Clemmie explained the saga of the unexpected cake thief, leaving Amelia smiling at the story. ‘And what is it you’re thinking about?’ asked Amelia.
‘The Royal Baking Competition. Granny has given me something to think about and I think she could be possibly right.’ Clemmie explained about the traditional torte and the backstory, and asked for Amelia’s opinion.
‘I’m with Betty. Just think how wonderful it would be to honour your great-great-grandmother– and the media is going to love the story. Now tell me again the story of how you found out you’d made the cut?’ Amelia asked, leaning forward with a grin.
Clemmie rolled her eyes playfully. ‘But you’ve heard it a dozen times already!’
‘I know, but tell me anyway. It’s nice to see how happy it makes you.’
‘So, it was two weeks ago, just another morning at the café,’ Clemmie began in an overly serious tone, which set Amelia off giggling. ‘I was about to unlock the door when I noticed this envelope on the mat– thick, expensive paper, the royal crest embossed on the front. My heart just about stopped. I picked it up, hands shaking, and when I opened it’—she paused for dramatic effect—‘there it was: the official invitation. I’d been chosen as one of this year’s contestants for The Royal Baking Competition.’
Amelia let out a squeal and asked ‘And then?’, even though she already knew what happened next.
‘Granny took one look at the letter and burst into tears. Proper, joyful, full-on crying. I think she might be more excited about it than I am.’ Clemmie chuckled, shaking her head. ‘But honestly, I’m still trying to wrap my head around how it evenhappened. I had to be nominated by someone, but I have no idea who it could have been. Did someone come into the café and secretly taste my baking? Was it a regular? Or maybe’—she leaned in conspiratorially—‘an undercover judge?’
Amelia gasped, delighted by the mystery. ‘Ooh, I love that idea. Like a baking detective, scouting out the best of the best!’
‘Exactly!’ Clemmie laughed. ‘And now, with the competition being held right here on Puffin Island, the pressure is even higher. The whole town is buzzing about it. I can’t let them down.’
Amelia reached for Clemmie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘You won’t. You’re going to make us all proud. Now tell me about the best bit– the prizes!’
‘The winner will get an invitation to the royal garden party, where their winning dessert will be baked by the royal kitchen for all the guests, and they’ll also get to publish their very own cookbook.’
Amelia cheered then added, ‘You’ll be amazing and the island will be out in full force, cheering you every step of the way. Have you had a look at your competition?’
Clemmie grabbed the latest copy ofKnead to Knowmagazine from the shelf. She tapped the article and spun the magazine towards Amelia. ‘This is Fiona Fairweather– my biggest competition.’
Fiona Fairweather: The ‘Queen of Cup Cakes’ Declares Victory Before the First Whisk.
In an exclusive (and gloriously self-assured) interview with Knead to Know, self-proclaimed baking royalty Fiona Fairweather has made her ambitions for the upcoming Royal Baking Competition crystal clear: she’s already won it. Or at least, in her mind.
Fiona, a full-time baker and Instagram and TikTok personality, is no stranger to controversy or confidence. Her rise to fame began when her meticulously sculpted croquembouche (shaped like the Eiffel Tower, complete with edible sparklers) won The Glorious Bake competition in Chelsea last year. Since then, she’s been running her luxury patisserie in Kensington, churning out cakes with price tags high enough to make even billionaires wince.
‘Yikes! She’s not shy, is she? Full of self-importance,’ exclaimed Amelia.
Clemmie added, ‘Look at this part: “I’m not worried about the competition at all”, Fiona Fairweather declared during our interview at her shop, Fairweather’s Fancies. “Let’s be honest, darling, how could anyone compete with me?”
‘Apparently, she won another competition last year by sculpting a life-sized giraffe out of marzipan. It’s impressive but I’m determined to win. I will not be beaten!’ declared Clemmie.
‘You’ll show her!’ Amelia stated, kissing her friend on the cheek. ‘I need to get back to the bookshop but you have a good day. And who wants to eat a marzipan giraffe anyway? The brass neck of that woman!’
Clemmie laughed as Amelia disappeared through the door. By the time Betty reappeared, the café smelled of victory… or at least of vanilla sponge. Clemmie carefully lifted the new cake layers from the oven, inspecting them with the critical eye of a seasoned baker.
‘Perfect,’ she declared, placing them on the counter to cool.
Betty nodded approvingly. ‘Well done, and not a puffin in sight.’
‘Don’t jinx it,’ Clemmie warned, glancing suspiciously at the door.
As she began assembling the cake, spreading a generous layer of jam and cream between the sponges, Betty pulled up a stool and began flipping through the café’s book of homemade recipes. She sneakily left it open at the page of Clemmie’s great-great-grandmother’s torte before switching on the kettle.
‘I know what you’re doing!’ Clemmie chided.
‘It’s your choice. Whatever you decide, this café already has its winner.’
Clemmie smiled. Her granny always had a way of making her feel like she could conquer the world.
As Clemmie placed the finishing touches on the new Victoria sponge, Betty leaned over and said, ‘You might want to shut the window.’
