Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Clemmie woke up with a pounding headache and a dry mouth that felt like she’d been sampling meringue dust all night.
She groaned, rolling over in bed. The sunlight was sneaking through the curtains, sharper than it had any right to be.
She had the hangover from hell and it wasn’t going to go away anytime soon.
Thankfully, a comforting sight greeted her on the bedside table: a steaming cup of tea, a packet of headache tablets and a neatly folded copy of the Puffin Island Gazette.
Beside them, in Granny’s neat handwriting, was a note.
Drink this, take these and look at that headline! You deserve a lie-in, so don’t even think about coming downstairs. The café is under control!
Last night had been a whirlwind, celebrating her win, toasting with friends and dancing around the café until the early hours.
They hadn’t crawled into bed until nearly three a.m. She reached for the tea and swallowed the tablets.
Picking up the newspaper, she noticed the front-page headline in bold letters:
Clemmie Rose Takes the Crown at the Royal Puffin Island Bake-Off
In a stunning display of culinary mastery, Clemmie Rose has risen to fame, securing victory at the highly anticipated annual Royal Baking Competition, held aboard the Royal Yacht docked in Puffin Island.
Clemmie’s winning creation, a decadent chocolate and clementine torte recipe passed down from her great-great-grandmother Beatrice, captured the hearts of both the judges and the audience.
The torte, a family recipe dating back to 1917, was hailed as a perfect balance of rich chocolate and refreshing citrus, an elegant treat worthy of royalty.
The judges were quick to praise the delicate sponge and velvety texture, with Margot Hastings declaring that Clemmie’s sponge was the best she’d ever tasted, the ganache ’smooth as silk’, and the citrus bringing ‘a brightness that made the whole thing sing. It’s the kind of dessert that could grace the table at any royal gathering. ’
As Clemmie’s victory was announced, the emotion of the moment hit her hard.
The sweet taste of success was made even more poignant by the memory of a scathing review that nearly ended her career before it even began.
She bravely shared her story in her winner’s speech, recalling how the harsh words of an early critic nearly shattered her confidence.
‘It’s about knowing you’re enough, even when you stumble.
It’s about having the courage to keep going, to keep learning, to keep dreaming.
And it’s about surrounding yourself with people who believe in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself,’ she said, inspiring everyone in the room.
In the end, Clemmie walked away with the coveted Golden Whisk Trophy, a recipe fit for royalty, and the honour of a royal garden party invitation.
The moment was made even more special as Clemmie and her beloved grandmother, Betty (pictured far right), proudly held the trophy together, smiles wide with joy and pride.
As Clemmie flipped through the newspaper and drank her tea, her heart swelled with pride.
This was just the beginning for her. A cookbook deal was already in the works, and her dream of becoming a household name in the culinary world was now one step closer to reality.
The island was buzzing with excitement, but Clemmie knew one thing for sure: she had baked her way into the hearts of the world.
Folding up the newspaper Clemmie snuggled back under the duvet.
Two minutes later, Betty’s voice cut through the quiet of the morning. ‘Clemmie!’ she shouted, her tone a mixture of urgency and bubbling excitement. ‘Clemmie, you need to get up!’
Clemmie groaned, still half-buried under her quilt. She had planned a slow, easy morning after the celebrations of the night before, but it seemed now Betty had other ideas. ‘You said I could have a lie-in!’ she shouted, pulling the duvet over her head.
Her granny’s hurried footsteps were soon pounding up the stairs though, and moments later there was a brisk knock at her bedroom door. Before Clemmie could respond, Betty burst in, her face flushed with excitement and a letter clutched in her hand.
‘Granny! What’s going on?’ Clemmie asked, sitting up groggily.
‘I’m not sure but I think it’s something incredible!’ Betty declared breathlessly, waving the letter like it was a winning lottery ticket. ‘This is for you!’
Clemmie blinked as Betty thrust the envelope towards her. It was thick, cream-coloured and embossed with gold detailing. Her name was written in elegant, swirling calligraphy on the front:
Miss Clemmie Rose, The Café on the Coast, Puffin Island.
‘What is it?’ Clemmie asked, her heart starting to race.
‘Open it and see!’ Betty said, barely able to contain herself. She moved to the window, pulling back the curtains, ‘I think it’s got something to do with the gleaming black Bentley parked outside.’
Clemmie gasped. ‘What?’
‘There’s a chauffeur!’ Betty said, spinning back towards her. ‘You need to hurry. No cars can park on the lane for long.’
Clemmie’s fingers trembled as she tore open the envelope. Inside, there was a card, and a handwritten note from none other than Oliver. She read aloud:
Dear Clemmie,
I hope you’ve had a moment to catch your breath after all the excitement. I’ve barely stopped thinking about your torte or the chaos of that puffin … but mostly about you.
This is a personal invitation just for you.
I’d love for you to come to London for a couple of days ahead of the royal garden party and spend some time with me.
A bit of shopping, champagne and seeing the city sounds like just the ticket, don’t you think?
I’ve arranged for a car to collect you and take you straight to the Royalwood Cottage, where you’ll be staying as my guest.
So, pack your bags. London is calling, please say yes!
Oliver x
Clemmie’s jaw dropped. ‘Royalwood Cottage? I can’t believe this!’
