They go back to their work and I try another batch. Then another. Then another. Two hours later I have a very large tray piled high with thirty scones that look like floor tiles.
“Don’t give up,” Llewellyn says, kindly. “Steve Jobs made a hundred computers that failed before he invented Apple.”
“I don’t have time for a hundred failed batches. The guests are coming tomorrow afternoon, that’s less than twenty-four-hours. And I’m going to run out of flour and butter.”
If I can’t make these, I’ll have to buy them. Damn I really wanted to bake scones. Everyone says it’s easy.
Alex, meanwhile, has been busy on his phone. Now he looks up. “Leonie, come and watch this.” He thrusts the phone at me.
It’s a YouTube clip of a woman making scones. Correction. Making “THE BEST SCONES RECIPE EVER”.
“There are lots of these,” I tell him. “Mostly click bait and influencers. You can tell by how much make-up they have on while cooking. I wanted a reliable recipe.”
He looks meaningfully at the stack of floor tiles I’ve baked.
“Okay let me see.” I take his phone and watch it through until she pulls out of the oven a tray of soft crumbly scones so incredible I want to cry. It’s not fair.
“So?” Alex asks. “Any clue?”
Actually yes.
I take up my phone and watch more clips, paying attention to how they mix the dough.
So that’s where I’ve gone wrong. The recipe said not to overwork the mixture, but I misunderstood and had been kneading it like bread.
It shouldn’t be kneaded at all, just mixed and sort of clumped together. It looks bad, but apparently that’s how it should be.
And in one recipe, the woman used 7-Up to make it even airier.
One more trip to the shops for more ingredients before baking a new batch.
After that, Llewellyn and Alex don’t wait for an invitation. They keep popping their heads into the kitchen hoping for something to taste. The three teenagers, Wyn, Rhian and Ricky who usually hang around also find out and become eager volunteers, offering to wash up, carry stuff and even clean and valet my car.
“Shame Evan and Haneen won’t be here.” Llewellyn says. He’s always kind and considerate. But Haneen and her family wouldn’t come back from the Channel Islands until the day afterour tea party. When I spoke to her, she agreed it was best not to rock the boat with Cynthia by changing dates.
Cynthia’s very grudging permission to let us use the van and bring seven of her residents to Kendric House was conditional on Raff keeping an eye on me. She was worried in case of any sharp knives I might wave around during tea, any slippery oil I might spill on the floors or any firearms I might have lying around.
Of course, I invite everyone from Kendric House because how could I not? So counting the professor who surely must attend since his father was coming, four teenagers including Meredith who won’t be working in the shop on weekends. Llewellyn, Alex and me, that makes eight. Seven invited from The Glyn. Plus Raff, that’s Sixteen.
How has this little afternoon tea grown into a big party? And it’s cost me nearly £80. It’ll be worth it if the afternoon is a success but my savings, the slim amount set aside for rent on a new place to live, it’s fast trickling away. I’ll have to be extra frugal when the tour starts and squirrel away every penny.
Chapter Eighteen
9am, Kitchen
At nine in the morning, Alex pops his head round the kitchen door. “I was thinking about your table settings,” he says looking around the chaos.
“I know it all looks very hectic, now,” I apologise. “But I’ll have it all nice and set up for the afternoon. Wyn and Ricky will get chairs and tables ready.” I indicate the centre of the kitchen
“I have another idea,” Alex says. “Why don’t you serve the tea in the ballroom?”
“Ballroom? Aren’t you working there?”
“Nothing urgent and it’s a nicer space, straight in from the front door.”
“What about all the ladders and stuff?”
“Wyn and Ricky will give me a hand. We can have it all cleared up.”
