Oliver shrugged. ‘The judges tasted the bakes before the puffin tucked into his afternoon tea so I don’t think it makes a difference at this point.’ He gestured towards the floor manager. ‘What are we doing about getting the puffin out of here?’
The puffin was quickly removed by the security team, and as the judges returned and the cameras began to roll again, Oliver explained the mishap that had gone on during the commercial break.
‘If nothing else, it’s made for quite the memorable finale!’
There was a ripple of laughter from the audience and even Sir Gregory cracked a rare smile.
Fiona discreetly huffed but as the cameras panned towards her she turned on a smile.
Sir Gregory placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. ‘I think we’re ready to announce the winner.’
The grand finale of The Royal Baking Competition had arrived, and the tension in the room was unmistakable. Contestants, audience members and even the camera crew held their breath as the gleaming Golden Whisk Trophy was placed on a pedestal beside the judge’s table. The judges sat back, their expressions giving nothing away as they prepared to name their winner.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Oliver began, his voice brimming with excitement, ‘the moment we’ve all been waiting for is here. Our esteemed judges have deliberated, and now they will each reveal their choice for this year’s winner of The Royal Baking Competition. Let’s find out whose creation has earned the titleFit for Royalty. As a reminder, the winner’s creation will be served to guests at the royal garden party, and will be included in a cookbook of their own recipes, which will be published and on the shelves by early autumn.’ Oliver nodded towards the judges.
The crowd erupted into anticipatory cheers before settling into a hushed silence. All eyes were on Sir Gregory Whitcomb, the first judge to speak. He stood, adjusting his perfectly tailored jacket, and addressed the room.
‘Throughout this competition, we’ve seen extraordinary talent,’ Sir Gregory began, his voice rich and commanding. ‘But one creation stood out not only for its technical excellence but also for its elegance and restraint. In my career, I’ve learned that a dish must be more than delicious, it must tell a story, evoke emotion and leave an indelible impression.’ He turned hispiercing gaze to Clemmie, who stood beside her chocolate and clementine torte. ‘Clemmie, your torte did all of that and more. The clementines brought a regal freshness to the richness of the chocolate, a balance that is both sophisticated and delightful. It is, without a doubt, a dessert worthy of a royal banquet. My vote goes to you.’
The audience burst into applause. Clemmie felt her heart race, emotion surging through her body, and she blinked back tears as she nodded her gratitude. Oliver stepped forward, his grin widening. ‘A strong start for Clemmie Rose! Sir Gregory has cast his vote. Now, Margot Hastings, we’re eager to hear your thoughts.’
Margot rose gracefully, her sharp eyes softening slightly as she looked at Clemmie. ‘This competition is about excellence, and each contestant has shown incredible skill. But Clemmie, your torte had something special, a sense of heart, of legacy. The clementines were a bold choice, and they paid off spectacularly, elevating the dish to something truly memorable. The sponge was the best I’ve ever tasted, the ganache was smooth as silk, and the citrus brought a brightness that made the whole thing sing. It’s the kind of dessert that could grace the table at any royal gathering. My vote is also for Clemmie Rose.’
Another wave of applause erupted. This time louder.
Oliver took the microphone again, his excitement barely contained. ‘With two votes, Clemmie Rose is the winner of this year’s Royal Baking Competition!’
Clemmie’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief as the audience roared, Betty’s voice ringing out above everyone else’s.
‘We have our winner, but we also still have one more judge’s decision to hear. Dominic, the floor is yours.’
Dominic stood, his charming smile and approachable demeanour earning a few cheers from the crowd. ‘I know youdon’t need my vote, Clemmie, but you have it. Your torte wasn’t just a dessert, it was an experience. The way the clementines complemented the chocolate was inspired, and the precision of your execution was flawless. But what really stood out to me was the sense of tradition and innovation. You honoured the past with so much love, andthat’s what this competition is about, what makes it so special. If there’s one dessert tonight that’s fit for royalty, it’s yours.’
