Christmas in London Read online

  “Because he was being kind. You might think that anyone with a decent haircut and gold watch only thinks about himself, but you’re wrong. Ian didn’t even try to kiss me goodnight after the Snowdrop Ball.” Her eyes flashed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out what to wear to a Scottish Christmas.”

  “Kate, I’m sorry,” Trevor said. “I’m a little disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” she asked.

  “I phoned my mother and she was going to borrow a rollaway,” he explained. “It would have been in the living room and you would have been woken up too early on Christmas morning, but we could have spent the holidays together.”

  “I already said yes to Ian.” She bit her lip. “It would be impolite to cancel.”

  “You’re not missing anything. My mother can’t cook a decent ham and no one has the courage to tell her.” He walked to the door. “I have to go do my laundry. I’ll see you later.”

  “Trevor, wait.” Kate suddenly felt as if she was losing something important.

  “Yes?” He turned around.

  “Thank you, it was very nice of you to try. I’ll come with you to the laundry.” She joined him. “We wouldn’t want the dryer eating up your last pair of socks.”

  * * *

  Kate put the glass of sherry on the sideboard and unzipped her dress. Noah had the whole day scheduled tomorrow and she needed to get some sleep.

  What would have happened if she had spent that first Christmas with Trevor’s family instead of with Ian? It was like when you see a handsome man sitting five rows ahead of you on an airplane. You always wonder if everything would be different if you’d sat in seat 5B. But life wasn’t like that. Many things went into shaping your future.

  Her phone buzzed and she pressed Accept.

  “What are you doing awake?” Trevor asked. “It’s past midnight.”

  “I’m in London to work,” she reminded him. “My inbox is lit up like a Christmas tree.”

  “I was wondering if you would like to have breakfast tomorrow morning,” he offered. “We can go to the Foyer and have Scottish haddock omelets. You can even bring your laptop and I’ll feed you eggs while you work.”

  Kate slipped off her earring and pressed the phone to her ear. “I had a wonderful time tonight, but I’m not sure we should see each other. I’ll be gone in a few days and it will have been for nothing.”

  “We don’t have to think about the future, we can just enjoy each other’s company.” He paused. “Never mind about breakfast. Tomorrow night I’ve been invited to a reception at Buckingham Palace. The Queen won’t be there but it will be in the White Drawing Room.”

  “Buckingham Palace!” Kate gasped.

  “Someone saw me at the club and sent me an invitation,” he explained. “It’s just a little Christmas gathering, but they give out lovely presents. It would be much more fun if you were there.”

  “You really have an invitation to Buckingham Palace?” she responded. “But won’t people think it’s odd that you’re there without Susannah?”

  “I’ll just tell them she’s stuck in the country. One of us had to attend and you’re an old friend from college.”

  “You do know how to impress a woman,” she laughed. “I’ve always been crazy about the royal family. I’d love to come.”

  “I’m glad. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He paused. “And Kate, would you do something for me and wear the white gloves? They make you look like a princess.”

  Kate hung up and slipped on her robe. She’d seen The Nutcracker at Covent Garden and tomorrow she was attending a reception at Buckingham Palace! She pulled back the satin sheets and climbed into bed. Christmas at Claridge’s was better than she imagined.

  Chapter Nine

  LOUISA SAT ON THE SOFA in the suite’s living room and took out her card to Chloe. It was barely 8:00 a.m. and she longed to be snuggled under Claridge’s down comforter. She wished the curtains were closed and the central heating was on high and the sheets were pulled right up to her chin.

  She had been so excited last night after she returned from Digby’s first master class, she couldn’t sleep. She sat at the desk in her suite and scribbled down everything Digby taught them: how to make the pastry for an eggnog cup and how much Madeira to use in a butterscotch and banana trifle.

  She suddenly longed for a cup of black coffee from the coffeepot at the bakery on the Lower East Side. This morning she would have added two spoonfuls of beans to make the coffee extra strong.