Betty clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. ‘Oh, Clemmie, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! You can’t say no.’
Clemmie hesitated, the excitement warring with anxiety. ‘But … I can’t just drop everything and go! What about the café? I don’t even have a dress for the garden party. I can’t show up looking like I just rolled off Puffin Island!’
‘You’ll get a dress in London,’ Betty said firmly. ‘You’ve got time! There’s no better place to shop than the city. As for the café, don’t you worry about that. I can manage.’
Clemmie bit her lip. ‘But it’s been so busy lately. What if—’
‘No buts!’ Betty interrupted, planting her hands on her hips.
‘Clemmie Rose, you’ve worked so hard for this.
You deserve to go, and I won’t let you miss out on this chance because you’re worried about me.
I’ve got Amelia and Pete to help, and no doubt Dilly will be around if I need her. We’ll be fine.’
Clemmie looked at her grandmother, who was practically glowing with pride and determination. She felt a lump form in her throat.
Betty crossed the room to sit beside her.
She took Clemmie’s hands in hers. ‘Listen to me. You’ve always dreamed of something like this.
I remember you as a little girl, twirling around in that wedding dress and pretending you were having tea with the Queen at the palace.
Well, now’s your chance to not only attend the royal garden party but also stay at Royalwood Cottage. ’
Clemmie looked up, her eyes sparkling. ‘Okay! I’ll go!’ she squealed. ‘I can’t believe this is happening!’ she cried, throwing her arms around Betty. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’
Betty laughed, hugging her tightly. ‘You don’t have time to waste. Jump in the shower, pack a bag and get moving! London’s waiting for you.’
Clemmie pulled back, her excitement bubbling over. ‘Okay, okay! I’m going!’ She darted into the bathroom, her heart racing with a mix of nerves and joy.
Clemmie stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed, the excitement of the morning setting her heart racing.
She wrapped herself in a towel, her mind whirling as she began chaotically tossing items into her suitcase.
Dresses, shoes and her favourite floral scarf tumbled in as she debated what she might need for a few days in London.
After finally zipping the bulging suitcase shut, she grabbed her handbag, glanced at herself in the mirror and gave her reflection a grin.
She bounded downstairs, suitcase in hand, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The scent of freshly baked scones wafted through the air as she entered the café to find Amelia and Betty laughing over a pot of tea. Betty looked up and beamed at Clemmie.
‘Well, don’t you look like a woman ready to take on the world,’ Betty said proudly.
‘Ready as I’ll ever be, but I’ve got to send an email before I go. I need to send the torte recipe to the royal household, so it can be served at the garden party!’
Five minutes later, the email was sent and Clemmie was standing next to her suitcase. She held out her hand to show it was visibly shaking. ‘I’m so nervous!’
Amelia grinned. ‘Royalwood Cottage with Oliver. I mean, Clemmie, this is next-level exciting. You have to tell us everything when you get back. Every detail. Every moment and in the meantime, send photos if it’s allowed.’
Clemmie laughed, trying to play it cool, though the thought of spending time alone with Oliver in a historic royal setting made her stomach do tiny somersaults.
‘I’m not sure there’ll be much to tell. It’s just a couple of days, shopping, champagne, maybe a little sightseeing … then a royal garden party!’
Amelia nodded towards the life-sized cutout of the Queen, which was still stationed proudly in the corner of the café. ‘I think you should put Queenie in the car and take her along for the ride. She deserves a little holiday too.’
They all turned to look at the cutout, her cardboard gaze as regal and impassive as ever, and burst out laughing.
‘She’s going nowhere!’ Betty declared firmly. ‘She’s staying right here with me. Someone has to keep this place in line while you’re gallivanting off to London.’
Clemmie felt a swell of gratitude for the love and support of the people around her. She hugged Betty tightly, then Amelia, before turning towards the door, ready to embrace whatever awaited her in London.
She stepped out onto Lighthouse Lane and glanced at the Bentley, its sleek black body gleaming like a jewel in the light.
The chauffeur, a smartly dressed man with a polite smile, stepped forward as Clemmie approached.
With practised ease, he reached for her suitcase, lifting it as if it weighed nothing at all.
‘Miss Rose,’ he said with a nod, his tone courteous and friendly. ‘Allow me.’
‘Thank you,’ Clemmie replied. She turned to glance back at the café, where Betty and Amelia were standing side by side in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
‘You look like a film star,’ Amelia called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘Don’t forget us little people when you’re sipping champagne with royalty!’
Betty, wiped a tear from her cheek and waved her tea towel in the air. ‘Don’t forget to call when you get there!’
The chauffeur opened the rear door and Clemmie slid into the plush leather seat, sinking into its comfort.
The interior smelled faintly of fresh flowers and new car, and the polished wood trim gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window.
As the chauffeur closed the door behind her with a quiet click, Clemmie took one last look at her granny and Amelia, who were now waving enthusiastically.
She gave them a final wave through the window as the Bentley began to glide forward, its engine purring softly.
The car moved smoothly down Lighthouse Lane, heading towards the causeway that connected Puffin Island to the mainland, and as it picked up speed, Clemmie leaned back in her seat and smiled. This was something extraordinary.