‘I don’t think it’s that,’ Clemmie replied, flipping through the recipe book again. ‘There are no other numbers.’
‘Then I haven’t got a clue,’ Betty replied cheerfully. ‘But if it’s important, you’ll figure it out.’
‘I hope so. Oh, um… just to let you know, I’m going out tonight.’
‘I thought you were going to get a couple of early nights before the competition?’
‘I won’t be late,’ Clemmie replied, knowing she didn’t have a clue about how late she would be. As she closed the recipe book, she said ‘1705’ out loud. It didn’t help. Something about it continued to nag at her, a tiny itch in the back of her mind. Whatever 1705meant, she had a feeling it was more important than she realised.
A while later, Clemmie stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, checking her reflection for what felt like the tenth time. She’d taken Oliver’s command to ‘dress to impress’to heart,and gone all out. The dress she’d chosen was one of her favourites– a midnight-blue cocktail dress with an asymmetrical hemline that swirled around her knees. Its bodice was sleek and fitted, with delicate lace detailing over her shoulders that gave a hint of elegance without being too formal. She’d paired it with silver strappy heels, a matching clutch and a pair of vintage drop earrings she’d found in No. 17 Curiosity Lane, the antique shop.
Just before eight p.m., Clemmie stepped out of the café, the door clicking softly behind her. The air was cool and carried the faint tang of salt from the sea. The streets of Puffin Island were quiet, the soft whisper of distant waves and the occasional call of a gull the only sounds accompanying her footsteps. As she reached the bottom of Lighthouse Lane, the harbour came into view, the sight before her making her stop in her tracks. It was like stepping into the climactic scene of a James Bond film. TheRoyal Yacht, bathed in the golden glow of string lights, loomed majestically with an indigo sky haloing it.
And there he was.
Clemmie nearly stumbled at the sight of Oliver leaning casually against a post up ahead. He was a vision in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the fabric catching the light just enough to hint at its fine quality. His crisp white shirt was a stark contrast to his tanned complexion, and the black bow tie at his neck added a touch of old-Hollywood glamour.
The way he stood, his hand resting lightly in his pocket, his gaze scanning over the water, made Clemmie’s heart beat faster. He looked like he belonged to another world. In that moment, he could have been a prince, stepping out of the pages of a fairytale, or a spy ready for his next covert mission.
When his gaze shifted and found hers, his expression softened, then he smiled.
‘Wow,’ she admired as she walked towards him. ‘You clean up well,’ she said, her heart hammering in her chest.
His smile broadened, making her stomach flip. ‘You’re not looking so bad yourself,’ he said, his voice teasing.
He stepped closer. The soft scent of his aftershave, woodsy and sophisticated, made her close her eyes for a moment as he kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I tried to pull out all the stops,’ he said. ‘And it was worth it. You look absolutely stunning.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Ready for an unforgettable evening?’
‘Where are you taking me?’ Clemmie asked, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘Because it seems like we’re a little overdressed for a night on Puffin Island. Are you whisking me off to Paris again, or maybe Italy this time?’ she teased.
‘Not quite. How about dinner on the water instead?’ he replied, with that familiar mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
‘Get away. We’re not going on there,’ she said, gesturing to the ship. ‘Are you serious?’
‘You better believe it,’ he said, offering his arm. ‘Tonight, we’re dining aboard Her Majesty’s Royal Yacht.’
‘How is that even possible?’
‘Because I’m in the know,’ he said, clearly enjoying her reaction.
Clemmie raised an eyebrow. ‘I take it you have friends in high places… orroyalplaces?’
Oliver chuckled. ‘Lady Rosalind, a distant cousin of the Queen, is my grandmother’s best friend and happens to have a soft spot for me.’
Clemmie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Of course she does. You probably charmed her like you charm everyone else.’
‘When my grandmother mentioned I was here presenting The Royal Baking Competition, Lady Rosalind insisted that I dine on the yacht and sleep in one of the royal cabins. She used to work on the yacht as a royal caterer.’
‘A tour of the yacht is one thing but dinner? You’re winding me up.’
‘I’m absolutely not,’ he replied, smiling at her and holding out his arm.
Clemmie wrapped her arm around his and walked by his side. At the top of the gangplank, they were greeted by a waiter in tails, his white gloves so pristine they practically glowed.
‘Good evening, sir, madam,’ he said with a bow. ‘Welcome aboard.’
