Chapter 10 #3
Oliver grinned, leaning against the gold-plated oven. ‘I know just how you’re feeling. My granny brought me on a tour years ago and Lady Rosalind showed us around areas like this, which the general public doesn’t usually get to see. It’s still just as fascinating to me as it was that first time.’
‘It’s all just amazing, but I feel like I shouldn’t even be here. Like I’m going to get scolded by a butler in tails.’
‘Nonsense,’ Oliver said, stepping closer to her. ‘If anything, you’re exactly the kind of person who should be here.’
Clemmie arched a brow at him. ‘Oh? And why’s that?’
‘Because you actually care about the history, about the food, about what it means. You’d probably be one of the few people who’d appreciate the fact that this oven has gold plating, not because it’s expensive, but because it was made with expert craftsmanship.’
Her gaze drifted back to the gold oven. ‘I wonder what the last dish prepared here was.’
‘Maybe a feast for a visiting dignitary, or perhaps a private meal for the Royal Family after a long voyage.’
Clemmie smiled, imagining the bustle of the kitchen in its prime, chefs shouting orders, the clatter of pots and pans, and the tantalising aromas of delicacies being crafted for royalty.
‘And that’s that man again,’ she said, a photograph on the wall catching her eye.
‘Who did you say it was? The Earl of Aberford?’
‘Yes, the Earl and Chef étienne Dupont were very good friends. They spent a lot of time together.’
‘This is like a dream,’ she said, more to herself than to Oliver.
‘Well,’ he said, stepping towards her with that familiar twinkle in his eye, ‘dreams have a way of coming true around you, don’t they?’
She turned to him, shaking her head with a laugh. ‘You’re impossible. I could have been a part of your reality but…’
‘You chose life on Puffin Island…’ He rolled his eyes playfully. ‘I’m kidding. I can see why you chose life on the island over me,’ he said teasingly.
‘Don’t try and turn this around on me,’ she protested light-heartedly, then noticed the serious look on Oliver’s face.
‘I’m not. Come on… There’s a royal feast waiting for us.’
Clemmie settled into her seat at the luxurious table dressed in fine linen, her eyes scanning the elaborate place settings of gold-plated knives and forks that shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers.
A waiter in immaculate white gloves stood nearby, ready to serve the first course, while champagne flutes were already filled with sparkling liquid that fizzed invitingly.
Oliver sat across from her, looking maddeningly handsome in his tuxedo. He smiled as he observed her taking it all in. ‘Not bad for a Tuesday night, huh?’
Clemmie chuckled. ‘Yep, just your average weeknight dinner.’
The waiter approached, placing an artfully plated starter before them.
The dish was a delicate arrangement of smoked salmon rosettes, a dollop of caviar and edible gold leaf, accompanied by a slice of freshly baked brioche.
Clemmie’s stomach fluttered at the sight, not just from hunger but from the surreality of the moment.
‘I feel like I should be taking a picture, not actually eating this work of art,’ she whispered across the table, picking up her fork.
‘It’s something else, isn’t it? Imagine living like this all the time,’ Oliver said, lifting his glass of champagne.
‘And just think, that earl from the photograph gave up this life.’ They toasted, the clink of their glasses echoing softly in the grand room.
The meal was exquisite, each course more elaborate than the last. After the salmon came a rich lobster bisque, followed by a perfectly cooked filet mignon paired with truffle-infused mashed potatoes.
For dessert, a tower of macarons sat atop a gilded platter, their pastel colours almost too beautiful to eat.
As the waiter retreated to give them privacy, Clemmie leaned back in her chair, a contented sigh escaping her lips. ‘I’m not sure I can move after that.’
‘We don’t have to. We can sit and listen to the string quartet and have drinks at the bar. I’ve missed this.’
Clemmie’s heart gave a tiny leap. ‘What do you mean … this? Fancy dinners on yachts?’
‘No,’ he said, his gaze locking onto hers. ‘You. Your company.’
The words hung between them and Clemmie felt a warmth spread through her, though she tried to play it cool. ‘Is that so? We were only together for a week. Did you ever think about me after we parted ways?’ she asked, fishing for information.
Oliver leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘All the time,’ he admitted, his voice steady. ‘Did you?’
Clemmie hesitated, her heart pounding. The truth was, she had thought about him – too often, in fact. But she wasn’t ready to bare her soul just yet. ‘I mean, you were hard to forget,’ she said with a teasing smile, deflecting.
