Chapter 7 #2
‘What are you lot doing here?’ Clemmie called out. ‘I’m only going for a tour of the yacht! You do know I haven’t won yet, don’t you?’
‘You will,’ declared Amelia with a grin, linking her arm through Clemmie’s as the group set off down the lane towards Blue Water Bay. ‘The bay’s already packed. Everyone’s turned out to see the contestants walk onto the yacht. Even the press is there!’
‘The bay is actually packed?’ Clemmie asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
‘Absolutely heaving,’ said Verity, gesturing animatedly. ‘It’s like a festival down there. Oh, and speaking of excitement, as we were walking up the lane, something dawned on me. Remember last year? Madam Zelda?’
‘What about her?’ Clemmie asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at the mischievous expressions on Verity’s and Amelia’s faces.
‘The psychic night at The Olde Ship Inn!’ Verity exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. ‘Madam Zelda said you were going to meet someone connected to royalty, and there’d be a garden party involved. Does that ring any bells?’
Betty, bustling to keep up with their pace, chimed in, ‘She said it quite dramatically, too, like it was meant to be important!’
Clemmie rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips. ‘We all know Madam Zelda’s readings are pure entertainment. It’s just a comedy act, nothing more.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Verity said, wagging her finger. ‘She told Amelia she had a big secret, remember? And Amelia was hiding the biggest secret of all … being a published author!’
Amelia blushed, but her grin gave her away. ‘Okay, okay, she got one thing right. But still, predicting royalty and a garden party is a bit of a stretch.’
Verity looked smug. ‘I’m just saying, I think there’s more to it. You’re going to win this competition, Clemmie. I can feel it. And after you win, you’ll be invited to that garden party. Maybe even meet the man of your dreams.’
The only man that was constantly creeping back into Clemmie’s mind since he reappeared was Oliver.
Ever since his arrival on the island, he had seemed to occupy most of her thoughts at all hours …
when she woke up, when she went to bed, and nearly every moment in between.
She shook her head, fighting to clear the memory of his smile and wit from her mind.
‘Madam Zelda said something else, though, didn’t she?’ Verity added, her brow furrowing as if she were trying to solve a particularly tricky puzzle. ‘What was it? Something about … oh! “A past scandal makes the present stronger.”’
‘I remember that!’ Dilly said, her eyes lighting up. ‘What do you think it means? Some juicy bit of island gossip from years ago that’s about to resurface?’
‘I’ve no idea what she could’ve been on about,’ Betty said briskly. ‘But if we stand here debating psychic riddles much longer, Clemmie will miss the tour of the yacht! And we want to hear all about it.’
The group quickened their pace, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they headed towards the bay.
The excitement was infectious, and Clemmie felt a swell of gratitude for her friends’ unwavering support.
Whatever the day and the competition might bring, she knew she wouldn’t be facing it alone. They were living every step with her.
The beach at Blue Water Bay was a hive of activity, buzzing with a mixture of excitement and awe that hung in the salty sea air.
Clemmie couldn’t believe it, the sight of it all, the families with picnic blankets that had evidently staked out their spots early, happy people watching and taking it all in.
‘I actually feel like royalty,’ Clemmie said. ‘But all we’re doing is having a tour of the yacht! You’d think actual royalty was arriving with this crowd. And how did they all find out about it? I only got my email invite this morning.’
Amelia, standing beside her with a knowing smile, nudged Clemmie playfully. ‘It’s been all over the news and social media, that’s how. The whole world is watching this baking competition. You’ve gone from being our local café queen to a national sensation overnight.’
‘Don’t forget,’ chimed in Verity, ‘the cookbook that comes out after this will probably go straight to the top of the charts. Everyone will want to try recipes from the contestant who baked on a Royal Yacht! I hope you know what recipes you’re going to include.’
Clemmie’s cheeks flushed, a mixture of nerves and excitement swirling in her chest. She wasn’t sure what felt more surreal: the sight of the glittering Royal Yacht anchored in the bay, the sheer number of people who had turned out, or the idea that her great-great-grandmother’s recipes might soon grace kitchen tables around the world.