  Digby had asked her to accompany him to the Pimlico Farmers’ Market to buy supplies for tomorrow afternoon’s class. They were going to choose lemons for a panettone and figs for a holiday roll and pears for a kumquat pudding.

  The market was tucked away in Orange Square. Only chefs and locals shopped there, and the fresh produce was one of London’s best-kept secrets.

  It would have been nice if they could have gone a little later, when it wasn’t so cold. A layer of ice covered Hyde Park and the guests entering Claridge’s wore floor-length coats and leather boots.

  But she had to meet Noah and board the double-decker bus at 11:00 a.m. Anyway, attending a farmers’ market early was part of the charm. The rest of the city was still waking up but the market bustled with people and activity. Vendors offered you pastry samples and there was the scent of fresh bread and spices.

  Last night, Noah’s light hadn’t been on when she returned from the master class. She had knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Maybe he had gone out for a late dinner or to a club. It really was none of her business; he could do whatever he liked.

  Her phone buzzed and she pressed Accept.

  “Louisa, it’s Ellie,” a female voice said over the line.

  “What are you doing up so late?” Louisa exclaimed, wondering if anything was wrong. “It’s 3:00 a.m. in New York.”

  “You know how busy the bakery is the week before Christmas, I’m too wound up to sleep. I thought I’d catch up on phone calls and see how you’re doing. Chloe received your recipe card and she’s beaming. I said she had to wait to make the Rudolph Shortbread until you come back, but she begged me to go out today and buy the pipe cleaners. It was such a sweet gesture, I really appreciate it.”

  “I still feel slightly guilty for running off the week before Christmas, even though I’m covered at the bakery,” Louisa explained. “Plus, I love baking with Chloe. She has natural talent. I was just sitting down to write a new card.” She turned over the embossed card. “We’re going to make Snowdippers. They’re like cake pops with dark chocolate and marshmallows and all white sprinkles. We’ll wrap them in cellophane paper and she can give them to her friends as presents.”

  “It sounds wonderful. Now I want to hear all about you,” Ellie prompted. “It’s raining in Manhattan and I’m mired in bookkeeping. Tell me about Claridge’s and Harrods and all the exciting things you’re doing in London.”

  “Well, I’m going to the outdoor market with Digby Bunting this morning,” Louisa admitted.

  “Did you say Digby Bunting?” Ellie gasped. “He’s the heartthrob of the culinary world.”

  “He’s very nice in person and he’s taken an interest in my baking,” Louisa said warmly. “He asked me to attend his series of master classes, and now he’s taking me shopping for ingredients.”

  “You’re gone four days and you’re already hobnobbing with baking royalty,” Ellie laughed. “Next you’ll be serving apple pie à la mode to the Queen.”

  “I doubt that, but I am having a good time,” Louisa conceded. “Thank you for letting me go.”

  “You did something wonderful for me too. Bianca is going to mention the bakery on television,” Ellie reminded her. “Send us some photos of you and Digby at the outdoor market. I’ll pin them on the wall so our clients know that you’re rubbing elbows with one of the hottest pastry chefs in the world.”

  Louisa hung up the phone and wrote out the recipe card for Chloe. She slipped it in an envelope and walk
ed to the closet in her bedroom. She was meeting Digby soon and had to get dressed.

  She was tempted to pull on a pair of jeans and her thickest sweater. But Digby was a celebrity. What if the paparazzi saw them and snapped a photo? Noah would be furious if her picture was splashed across The Sun and she wasn’t dressed properly. As long as she was representing Baking with Bianca, she had to look her best.

  She reached into the closet and selected a pair of camel-colored slacks and a scoop-neck sweater. She brushed her hair and applied her makeup and hurried into the hallway.

  A man in a leather jacket stood at the elevator. A newspaper was folded under his arm and he held a coffee mug.

  “Louisa!” Noah turned around. “What are you doing up so early? You’ve been so cranky in the mornings; I arranged the schedule so you could sleep in. I imagined you’d be lying in bed dreaming of sugar plum fairies.”

