the man who’d introduced her to the elegance of Ladurée (well, Henry too). And yet, nonetheless, the ambitions of both places were the same – to bring people together through a love of food.

She sighed at the thought of what she’d lost again. Not just a friend, but a path – for she knew she was too green to go it alone. Under Claude’s tutelage, she might just have been able to wing it, but only thanks to some rampant nepotism. His huge reputation would have shielded her from the accurate, inevitable accusations that she was nothing more than an enthusiastic amateur, but without him, she was just a lamb for the slaughter.

Suzy came back a few minutes later with a tray laden with tea and two enormous cupcakes covered in an intricate lace-work of spun sugar, like gold thread, cupped around a glistening cherry on top.

‘It looks like a bird in a cage,’ Cassie trilled delightedly, aware of the covetous glances of their neighbours.

‘I know,’ Suzy beamed. ‘This is an exclusive. We’re doing them for Saturday instead of a big cake.’

‘Can I crash it?’

Suzy rolled her eyes. ‘Trust me. You wouldn’t want to. I’ll be so glad when I’ve put this wedding to bed, I tell you.’

Cassie laid her hands on the table. ‘I’m worried about you.’

‘And I’m worried about you.’

‘No!
Please
let’s not go on about me and my woes any more. I’m so bored talking about my problems. I mean it, Suze. You look exhausted. I think you’re doing too much.’

Suzy paused for a moment, and Cassie could tell she was wrangling over whether or not to concede defeat. ‘Well, it’s only in the last couple of weeks that I’ve started to notice it.’

‘So let me help you. I’m here till the baby’s born, anyway. Put me to work.’

She had no idea where she was going to go after the baby was born. Suzy would need the spare room, and having forefeited her savings on the deposit for the bedsit in Paris, and with no decent paid job here, she wouldn’t be able to afford anything in London, unless the divorce suddenly, magically happened. She could go back to New York, perhaps? Kelly and Brett would be married by then, so she couldn’t stay there, but Bas might put her up . . . ?

Suzy looked at her. ‘I assumed you’d want to find another chef’s position. I was going to ask Julian whether . . . that’s why I brought you here.’

Cassie shook her head vehemently. ‘No. I couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway. I think I need to step out of the kitchen just for a while. Regroup. I was punching above my weight for a bit there.’

‘But it made you so happy.’

‘Yes. And then it didn’t. I don’t know if – well, it was so tied in with Claude.’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Sure. I get it,’ Suzy said, patting her hand. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . . I really could do with a girl Friday.’

‘Great! So let me have it.’ She reached down into her bag and pulled out a notepad.

‘What, now?’

‘No time like the present.’

Suzy sighed and pulled her BlackBerry from her pocket. ‘Well . . .’ she mused, scanning her lists. ‘If you could swing by Elizabeth Street to pick up the favours for the Aussie wedding . . . then on your way back stop in at the printers – I’ll text you the address – to approve some invitations for a couple wanting a “summer of love” wedding in Primrose Hill – honestly, why they don’t just hold it at Glastonbury, I don’t know. Anyway, the theme is “festival” and the invitations have to look like tickets. Get them to give you a proof to bring back to me. Oh God, and I need to audition some bands for Kelly’s wedding, so be back with me for four and we’ll road-test them together. Should be a laugh. Hmmm . . . oh, and . . . oh, no. No. That’s all.’

‘No, what is it?’

‘Honestly, Cass. I’ll deal with it.’

‘Please tell me. I want to do it.’

Suzy shot her look. ‘Trust me, you don’t.’

Cassie shot a look back.

‘Fine. I was going to ask you to go to New Covent Garden Market tomorrow to check Dean’s got the order in for Aussie Bride’s bouquet. I have a face-to-face with him every Wednesday.’

‘That’s fine,’ Cassie shrugged. ‘What’s the big deal about that?’

‘You need to go at five.’

Cassie looked at her blankly. Then twigged, nearly choking on her drink. ‘In the
morning
?’

Suzy nodded. ‘See why I said I’d do it?’

Cassie swallowed bravely. She couldn’t believe she was going to say this. ‘Suze. You are almost eight months pregnant and run off your feet. You and five a.m. are going to be good pals in a few weeks.
I’ll
go. I can do it. How hard can it be?’

