Clemmie turned towards the cobbled road leading down to Blue Water Bay, her brow furrowing. ‘Sounds like… engines?’
A convoy of brightly coloured news vans rumbled urgently towards the bay, their satellite dishes glinting in the sunlight. As they came to a halt, doors flew open, releasing a bustling swarm of reporters and camera crews into the scene.
‘This just keeps getting better,’ Dilly murmured.
‘What the hell is going on now?’ Verity muttered, shading her eyes.
But before anyone could speculate, the attention on the beach shifted again and a collective gasp rose from the crowd as eyes turned to the horizon. Clemmie followed their gaze, squinting against the glare of the midday sun, and froze.
Far out on the water, something was approaching. At first, it was just a glimmer, but as it drew closer, its silhouette became clear: it was a yacht. No, not just any yacht…theyacht.
‘Wait a second,’ Dilly said, her voice rising. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
Clemmie’s heart raced as she took in the sight. The Royal Yacht was a marvel, gliding across the water with the elegance of a swan. Its gleaming white hull caught the sunlight, making it seem almost ethereal, while its gold-trimmed masts stood tall like sentinels of grandeur. Flags bearing the unmistakable royal insignia fluttered from the mast-tops. The yacht seemed to defy logic, both impossibly massive and exquisitely graceful, a floating masterpiece that drew gasps from everyone gathered on the beach.
‘It’s Her Majesty’s Royal Yacht,’ Amelia whispered, her tone reverent.
‘No way,’ Clemmie breathed, her heart thudding in her chest.
‘Yes way,’ Dilly said, practically bouncing with excitement.
Clemmie picked up her phone and placed a call. ‘Granny! Get to the bay! Quick!’
The yacht moved closer, and the buzz on the beach grew louder. Spectators surged towards the shoreline, their phones raised like tiny periscopes, snapping photos and recording videos. Children clambered onto shoulders for a better view, while reporters jostled for position, their microphones and cameras aimed at the approaching spectacle.
Clemmie looked over towards Oliver, who caught her eye. He smiled and waved a hand towards the boat, like he was showing off the Royal Yacht in all its glory.
‘You’re one of the ten bakers, Clemmie. You’re going to be onthat!’ exclaimed Verity.
‘Yes!’ Dilly chimed in. ‘You’re going to bake in the royal kitchen on a yacht. A Royal Yacht! This is insane!’
Before Clemmie could respond, a nearby reporter’s voice caught her attention.
‘The Royal Yacht is just about to dock at Puffin Island,’ the woman said, speaking animatedly into her microphone. ‘It’s here to host the annual Royal Baking Competition, where ten lucky bakers will have the opportunity of a lifetime to showcase their skills.’
Clemmie’s knees felt weak. The Royal Baking Competition. This wasn’t just any stage… it wasthestage. And she was going to be on it.
Just then, Betty came hurrying down Lighthouse Lane. She puffed slightly as she joined the growing crowd, pressing her hands to her hips to catch her breath.
‘Good heavens, what on earth is going on here?’ she exclaimed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the onlookers. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of theRoyal Yacht gliding towards the dock, its gleaming hull and towering masts a spectacle. ‘In all my years on this island, I’ve never seen anything like this!’
Clemmie turned to her, barely able to suppress her own excitement. ‘I can’t believe I’m going to be baking on that yacht.’
As the yacht slowed to a majestic stop at the dock, its horn sounded a deep, resonant note that echoed across the bay. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.
Clemmie could hardly believe her eyes. Every detail of the yacht, from its polished wood decks to its ornate gold fixtures, spoke of prestige and history. It was a symbol of excellence, and it was now the backdrop for her greatest challenge yet.
‘Clemmie! There you are! Come on…’ Oliver’s voice broke through the din, and Clemmie turned to see him striding towards her with a grin full of excitement.
‘Me?’ she asked, pointing at herself. ‘Come where?’
‘They want to talk to one of the bakers,’ Oliver said, signalling for her to follow him towards the gathered news crews.
‘But… look at me.’
‘You look beautiful,’ Oliver said, reaching for her hand. ‘Just be yourself and you’ll be grand.’
Amelia gave her a gentle shove. ‘Go on… go get ’em, Clemmie!’