  “I started work at the bakery every morning at 5:00 a.m.,” she reminded Noah. “And I wasn’t cranky, I was jet-lagged. Cranky is a mood you can snap out of by inhaling a floral perfume. Jet lag feels like a disease. It drags your whole body down like quicksand. I’m much better now, I could run a marathon.”

  “You’re not running a marathon in those shoes.” He eyed her narrow heels. “Where are you going?”

  Louisa gulped and suddenly wondered what Noah would say about Digby’s master classes. If only she could have told him yesterday, before she went. But it wasn’t her fault he had been gone all afternoon and evening.

  “I haven’t seen you since you disappeared to track down that camera,” she said evasively. “I have so much to tell you.”

  “It was a scavenger hunt,” he said and sighed. “The camera was at Gatwick instead of Heathrow, and on the way back the taxi got stuck in a traffic jam. The driver ended up sharing his packet of chips and ham sandwich because it took us four hours to get to Claridge’s. I didn’t go to bed until midnight and now Kate wants me to buy props for our shoot. She thinks you should wear a red raincoat and hold an umbrella.”

  “It’s not raining.” She peered out the hallway window.

  “She thinks it will set the mood. I wouldn’t mind a little rain, it might warm things up.” He shivered. “I had to go out earlier and it was as cold as a ski resort. I hope you’re not going farther than the lobby, you’re going to freeze without a proper coat and boots.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” she blurted out. “I’m going to the Pimlico Farmers’ Market with Digby Bunting.”

  “What did you say?” Noah’s eyes flashed.

  “People are waiting.” She gestured to the open elevator. “Perhaps we should talk about it later.”

  “We’ll talk about it now.” He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to send it down without them. He stepped out again and the door closed. “Why are you going to the farmers’ market at the crack of dawn wearing a low-neck sweater and stilettos?”

  “It’s hardly the crack of dawn, and you have to go to the farmers’ market early. The best fruits and vegetables are gone by 9:00 a.m.,” she informed him. “And this is a scoop-neck sweater, you picked it yourself.”

  “For a cocktail party where the lights are dim and everyone’s wearing holiday attire,” he spluttered. “And those shoes belong on a runway model.”

  “I was only trying to make you happy. If anyone took a photo of Digby and me and I looked like I rolled out of bed, the paparazzi would go crazy.” She realized what she just said and put her hand to her mouth.

  Noah’s cheeks paled and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Maybe you should tell me everything I missed. Because if Kate finds out you spent the night with Digby Bunting, there will be a terrible scandal. She will be furious at me for hiring you, and I’ll wish I was on the first flight to New York.”

  “Of course I didn’t spend the night with him!” she exclaimed. “I left his flat at 10:00 p.m. And how dare you think I’d do anything to jeopardize Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s. I was only there because he invited me to his master class.” She sighed. “It was so thrilling. Six chefs gathered in a state-of-the-art Mayfair kitchen. I made a Bûche de Noël and Digby said it was the best he ever tasted. After class, he opened a bottle of sherry and we all ate each other’s desserts.”

  “Digby invited you to a master class?”

  “Yesterday after the meeting.” She nodded. “We had afternoon tea at the Foyer. He holds a series of master classes that usually has a waiting list longer than a kid’s letter to Santa Claus.” She paused. “It’s very selective, only skilled chefs are invited.”

  “Digby invited you to his master classes when he never sampled your pastries?” he asked suspiciously.

  “What are you implying?” she demanded.

  “Didn’t you ever have a boy in high school who needed help with his algebra homework? You go to his house to study and his textbook is in his bedroom. The next thing you know, you’re pushing him away and dashing down the stairs.” He waved his hand. “Digby didn’t invite you because of your crème fraîche icing; he invited you because he wanted to sleep with you!”

  “That’s an outrageous thing to say,” she gasped. “There were five other chefs there. The only other room I saw was the powder room. And he knows I’m a serious chef, I’m part of Christmas Dinner at Claridge’s.”

  “I know how guys like Digby operate,” he insisted. “He may not have made his move last night, but he invited you for an early-morning rendezvous.”