‘Famous last bloody words,’ Cassie fumed as she tried for the fifth time to reverse-park Suzy’s shiny new red Fiat 500 across from the giant gates of the market. It was like stepping into a parallel universe. The sky was still dark, with just a chink of light peeping over the rooftops as the sun made a dozy ascent into the sky, but within this gated community bright halogens were on, dimming the reverse lights of lorries filled with tulips from Amsterdam, which were beep-beep-beeping away over the cheery shouts of the dawn workers.

Cassie walked in slowly, stunned that there should be –
could
be – this much life so early in the morning. She checked, for the third time, that she wasn’t still in her dressing gown and slippers. It was hard to tell when her eyes wouldn’t focus and her hands defiantly refused to perform any micro-dexterous activities like opening doors or turning on the ignition.

She checked the note Suzy had given her.
Dean Marshall, Marshall and Son, Door 4, N12.

She walked into the lights, feeling like she was entering the final frontier. The harsh light was shocking to her dormant body, but not as much as the drop in temperature and the heady scent of millions of flowers in one space. It was like several slaps in the face, and she woke up properly. How the heck did Suzy find her way around here?

She couldn’t see above most of the stalls, and many of them were so deep it felt like wading through meadows. Some stalls had tables laid out with elegant arrangements for inspiration, others had giant glass globes or antique Portland stone urns frothing with flora, and many just had long flat pallets with stems laid out, or deep plastic buckets with thick bunches of flowers propped up in them.

There was a bonhomie among the traders and customers, most of whom seemed to know each other well. They were all wrapped up in puffa jackets, hats and fingerless gloves, clasping steaming cups of tea in polystyrene cups as they chatted and laughed and haggled.

Cassie shivered a little, regretting her choice of waffle-knitted grandad top and jeans. It was May, but still the middle of the night. Almost.

Bright plastic banners stretched between steel poles or tied between buckets proclaimed the names of the stallholders, and she began to move more quickly, finding Marshall and Son thanks to a bright blue banner with yellow letters strung from the metal rafters above.

A plump man in his mid-thirties, wearing a black beanie and green anorak, was sitting on an upturned bucket, writing notes across a wooden plank that he was using as a makeshift table. A royal blue thermos flask sat to his right, and he was slurping his tea from the red plastic lid.

‘Mr Marshall?’

He looked up and gave Cassie a great big smile.

‘Hello. Who’s asking?’

Cassie held her hand out. ‘Hi. I’m Cassie Fraser. I’m working for Suzy McLintlock.’

‘Suzy! Well any friend of hers is a friend of mine.’ He stood up and leaned across the plank. ‘Dean. Pleased to meet you.’ He looked at her more closely. ‘Blimey. You look perished. Fancy a cuppa?’ He pulled a thick china mug from behind a bucket of petunias. There was a big chip at the rim and it looked like the handle had been glued back on.

‘Ooh. That’s the best offer I’ve had all day,’ she smiled.

Dean poured her a cup and she let the steam warm her face for a moment. ‘Brrrr. I should have realized it would be chilly in here.’

‘Oh yes. All year round.’

‘Do you ever get used to it?’

‘I don’t know no different. Worked here all my life. I’m the son in the “and Son” bit.’

‘Oh. So I guess you’re used to the early starts as well, then.’

Dean smiled. ‘Oh yes. Although my wife isn’t, bless her.’

‘What time did you get here this morning?’

‘The usual. Three.’

For the second time in two days, Cassie choked on her tea.

‘You’re not a lark, then,’ he chuckled.

Cassie shook her head. ‘No. Famously not, actually. You might need to keep your thermos filled up. I don’t think this is going to get any easier for me.’

‘Done,’ he said, toasting the deal with his plastic cup. ‘So, I ’spect Suzy’s sent you over to check on her order for Saturday’s job,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘Lemme see,’ he murmured, pulling out a ringbound notebook. ‘Yeah, she’s got that yellow and green theme this week, don’t she? Right, well, the Green Goddess Calla Lily’s fine. I get those daily from Holland, no problemo. And the orchids . . .’ He looked up at her. ‘She did settle on the dendrobiums in the end? Not the cymbidiums?’

‘Uh . . .’ Cassie quickly checked the wedding file she’d brought with her. ‘Yes. Yes the den . . . dendrib . . .’

‘Dendrobiums,’ Dean said, grinning. ‘Good. That’s just as well, because they’re coming from Thailand and they’ve already been shipped. They should arrive day after tomorrow.’ He looked up. ‘So everything’s bang on schedule. No worries.’