11
The air was dry and chilly, making Henrik’s nostrils sting as he walked. On the other side of the water, he could see the illuminated silhouette of the town. He had enjoyed seeing Nora caught out. He had found her comments about him quite amusing, but lying to Elnaz was unacceptable, and reinforced his view that she was ungrateful. Participants usually appreciated and enjoyed dinners with the team, but Nora behaved as if they ought to be paying her to be on the show.
He reached the restaurant, the Smugglers, which was housed in a red wooden building reminiscent of an old warehouse. The team had been allocated a long table in a separate room upstairs.
The food was just being served when Henrik arrived; he was greeted by the smell of burning candles and a variety of dishes. The predinner drink had probably turned into several drinks by now, because the hum of conversation was loud. The mood was also more relaxed now that Don had gone back to Stockholm. Henrik felt much more relaxed now that he was with the crew he’d worked with for years.
He sat down next to Elnaz, thinking this might be a good opportunity to have a chat with her, as he hadn’t managed to speak to her alone during filming.
Halfway through the first course he turned to her. “Hey, I heard from my dad that TV24 is launching a new baking show on Wednesdays next fall. Please tell me I misunderstood him.”
Elnaz didn’t say a word and didn’t meet his eye.
“He went on to say that TV24’s unhappy with this year’s viewer ratings for Let’s Get Baking ,” Henrik went on. “Be straight with me—we’ve worked together for a while now, and I consider this show our baby, not just mine.”
“I only found out about the ratings a couple of days ago,” Elnaz said eventually, looking apologetic. “Hasn’t Camilla discussed it with you?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of her, but she’s Dad’s agent, too, so I suspect she’s avoiding me.”
“You mean the show they’re commissioning is your dad’s?”
He nodded.
“I had no idea.”
“Is TV24 planning to scrap Let’s Get Baking ?”
“Nothing has been decided yet. All I know is that they’re looking around. And I’m sorry you found out that way.” Elnaz frowned. “What I don’t understand is why your dad wants to compete with you. It seems crazy—you’re part of the same company, the same family.”
Henrik shrugged. There was a great deal about his father and his behavior that was impossible to explain. “It’s fine,” was all he said.
“Ideally, the Christmas special will give the show a boost,” Elnaz said after a moment. “We need to add something new this year, something that gets people talking.” There was a sudden spark in her eyes. “Maybe people are getting tired of the same old same old? Which is why Nora Jansson is the perfect fit.”
Her tone was teasing, insinuating. She used the same tone whenever they’d finished dinner together on location—when she always suggested that he should try out what the town had to offer. And she wasn’t talking about the food, but more ... nocturnal activities.
“What do you mean?” He took a spoonful of the artichoke soup, which was delicious. Another nice thing about V?stervik was the number of good restaurants. He tried the wine, a dry Riesling with the perfect blend of sweetness and acidity.
“The bakers we’ve worked with so far have been great people, with good background stories that were both entertaining and sympathetic. But a lot of them have been men.” Elnaz paused. “And the women who’ve appeared on the show were a little too old for you. Nora’s about your age. She’s attractive, and she would probably be charming if she dropped her guard a little.”
“You want me to stage a romance?” Henrik asked, even though he understood exactly what Elnaz meant. He just wanted to make her come straight out with it so that she could hear for herself what a stupid idea it was.
“A romance wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? I mean, it doesn’t have to be real. It just needs to be suggestive enough for the viewers to believe something is going on.”
Henrik sighed and took another sip of his wine. Then he looked at Elnaz. “And is Nora on board with this romance?”
“I haven’t said anything to her. I’m thinking it could just be something understated. You don’t have to fall in love—maybe just flirt a little, give the viewers hope.”
“I’m not sure—it doesn’t feel right.”
“Don’t worry—all you have to do is gaze at her for a few extra seconds, maybe make a nice remark after you’ve been all critical. Enemies to lovers ... We’ll take care of the rest.”
Henrik took a deep breath.
“I know what you’re thinking, Henrik, but this is exactly what we need to give the show a boost. The heartbroken celebrity baker, trying to recover after his breakup with the beautiful sommelier.”