  “To the farmers’ market! He picks one student to help buy supplies before each class,” she explained. “I’m going to learn how to choose the freshest eggs and the best type of ricotta for a cheesecake.”

  He rubbed his brow. “I’ll come with you.”

  “What did you say?” she looked at him.

  “We’ll film you and Digby eating sliced ham and sampling local cheeses. We can shoot a whole segment on Pimlico Road, there are some fabulous boutiques and galleries.”

  “I’m meeting him there in twenty minutes,” she protested. “You don’t have your camera operator.”

  “I’ll shoot it with my iPhone.” He took her arm and led her into the elevator. “I wouldn’t ever want a camera operator to be out of work, but the camera quality on the iPhone is excellent.”

  * * *

  Pimlico Road was lined with interior design stores and antiques shops and art galleries. Plate-glass windows were filled with old-fashioned sleigh beds and bone china. There was a haberdashery that sold handmade linens and a goldsmith that specialized in 18-karat gold jewelry.

  “Pimlico Road doesn’t have elegant boutiques like the King’s Road but it has some of the best antiques stores in London,” Louisa said, peering into a furniture store. “Someday, I’m going to buy a cottage in Upstate New York and furnish it with floral sofas and woven rugs. It will have a farmhouse kitchen and an attic that can be converted into a nursery.”

  “I thought all you want is your own restaurant,” Noah said in surprise.

  “That’s all I want now, and I’ll sacrifice anything to get it.” She nodded. “Eventually I want a home and family. I don’t want anything fancy. I could never be one of those women who has a living room where the cushions are always plumped and there isn’t a smudge on the coffee table. But in ten years, I’d love to get married and have children.”

  “Ten years is a long time to wait,” he offered. “What if you don’t meet the right guy? Your biological clock will stop ticking and you’ll never have a family.”

  “That’s a gloomy prediction,” she laughed. “I can’t worry about it now. I’m so close to opening my own restaurant. This time next year I’ll be serving cinnamon rolls and pecan pie to customers lining up at the door.” She paused and her eyes sparkled. “I don’t know how to thank you for bringing me to London. You are my Christmas guardian angel and I’m very grateful.”

  “There is something I was going to ask you…” Noah began.

  “What is it?�
� She turned to Noah.

  A man called to them from the other side of the street. He wore a cashmere overcoat and Burberry scarf.

  “That’s Digby,” Noah said, looking up. “It will have to wait.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to be filmed?” she said anxiously. “We should have asked him first.”

  “Digby lives for the camera.” Noah shrugged. “He probably wishes there was a cameraman in the bathroom to see him flexing his muscles when he shaves.”

  Louisa turned to Noah and her good mood dissolved.

  “That’s a terrible thing to say! You have to be polite to Digby,” she warned him. “I’m very lucky that he invited me to his master class.”

  “I’m only here to get footage for Kate,” he assured her. “I’d never let my personal feelings get in the way of my job.”

  “There you are!” Digby joined them. “I’m sorry I’m late. I stopped and picked up two cappuccinos. It’s so cold this morning, the only thing that warms me up is scalding-hot coffee.”

  “I’m exactly the same. Thank you.” She accepted the cup and inhaled the sweet aroma. “This is Noah. If you don’t mind, he’s going to film our shopping expedition.”

  “Why should I mind?” He shook Noah’s hand and Louisa noticed his palms were perfectly smooth.

  They entered the farmers’ market and Louisa sucked in her breath. There were stalls of Bramley apples and Comice pears. Glass cases were filled with cheeses with bright-red rinds and plump figs. Digby pointed out bronze and black Christmas turkeys, and sausages that smelled so good, Louisa was suddenly starving.

  “This is so inspiring.” She eyed jars of blackberry jelly. “Whenever I see the berries at the farmers’ market in New York, I want to go straight to the bakery and bake a strawberry cream cake or blueberry tart.”

  “What are your aspirations?” Dibgy turned to her.

  “My aspirations?” she repeated.

  “Do you want to be the pastry chef at a grand hotel like the Ritz, Paris or the St. Regis in New York? Or would you rather be the head pastry chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant?”