Fiona stood nearby watching the pair closely. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped rhythmically on a book she was carrying, her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in their exchange. Clemmie could feel her watching them, and dared to glancetowards her. Fiona’s lips thinned as she adjusted her stance, her attention unwavering.
Clemmie stole a glance back at her cheering supporters. Betty stood front and centre, waving wildly. Amelia and Dilly were clapping and hollering as if they were at a rock concert. Even the twins were waving their tiny fists in unison, coached by Max, who held the pushchair steady.
Clemmie’s heart swelled at the sight of them. Their unwavering support was a lifeline, a reminder of why she was here. She straightened her shoulders, her nerves hardening into a steely determination. Just before disappearing inside the yacht, she caught Oliver’s gaze one last time. His expression was equal parts confidence and something softer, something that sent her pulse fluttering.
‘You’ve got this,’ he mouthed towards her as Clemmie adjusted her apron. A sense of calm settled over her. She wasn’t just baking for herself; she was baking for her family, for Puffin Island.
Once inside the yacht, she was guided towards a spacious gathering area set up for the contestants. She paused just inside the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the room, noting the diverse group of competitors, though of course she had seen them all at the press conference. There was a man in his fifties with a neatly trimmed moustache, carefully flipping through what appeared to be handwritten recipes, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Nearby, ayoung woman with vibrant purple hair was adjusting a headscarf, her lips moving silently as though rehearsing a mantra.
Clemmie took a glass of water from a nearby refreshment table and looked up at the gleaming chandeliers, whose light bounced off the polished gold andmahogany decor. The air buzzed with excitement and nerves, but each competitor was staying focused and keeping themselves to themselves. Shespotted Fiona, who was now gushing all over the judges, acting like they were her new best friends. Her high-pitched laughter echoed through the room as she leaned in close to Sir Gregory, hanging on his every word. Clemmie turned away; she wasn’t going to let Fiona rattle her. Nothing and no one, not even Fiona Fairweather, was going to stand in her way. Not only did she want to win the competition to put the café on the map, she also wanted one last adventure with Oliver Lockwood.
Chapter Twelve
Moments later Clemmie could almost feel the tense energy in the room and for once even Fiona was looking pensive. All ten competitors had taken their places at the workstations. The judges’ table was directly in front of Clemmie’s workstation, a pristine white tablecloth embroidered with the royal crest cascading down the front.
Clemmie tried to steady her hands as she adjusted her utensils, taking a moment to try and calm her beating heart. The audience was filing into the room and she immediately spotted her granny among the sea of faces. Betty’s eyes glistened with pride, her hands clasped tightly as she sat with Amelia and Dilly, who waved wildly. Despite the nerves churning in her stomach, Clemmie smiled.
Suddenly, a spotlight flicked on, casting a dramatic light over the room. Clemmie blinked under the brightness, her pulse quickening as the hum of excitement rippled all around. A floor manager wearing a headset gestured towards Oliver, who nodded and made his way to centre stage.
The judges were now seated and the cameras were in position, their lenses glinting like watchful eyes. Oliver picked up the microphone and flashed a broad smile that immediately put the room at ease. He waited for the murmurs to die down before speaking.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Her Majesty’s Royal Yachtand the annual Royal Baking Competition.The competition will soon begin, but before we dive into a world of whisking, piping and possibly some light pastry drama, we have a few house rules to go over.’
A ripple of laughter spread through the audience.
‘Firstly,’ he began, holding up a finger, ‘we will be live on air, so all mobile phones must be switched off or set to airplane mode. We love a good ringtone, but not while someone’s soufflé is trying to rise.’
The audience chuckled again and there was a wave of rustling as everyone switched their phones to silent and tucked them away.
‘Secondly, no talking while the bakers are working and the crew are filming. There will be several commercial breaks so we ask that you save any conversation until then.’
Clemmie smiled, her nerves easing as she appreciated the humour Oliver injected into the proceedings.
‘Thirdly,’ he continued, pacing theatrically across the stage, ‘we kindly ask that you remain seated until the interval. Not only because the cameras are rolling, but also because trying to climb over other spectators to reach thebathroom during a tense sponge-cake moment could lead to chaos and no one wants the Queen to see that when she tunes in.
‘On a more serious note,’ he added, his tone softening just enough to show his sincerity, ‘these bakers have worked incredibly hard to be here. Let’s support them, celebrate theircreativity and, most importantly, enjoy ourselves. Because, really, what could be better than a day dedicated to cake?’
The audience clapped enthusiastically, their spirits high and their smiles wide.
‘Now,’ Oliver said, gesturing to the bakers, ‘let’s get ready to bake!’
The lights dimmed over the audience, signalling the start of the competition. Clemmie took a deep breath, theencouraging energy from the crowd and Oliver’s presence bolstering her confidence. It was time to show everyone what she could do.
The floor manager started counting down. ‘Ten seconds!’ he called. ‘Nine, eight, seven…’
As the countdown reached ‘three, two, one’, Oliver stepped forward, microphone in hand. Under the bright lights, he looked perfectly confident as he addressed the camera with ease.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard the Royal Yacht for this year’s Royal Baking Competition!’ he declared.
A woman at the side of the stage held up a card with the word ‘applause’ and the room instantly burst into cheers and clapping. Clemmie took one last look at her grandmother and her friends, whose enthusiastic cheers rose above the rest.
‘We’re coming to you this year from the harbour at Puffin Island, where ten talented bakers are prepped and ready to deliver unique bakes steeped in family history.’ Oliver smiled, gesturing to the judges’ table. ‘Allow me to introduce to you our esteemed panel of judges…’
Oliver’s words washed over Clemmie as she focused on taking deep breaths, preparing for the moment the cameras would be on her and her fellow contestants.
As the crowd applauded the judges, Oliver gestured to the row of bakers standing at their stations. ‘We have ten remarkable bakers with us today who have travelled from farand wide to showcase their skills and their passion for baking. Let’s give them a round of applause!’
He then began introducing each contestant by name, sharing their hometown and a brief snippet about their background. Clemmie barely heard the others’ introductions as Oliver drew closer. When he finally reached her, she found herself hoping that her microphone wouldn’t pick up the thudding of her heartbeat, as she felt it beating nineteen to the dozen.
