The Cosy Teashop in the Castle: The bestselling feel-good rom com of the year

Deana popped her head around the door. ‘Hi, Ellie, how’s it all going?’

‘Not bad thanks. I’m on a major cleaning session.’ She clambered down off her ladder, happy to have a short break. Ellie mentioned the visitor records. It was a relief to find they did take that information, and Deana promised to get it ready for her in time for her meeting with Joe. One hurdle over at least. But she had a feeling there were going to be plenty more.

‘Have you got time for a quick cuppa?’ Ellie offered.

‘Only if you have, pet. Looks like you’ve got a lot on.’

‘Well, five minutes won’t hurt, and I was ready for a cup anyhow. I’m parched and my tongue tastes of disinfectant.’

‘Okay, then. Thank you.’

Ellie popped the kettle on and set out a teapot for the brew.

‘Deana, do they have any strange habits here I should know about?’ She was still thinking about Bambi’s dad out in the corridor.

‘Oh, yes, for sure. Lord Henry’s often a little quirky, but are there any particular ones you’re interested in?’ Deana had a wry grin on her face.

‘The freezer, that’s all. There’s something unusual in there.’

‘Oh God! He’s not saving stuff for the bloody taxidermist again, is he? What’s he got in there this time?’

Ellie wasn’t even sure what a taxidermist was – not someone who gave you a lift anyhow, but she had a feeling Deana knew exactly what was going on.

‘Animal?’

‘Yep.’

‘Which?’

‘Deer. A stag I think.’

‘Ah, it’ll be for stuffing and wall-mounting, not my kind of thing. But each to their own. It’s a country, hunting thing. But I’ve told him before not to use the bloody tearoom freezers. It probably didn’t fit in his own, that’s all.’

Hunting trophies. Collecting animal heads. That was just weird. Country life was certainly odd!

They had a quick cup of tea and a nice chat, Deana mentioning some of the other castle workers who she might meet in the coming days. Then she said she’d better be getting on, and leave Ellie in peace.

‘Just give me a shout if you need anything, though. Ring a nine for the office.’

‘Okay, thanks, Deana. Will do.’

Then Ellie set herself away with the mop and bucket once more.

It was five to one, and she realised she hadn’t had any lunch and her whole body was aching. She still had the two ovens to clean, the microwave, and then all the working surfaces needed a thorough going-over with antibacterial spray. But it’d have to wait till later in the afternoon now. She needed to see Joe – armed with her million and one questions. She peeled off her rubber gloves, already with a sticky leak in the right index fingertip, and set off across the courtyard, up the stairs, past her own room and up again.

Standing before the Private Keep Out sign, it dawned on her, unfortunately just after she had knocked, that she was wearing an old tracksuit sporting bleach marks and her hair was scraped back in a ponytail. Damn.

His ‘Come in’ was formal. He was on the phone as she went in, so she took the seat opposite him quietly and looked around the room, pretending not to be listening in. It was more modern than Lord Henry’s office, the desk more like something from Ikea than the Georgian period. The room was tidy, there was a small grey-and-brown tartan sofa set to one side, the desk with in-tray, laptop, phone and pen, his black leather chair, and another comfy black chair where she sat down. The shelves on the back wall held a neat selection of books: Business Management, Stately and Country Homes, a few crime thrillers, mountaineering, skiing, no Batman annuals that she could see – hah! There was a door ajar off to another room. She wondered if he had a suite, and if that might lead to his private quarters.

His voice raised. She turned her focus back to him. He looked rather stern. ‘What do you mean you can’t come until Friday? That’s too late. We’re open then. The contract clearly states you would be here to do the work on the Wednesday.’ He listened a while, raising his eyebrows in frustration at Ellie as a tinny voice rattled on. Then Joe stated, calmly but with a don’t-mess-with-me tone, ‘Look, I don’t care what your issues are at that end, I need the service I have paid you for and I need it by Wednesday afternoon at the latest. Ring me back when you’ve sorted it out.’

He switched off the phone, looking right at Ellie, ‘Incompetent buggers.’

Ellie broke into a nervous smile. She wondered if she might be placed in that category very swiftly, especially when he realised she didn’t have a clue about how much food to order in.

‘Right, sorry, we’ve a lot to go over, haven’t we?’ Luckily his grumpy mood had dissipated, and he seemed fairly patient with her as she ran though her long list of queries. He had questions to ask her too: yes, she had organised the public liability insurance, costing her an arm and a leg, yes, she’d contacted the two existing waitresses, who were coming in tomorrow afternoon to make themselves known to her, and to chat about their role.

He brought out two sheets of A4. ‘The admissions figures for the Easter weekend last year. Deana said you wanted them?’ His last comment came out as a question.

She gulped back a little knot in her throat; did she dare explain her ordering dilemma? But surely it was better to be honest now than cock up the whole launch weekend by either over- or under-ordering.

He was gazing intently at her, as if he was waiting for her to say something. Eventually he spoke first, ‘And you’ve got the phone number for Breakers, the suppliers, haven’t you?’