In the distance, Her Majesty’s Royal Yacht shimmered under the midday sun, its sleek white hull and golden accents cutting a regal figure against the sparkling blue of the sea.
The royal ensign fluttered gently at the bow, a symbol of heritage and prestige that added to the yacht’s aura.
Clemmie knew she would be stepping aboard very soon, walking the same decks that had hosted dignitaries and even the Queen herself.
‘This feels bigger than I imagined,’ Clemmie murmured, glancing at Betty, whose proud smile offered a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of attention.
Betty gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ‘It is big, love. And you deserve every bit of it. Now stop fretting, hold your head high and enjoy every moment. This is your time to shine.’
‘Was it you who nominated me?’ Clemmie asked, the thought popping into her head.
Betty shook her head. ‘I wish it was but no, it wasn’t me.’
‘Then who?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
The press was out in full force, their presence unmistakable as television cameras stood on sturdy tripods, their lenses glinting in the sun.
Reporters darted about, some holding microphones emblazoned with logos of national networks, while others jotted furiously in notepads, their focus unwavering as they captured every moment of the spectacle.
For Puffin Island, a place known for its quaint charm, hosting such a majestic vessel was like having a piece of a fairytale docked at its shores.
Uniformed officials patrolled the area, their presence lending an air of importance to the proceedings.
A temporary stage had been erected on the beach, adorned with banners that bore the competition’s emblem: a golden whisk encircled by a crown.
For Clemmie, standing with her friends near the edge of the crowd, the scene felt surreal. She glanced at Betty, Verity, Amelia and Dilly, all of whom shared her excitement.
‘This is it!’ Betty said, her excitement bubbling over. Her eyes sparkled like a child’s at Christmas, her enthusiasm infectious. ‘You get to see inside the Royal Yacht. Your great-great-grandmother would have loved this, being a royal fan through and through.’
‘How you feeling?’ Amelia asked, as they all huddled in a group on the sand.
‘Nervous, excited,’ Clemmie admitted, noticing the other contestants lining up at the side of the stage. ‘What if I get seasick?’
Dilly laughed. ‘The yacht isn’t sailing the high seas! You’re overthinking it.’ She nodded in the direction of the path. ‘And there he is, the man himself. Oh, and he’s searching the crowd for … you.’
Clemmie’s gaze followed Dilly’s nod, and the moment her eyes met Oliver’s, her heart annoyingly skipped a beat.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and a subtle paisley tie, he looked every inch the polished host of a royal event.
The suit hugged his broad shoulders, the kind of fit that spoke of custom tailoring and attention to detail. He looked utterly gorgeous.
As soon as he spotted her, a smile spread across his face, warm and genuine, as though she were the only person on the crowded beach.
He raised a hand in a casual wave before gesturing for her to join the other contestants.
Clemmie’s cheeks flushed, and she barely heard Dilly’s teasing remarks as her feet carried her forward.
As she approached, the scent of his aftershave reached her, that sophisticated blend of cedarwood and citrus, fresh and grounding all at once.
She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he smiled at her, or how the sunlight caught the faint stubble on his jawline, giving him a rugged yet refined look.
‘Clemmie,’ he greeted her.
For a moment, Clemmie was acutely aware of how close he was as they stood side by side. Her pulse quickened, and she prayed it wasn’t outwardly obvious. ‘Hi,’ she managed, her voice sounding steadier than she felt.
‘You need to join the others.’ He gestured towards the group gathered near the stage, his hand lightly brushing her arm as he guided her. The touch was fleeting but sent a spark racing through her, leaving her momentarily flustered.
As they walked, the din of the crowd seemed to fade into the background.
Clemmie could feel her nerves ebbing, replaced by a flicker of something else – excitement, anticipation and maybe just a hint of hope.
This was it, her chance not just to win but to represent her café, her family and her little island in front of the world.
A voice crackled to life over the yacht’s Tannoy system, cutting through the chatter of the assembled crowd. ‘Will all competitors please gather next to Mr Oliver Lockwood, who is now standing on the jetty?’
A collective cheer erupted from the beach.