He smirked, clearly not fooled. ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
They both laughed, but the air between them remained charged.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, swirling his champagne thoughtfully.
‘Puffin Island’s special,’ he said after a moment.
‘I can see why you love it so much.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘I did a little exploring and took a walk up the cliff path, sat on that old bench outside Clifftop Cottage. Ended up talking to Pete, who told me he and your granny are some of the island’s oldest residents.
He said plenty of relationships have blossomed from chats on that bench.
’ He smiled. ‘Sometimes it’s easier talking to someone who isn’t involved in the situation, you know?
And Pete … he didn’t know me, but he listened.
No judgement, just friendliness and a bit of wisdom.
I can see why no one would want to give up this place. ’
Clemmie raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s not just the views or the people, it’s the sense of belonging. I’ve spent years travelling, chasing stories, but there’s something … different about being here. It feels real.’
Clemmie didn’t know what to say, so she stayed quiet for a moment while she sipped her drink and eyed him.
‘So, you asked me if I was married but what about you? Is there … someone in your life?’ Clemmie immediately noticed the flicker of something in his eyes – hesitation?
Maybe even guilt? He glanced down at his glass, swirling the liquid slowly before looking back at her.
‘Oh God, not Fiona?’ she said, sitting up straight. ‘You said she was just a family friend.’
He didn’t answer.
Clemmie arched an eyebrow. ‘So, it is Fiona?’
‘No,’ he said quickly, leaning forward. ‘It’s not what you think.’
‘And what do I think?’ she asked, giving him a sceptical look. ‘Enlighten me. Some sort of … situationship, maybe?’
Oliver exhaled, looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘Not even that,’ he said, his voice softer now. ‘It’s … complicated. Or, it was complicated. I put an end to it once and for all the second I saw you again.’
Clemmie blinked, her pulse quickening. ‘Is that what the argument was about between you two earlier?’
He nodded reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Kind of. She accused me of having feelings for you and she wasn’t happy about it.’
Clemmie’s heart skipped a beat at his admission, but she forced herself to remain calm. ‘So, what exactly was it? Between you and Fiona, I mean?’
Oliver leaned back in his chair. ‘Honestly? I’m not even sure. We’ve known each other for ever, our families are close friends, and everyone just sort of … expected us to be a couple. It was easy to fall into that idea, even if it didn’t feel entirely right.’
‘Because?’ Clemmie prompted, her voice quiet but steady.
‘Because there was this trip to London,’ he continued, his gaze turning distant, as if he were replaying a memory in his mind.
‘Because I met someone. This girl … she was nothing like Fiona. She was kind, funny, gorgeous, a little chaotic but in the best way. She made me feel alive, taught me what real happiness felt like, even if it was short-lived. She broke my heart, but she also showed me what love could be. After that, I knew Fiona and I would never work. Not in the way people wanted us to. I ended things three years ago, but she never quite let go. Every shared moment since then, family gatherings, get-togethers with mutual friends, she’s treated it as an opportunity to try and rewrite our ending.
I let it slide, maybe out of guilt, maybe out of habit.
But I’ve made it clear now that there’s nothing left to rekindle. ’
Clemmie didn’t know what to say. The raw honesty in his words left her momentarily speechless. Her eyes stayed fixed on his until he briefly closed them.
‘Clemmie,’ he said, his voice low and steady, ‘whatever it was with Fiona, it doesn’t feel like this, and I’m sure I’m not really the love of her life either. I think she’s more into using me for my contacts to help her career and bakery than into, you know … me.’
Clemmie tilted her head, intrigued. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘We’ve never had deep or personal conversations.
We were thrown together by our parents as children and she never went out of her way to remember details about me or my life unless it suited her.
For starters, the other day, I mentioned my childhood dog, and she couldn’t even remember I had a dog, let alone what its name was. ’
‘Easy,’ Clemmie said, grinning. ‘Percy. A scruffy little terrier who loved cheese and hated postmen.’
Oliver’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘Impressive, but I bet you can’t remember why I had two broken teeth when I was nine.’
Clemmie didn’t miss a beat. ‘Cricket accident. You tripped over your own feet, crashed into the stumps and bam! Down you went.’
He stared at her, half-amused and half-impressed. ‘You really did listen during the time we spent together.’
‘I did,’ Clemmie said with a shrug. ‘I wanted to know everything about you. And I mean everything.’