He was taken aback. No one on the production team had ever mentioned the situation with his ex.
Henrik and Bente had fallen in love on prime-time TV when they appeared on several episodes of a morning show, marrying cakes and puddings with dessert wines and demonstrating how rustic bread with a few drops of olive oil and a pinch of sea salt could make the perfect appetizer when accompanied by a good Italian wine. Henrik’s Italian bread and Bente’s favorite Barbaresco had found their way into many Swedish homes, along with their love story. The press adored the two of them together—but had adored their painful separation even more. When Bente cheated on him, they both became fodder for the gossip columns. The interest and speculation made him more popular than ever, and Let’s Get Baking ’s ratings had actually gone up.
He knew the production team was well aware of what had happened, but no one had ever said a word about it.
He merely nodded. The main course arrived, and Elnaz started chatting with one of the camera operators. Henrik wasn’t sure what he thought about all of this; first Don’s talk about angles, and now Elnaz’s attempt to turn Let’s Get Baking into a dating show, which he hadn’t expected of her. He might have expected it of Ted, who was notorious for ruthlessly pushing ahead with no scruples, but he hadn’t yet witnessed any situations where the producers’ conscience and moral compass were tested. It seemed that was about to change.
The following morning, Nora could barely look Henrik in the eye when she arrived at the patisserie. He thought she deserved to be a bit embarrassed after the previous evening.
“I thought we could start with some clips about what we discussed yesterday,” Ted said when everyone had gathered. Nora was asked to go in the bakery while Ted sat down at Henrik’s table.
“Tell us what you think about the patisserie.”
“I definitely think the patisserie has potential,” Henrik began. He had to speak in full sentences for editing purposes, because the viewers wouldn’t hear the producer’s questions and instructions when the show aired. “But what I said to Nora is true. She has too many different items on offer, too many cakes and cookies, when she should be focusing on the products that have the most potential. She has too many irons in the fire but not enough good bread in the oven, so to speak.”
“Mmm ...” Ted didn’t look happy, possibly because of the awful analogy. “Does it annoy you that she’s let things get to this point?”
Henrik realized where Ted was going with his extremely leading question, and he was completely on board. “I do find it frustrating that she’s taken over such a fine, well-established business, only to let it slip through her fingers.” He raised his voice, frowned. “Not looking after such a gem really does infuriate me.”
“Excellent.” Ted nodded to the cameraman to stop filming. “Okay, let’s take a walk around.”
Henrik followed the team into the bakery, where Nora had clearly just finished her clip for the camera. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were a little shiny; presumably she had been furiously complaining about Henrik’s feedback on her bread and cakes.
Definitely genuine feelings. Exactly what the production company wanted.
Filming resumed and Henrik looked around. Everything was kind of shabby, but the appliances and ovens were of good quality, and the equipment was clean and well maintained. He continued into the cool room. In the middle of the room was a tray of loaves, and he immediately recognized the smell of sourdough. He often baked using a sourdough starter at home, and his grandfather had taught him a lot about it. His father had a complicated relationship with sourdough, which might sound surprising, but in spite of everything Hasse was both a baker and a baker’s son—he took dough seriously. Besides, he had a complicated relationship with most things.
Henrik didn’t know much about his father’s childhood, apart from the fact that he had grown up as an only child with a single mother. Strangely enough, Henrik’s paternal grandparents had separated—not a formal legal arrangement, but they lived apart, and Hasse had stayed with his mother. He never talked about it, but Henrik’s grandmother wasn’t a particularly loving person, and one of the elderly ladies who had worked at Eklunds forever had hinted that Hasse had been beaten as a child. When Henrik thought about that he felt a degree of sympathy for him, but then his father had done little to ensure that his own children had a happy childhood. Though he had never hit them, he had made no effort to be affectionate with them. He seemed to think it was enough that he had helped his father build up a baking empire. In his world, that was worth more than any amount of love.