The room erupted into cheers and applause, the sound nearly deafening, and before she could process her out-and-out victory, Oliver, caught up in the moment, stepped towards her, swept her off her feet and spun her around in an exuberant victory hug.
The crowd roared with laughter and applauded, and Oliver quickly set her down, his face flushing as he realised everyone was watching. ‘Well, I think that was unorthodox,’ he said, grinning sheepishly. ‘But hey, we’re making history tonight!’
Betty was on her feet, clapping the loudest of anyone, tears of joy streaming down her face. The audience followed her lead, rising in a standing ovation that filled the hall with thunderous applause.
Clemmie, still dazed, stepped forward to the microphone. Beside her stood the illustrious Golden Whisk Trophy, its elegant handle adorned with the royal crest, encrusted with glimmering diamonds that caught the light like a constellation of stars. The trophy was a symbol of both culinary excellence and regal heritage, a prize fit for The Royal Baking Competition champion. She took a deep breath and smiled.
‘I… I don’t know where to begin,’ she started, her eyes scanning the cheering crowd. Although emotion threatened to overwhelm her, her voice was steady. ‘This means more to me than I can possibly say.’ She paused, swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath. ‘But I wouldn’t be standing here without all the incredible women in my life, particularly mygreat-great-granny, who opened up thecafé and passed down her love of baking to all the generations that have followed, and my own granny, Betty Rose, who’s been my biggest supporter every step of the way and is the co-owner of The Café on the Coast.’
The audience erupted into applause, but Clemmie wasn’t finished. A small, nostalgic smile spread across her face as she continued. ‘The Rose women have long been huge fans of the Royal Family. When I was little, Granny and I would sit for hours talking about what it would be like to visit the palace, to have afternoon tea with the Queen herself. My granny had this way of making it all seem so magical.’
The crowd leaned in, captivated by her words. ‘And, well,’ Clemmie added with a sheepish chuckle, ‘I might have taken it a bit too far. I used to dress up in her wedding dress and pretend I was the Queen, sitting in Eldenbridge Palace, eating tiny sandwiches and scones with clotted cream.’ Laughter rippled through the audience, and Clemmie’s cheeks flushed.
Her voice softened as she glanced towards Betty. ‘Those moments, those stories, her love of baking, it’s all shaped me into who I am today. This trophy isn’t just for me; it’s for all the women in my family, and for every cup of tea and slice of cake that’s been shared in The Café on the Coast.’
She turned towards the audience, her voice inviting. ‘Granny, would you join me up here? This moment is as much yours as it is mine.’ Clemmie extended her hand towards Betty. The audience cheered louder as Betty hesitated, clearly emotional, before being coaxed onto the stage. She walked up with a mix of pride and shyness, wiping tears from her cheeks as she reached Clemmie. Clemmie wrapped her in a hug before turning back to the microphone. ‘Everyone, this is Betty Rose– my granny and the heart of our family. If it weren’t for her and the other strong women in our family, I wouldn’t be holding this trophy today.’
The audience rose to their feet in another thunderous standing ovation. Betty waved shyly, dabbing at her tears with a tissue, while Clemmie held the Golden Whisk Trophy aloft, its royal crest glinting in the spotlight. Oliver stepped back to let the moment unfold, his smile wide and genuine.
A moment later, Clemmie turned towards Oliver. ‘Can I say something else?’
‘Of course.’
The audience went quiet. ‘I want to share something I’ve never spoken about publicly before,’ she began, her eyes flicking momentarily to Betty. ‘When I first started out in my career, I wasn’t sure of myself. I loved baking, but becoming a partner in the café was daunting, especially following in footsteps of my family members, who have all been expert bakers. Then, not long after I became a partner, someone wrote an awful review about me and the café. They called the menu uninspired and said I’d never measure up to others in the industry.’