‘Yes,’ her voice was timid, on the brink of her revelation that she was an incompetent fraud.

His dark eyes fixed hers.

‘Okay,’ she started tentatively, ‘I have a bit of a confession, I’m really not sure what quantities to order in.’ So there it was, her lack of catering experience out in the open. He’d probably rue his decision now; they’d have a dreadful Easter, the food would run out and he’d be left handling numerous complaints … She could see it all now. He’d have to cancel her contract and that’d be it.

‘I see.’ He ran his fingers through his dark floppy fringe and let out a slow sigh, a look of concern crossing his brow. ‘Ellie, I thought you had experience in catering? You’d certainly led us to believe that in the interview.’ He paused, while she sat feeling more and more uncomfortable. ‘Well, those figures will tell you who came into the castle but not who ate at the tearooms or what they ate. I’m afraid I don’t have the details of the previous tenant’s ordering.’ He held her gaze, then continued, ‘We really need the tearooms to run well over Easter. It’s the reputation of the castle that’s at stake.’

‘I know.’ Her voice was small. She felt terrible.

‘Ellie, I’ve gone out on a limb here to secure you the tearooms’ lease.’ He was frowning.

Okay, well there was no need to be quite so miserable about it. She was new to all this and had never pretended to be Jamie Oliver or anything. ‘I was only asking for a bit of advice.’

He said nothing, just looked at her.

‘Right, well I’ll just find someone else to ask. I do have other contacts.’ She got up to leave. She’d sort it somehow.

‘Ellie,’ his voice stopped her at the door, ‘What I’d suggest is when you call up Breakers, who incidentally supplied us last year as well, you ask if they keep details of back orders and find out exactly what was ordered for last Easter. I’m sure they’ll have that information.’

She felt the heat flush up her neck. Could it really be that easy? And why the hell hadn’t she thought of that? What an idiot. It seemed obvious now. She wondered what he must think of her. Totally inept came to mind. Though his opinion was hard to read. He seemed to have a deeper side to him that shielded his emotions, but at least he was trying to help her, if only to save his own bacon in front of Lord Henry.

‘Oh, and get a little more of everything in just in case,’ his tone lifted. ‘I’ve got a feeling your food’s going to be far more appealing than Mrs Charlton’s last year,’ he added, which made her feel marginally better. ‘Okay, well, if there’s nothing else, I have a rather busy afternoon ahead.’

‘Actually, there is one more thing. I was going to ask you about the freezers. Are they for the tearooms? The ones out in the corridor next to the kitchen.’

‘Oh, yes. They are yours to use.’

‘Right, well, there is a bit of a problem with the far freezer?’ She paused, ‘A problem with antlers on. I mentioned it to Deana when she popped in earlier.’

‘Oh, Christ, it’ll be Henry’s hunting trophies again, for sure. He shot a stag on the estate last month. I bet he’s waiting for the taxidermist to collect it. I’m sorry. I’ll get it moved … I’m never quite sure what he’s going to do next. Eccentric doesn’t cover the half of it,’ he grimaced.

‘Thanks. And look, I–I’m sorry about the confusion with the ordering, I’ll be fine once I get everything up and running.’ She stood, crossing her fingers behind her back.

‘Yes, well let’s hope so.’ He echoed her concerns. His confidence in her had obviously been dented. Well, she’d just have to prove herself, wouldn’t she? Get this first order right. Cook some great food, and keep the customers happy.

‘Right, well, I suppose I’d better get back to my cleaning duties. I’m on to the ovens now.’

‘That won’t be a pleasant job, for sure. Oh, and I hear you’re meeting with the waitresses tomorrow. Best of luck.’ He said no more as she rose to leave.

Hmn, would she be needing luck with that, then?

She’d made a batch of cherry-and-almond scones: a) to test out the kitchen ovens, which seemed to be fine, except the main one had a mind of its own when you were trying to put stuff in or out – the door swinging to a close (she had the burn mark on her forearm to show for it), and b) to offer to Nicola and Doris, her waitressing staff, as a welcome gesture. They were due to appear any minute for a quick hello and general introduction before they started work officially on Friday morning. Ellie felt nervous; she wasn’t used to dealing with staff, well not as the boss, anyhow, and wanted to appear friendly but also efficient.

She was testing out the ancient filter-coffee machine that looked like a relic from the seventies, when there was a brusque knock on the teashop door.

‘Come on in,’ she called.

A fifty-something, short-but-wide lady marched in, with brown, grey-tinged hair set in a rounded bob, wrapped up in several layers of winter clothing, followed by a timid-looking girl of no more than nineteen, who was tall, slim, with curtains of straight dark hair that flowed past her shoulders – she had the palest skin.

Ellie smiled and said ‘Hello’ as she offered her hand to greet them, ‘I’m Ellie.’