Henrik continued going through the produce in the cool room, starting with the bottom shelves: decent butter, milk, whipping cream, fresh vegetables, cheese, and other toppings such as liver paté, ham, turkey, Brie, and salami, all of good quality. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then he took a closer look. The higher shelves were packed with inexplicable jars, tins, and packets. He picked up a can of condensed milk and held it out to Nora. “How often do you use this?” Then ricotta cheese. “And this? It’s nearly out of date.” He shook his head, moved on to several rock-hard tubes of pasta coloring. “You’ve got way too much stuff in here. You’re wasting money on unnecessary things.”
“I need the condensed milk for cookies. And the ricotta for cakes with ...”
“You’re not listening to me,” Henrik interrupted.
Nora frowned. “Both the cookies and the cakes sell very well.”
Henrik didn’t answer. Instead he returned to the bakery and walked over to an old bread maker. “Wow, I haven’t seen one of these since I was with my grandfather in Eklunds’ first bakery—it closed thirty years ago.”
He gazed at the single hot plate. “Everything is very clean and well maintained, but the whole place reminds me of the former Soviet Union. It’s like being in an abandoned café in Chernobyl, where time has stood still.”
Nora rolled her eyes.
“Some new equipment wouldn’t hurt,” Henrik added.
Nora looked around as if she, too, were assessing the place. “I agree, but I can’t afford it, which is why I’m doing the show. And I’m not interested in some luxury renovation just so that it will look all shiny and new. If I were investing in anything, it would be in important items like the ventilation system, which is ancient.”
Henrik clamped his lips together. She wasn’t making this easy. The bakers were usually amenable to his suggestions, open to new ideas, eager for his help. Sometimes they would moan about the fact that things had gone so badly, which was Henrik’s cue to offer a few words of consolation.
Several large loaves of bread were laid out on three trays. Henrik went over to them.
“That’s our sourdough,” Nora explained.
He reached for a knife and sliced through the crust, glanced around for butter. Nora handed him a carton and he spread a nice, thick layer on it. Took a bite. Absolutely delicious. And somehow ... familiar.
“This bread is excellent,” he said before he had time to think. Maybe he shouldn’t come across as too positive; that didn’t make for good TV. On the other hand, he had to give at least some praise. Otherwise his criticism wouldn’t be as credible. If there was one thing that deserved his strictly rationed praise, it was this sourdough.
“It’s one of our popular items.” She looked proud. “The starter has a wonderful history.” Her face lit up as she reached for a large glass jar on a shelf and unscrewed the tight-fitting lid. “It’s more than a hundred years old. We even celebrated its hundredth birthday. It originally comes from ...”
“You know those stories are often made up?” Henrik broke in with a supercilious smile. “I mean, I have nothing against sourdough, I love sourdough, I often bake it myself. But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard about how the starter has been passed down through generations, and I doubt whether any of those stories are true.” He had an old starter that he used only at home that his grandfather had given to him, but his father had insisted that its alleged history was nonsense, that it hadn’t existed for anywhere near as long as his grandfather claimed. And to be fair, Grandfather had been a real romantic, so it was more than likely a tale he simply wanted to believe. All the same, Henrik had kept it alive. It had been important to his grandfather, for reasons Henrik had learned by a circuitous route. These days the kneading and baking of two large sourdough loaves was a part of his weekend routine.
The light in Nora’s eyes died away, and she frowned. She inhaled as if she was about to say something, but then she exhaled and remained silent.
“These red plastic trays.” He went over to a pile in the corner and picked one up. “Do you use them to display your cakes and cookies?”
She looked up at him. “Yes? I realize you don’t think they’re trendy, but they’re practical.”
“Practical isn’t always best. Is this Nymans patisserie in V?stervik, or a downtown McDonald’s?” Henrik waved the red plastic tray around as he spoke, and then he put it down, grabbed a wooden cutting board, and quickly arranged a few rolls on it. “There you go, that looks much better.”
“How lucky I am to have a celebrity baker come here and show me that I can put things on cutting boards.” Nora gave an entirely artificial smile.
Henrik had no intention of letting her sarcasm go. “You know what?” He folded his arms. “I’m here to help you. I haven’t traveled all this way to listen to your sassy remarks.” He stared at her, his expression stern. This was partly for the camera, but also because that was how he felt. He had to show both Nora and the viewers who was in charge. “If you don’t want my help, I can leave.” He waved a hand toward the door.
Nora didn’t say anything.
“Time for an interview clip,” Ted decided.
Henrik and Ted’s team went into the bakery, where Henrik spent several minutes complaining about Nora’s lack of respect and the fact that he had better things to do than put up with crap from someone who was running her business into the ground.
After a few minutes, Nora appeared. She barely glanced at Henrik, and he guessed that Elnaz had been firing her up. It would take only a tiny spark to set the air around her alight; she was practically surrounded by lightning bolts. He was nowhere near as angry—this was only a game—but he suddenly realized how unfair this was. She really was furious. For her these were genuine feelings , just like Don wanted. This was about her life’s work, while he was simply playing up to the cameras. He quickly pushed the thought aside—she knew what she was getting into, so surely she ought to understand the game too?
Lunch was served—minestrone with pasta salad. Nora sat as far as possible from Henrik and refused to look in his direction. Elnaz ran through the filming schedule again, highlighting a couple of changes. The next few weeks were going to be hectic.
“And what about the renovations?” Henrik asked. “Are we going to have time to get them done?” He glanced around the room. No doubt the decor had once been attractive in a cozy kind of way, but now the faded red curtains and cracked floor tiles were simply depressing. The pale wood furniture had yellowed over the years, and some of the vinyl cushions on the benches had been repaired with tape.
“Renovations?” Nora asked, still without looking at him.
“Yes—hasn’t Elnaz discussed them with you?”
“I mentioned that we were planning to freshen the place up a little. We thought we might make a few minor adjustments in here,” Elnaz replied.
“Freshening up is a start,” Henrik said. “But what’s really needed is a total renovation.”
Nora inhaled sharply. “It’s perfectly fine as is. Everything is good quality.”
Henrik looked around again. “It’s hard to even tell what color the walls once were. Have they always been a dirty yellow? And the curtains—I can understand it if they haven’t been washed for a while, because they’d probably fall apart.”
Nora’s eyes narrowed. “This renovation fever you Stockholmers suffer from isn’t really my thing. Ripping out stuff that works—it’s just ignorant.”
“The colors will be brighter and better on TV,” Elnaz said quickly. “And Henrik is only talking about small updates like repainting, in the same color scheme of course ...”
“New curtains, repaint the ceiling, replace the furniture, fix the floors,” Henrik said. “Get rid of those shabby glass shelves and the wooden shelves where the coffee cups are.”
Nora scowled at him. “There’s nothing wrong with the floor in here. Why does everything have to be shiny and new? When things work perfectly well?”
“Because . . . ,” Henrik began.
“It looks better on TV.” Nora finished the sentence for him. She shook her head. “I don’t want you to touch a thing.”
Elnaz exchanged a glance with Henrik, then looked at Nora. “The viewers love the part when we redo the café. And you’ll get it all done for free.”
Nora chewed her salad, looking far from convinced.
“Then you can put up the Christmas decorations,” Elnaz continued.
“Christmas decorations? It’s only November!”
Henrik closed his eyes, wanting to take several deep breaths. Preferably into a paper bag. And bang his head against a wall, because he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Was it really possible for someone to object to every single thing?
“We have to put up Christmas decorations,” he said wearily. “It’s a Christmas special. The viewers have to believe it’s Christmas. The production team will help you—we have a good event planning company that we hire for this kind of thing. They’ll make Nymans look super festive in no time.”
“An event planning company?” Nora’s expression was skeptical. Then she shook her head again. “No—I always do the Christmas decorations myself.”
Ted looked from one to the other. “Why aren’t we filming this?” He beckoned to one of the camera operators, then turned to Henrik and Nora. “Could you please do that again?”
Nora had had enough. She got to her feet, picked up her plate, and disappeared into the bakery.
“I don’t think she wants to,” Henrik said.