‘Doris,’ the older lady announced. She took Ellie’s hand with quite some grip, ‘And this is Nicola.’ The young girl didn’t get chance to introduce herself. Her handshake was gentle. As she looked up, Ellie saw she had the most amazing blue eyes; with her dark hair she looked unusual. She had a gothic air about her, and more than a hint of Morticia. Well, they were certainly a contrasting pair. As long as they worked hard for her, that was all that mattered.

‘Right, well, nice to meet you both. I was just trying to work out the coffee machine here. I’ve made some scones. I thought you might like something while we have a quick chat. They’re cherry and almond.’

‘Hmn,’ Doris’s nose was raised, sniffing out change. ‘Vera Charlton used to make sultana or cheese scones, traditional she was,’ her tone was accusatory, ‘Had a lot of experience.’

‘Well, they sound nice. I’ll try one.’ Nicola was more positive, at least.

‘Okay, I’ll just get this coffee on.’ Ellie fiddled about with the old-fashioned coffee maker, trying to work out where you poured in the water. She’d filled one of the two glass jugs, and placed the empty one on the hot plate, she’d even found some sachets of filter coffee left in the kitchen, only just in date, and a couple of filter papers.

‘I’ll do it, shall I?’ Doris muscled in, with a tut, her tone not in the least bit patient. ‘Look, the water goes in there, Missy.’ There was some kind of grated hatch at the top.

And Missy? Ellie tried to keep her tone light. ‘Okay, yes, I see. Not used one of these before. Right, I’ll fetch the scones, shall I?’ This wasn’t going quite as she had planned.

Doris had taken her Michelin-man padded coat off by the time Ellie got back with the scones and butter, all laid out nicely on a tray. The coffee was filtering through, and Ellie popped scones onto plates, setting out the nearest table for the three of them. As they sat down, Doris announced, ‘I’d rather tea with scones,’ with a bright, testing smile on her face.

Ellie had the feeling she was being played. ‘Well, I can make a pot of tea if you’d rather.’ She tried to keep her response light and breezy. Cool, calm, collected. Christ, what would Doris be like with the customers? She’d be scaring them away! But finding someone else at this short notice would be tricky, and Lord Henry had insisted that Ellie give the previous staff a chance, which seemed only fair. Mind you, she’d make it bloody clear they were on a six-week probation period. She even had a contract ready for them to sign up to cover herself, thanks to Kirsty, who’d had some nightmare issues with staff in the past.

‘Oh no, don’t trouble yourself just for me, just saying that I would normally have tea.’

‘Coffee’s good for me,’ piped up Nicola, showing some support. That seemed to shut Doris up, though she gave her waitressing colleague a sideways look as if to say remember whose side you’re on.

Ellie poured out filter coffee, which smelled rich and roasted, and they took their scones and started eating as they chatted. ‘Well, obviously you’ve both worked here before. So you know the general set-up.’ More than me, she was thinking with a hint of panic that she kept down. ‘I’m not planning to change too much initially. I’ve just moved the furniture around a bit, as you can see.’ The waitresses nodded. ‘And I intend getting some oilcloths on the tables – easier for clearing up, and some flowers to brighten the place.’

‘Sounds nice,’ Nicola commented.

Doris was nodding quietly, waiting for her moment to strike, no doubt.

‘I’ll be doing the majority of the cooking. I’m trying to keep most of it homemade. And I’d like you to concentrate on serving, clearing the tables, just being friendly.’ Would that be possible for dour Doris? ‘I thought we’d take orders at the counter. So people can come up and see the cakes and what we have on offer.’

‘Come up to order?’ Doris made it sound like Ellie had just suggested they waitress in bunny-girl outfits. Ellie tried to push away the image that was forming in her mind – Doris in a … no, no, no. ‘Well, that’ll never work. We always used to take orders at the tables. Proper waitress service, that is.’ Her moment was evidently here. ‘Our customers like that. Feel they are being looked after.’ She was shaking her head at Ellie and tutting away like Skippy the kangaroo.

Ellie knew she’d have to stand her ground. She was the one in charge, after all, ‘Well, I believe it gives the customer a chance to see what cakes and treats there are on offer, which is helpful for them and will surely lead to more sales. They can order quickly, take their teas and coffees, and then take their seats and relax, as we’ll still be serving them thereafter. It happens in lots of places that way, and most people seem very happy to do that.’

‘Well, it didn’t happen here,’ Doris grumbled on.

‘It will from now on, Doris.’ Ellie felt she were drawing battle lines, staking her claim on her authority.

Nicola sat quiet, her eyes low, finishing the last of her scone, clearly not wanting to get involved with the heated discussion.

‘Right, I’d like you both to start at nine-thirty on Friday. You’ll be doing five days a week, nine-thirty till four-thirty. I’ll be staying after that time to tidy up. You’ll be paid by the hour. I’ll be able to keep your wages the same as last year. Joe told me you were paid at £7 per hour. I hope that’s still okay. Now, I understand the castle is closed on a Wednesday. I’ll need you both in on the weekends, but you can choose another day off, either on a Monday or Tuesday. I’ll let you decide between you.’

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