By the time she finished, Betty was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. ‘You’re a walking sitcom, I swear. But honestly, it sounds like you’re having the time of your life. Royalwood looksabsolutely beautiful. How did Oliver manage to get you both an invite to stay? I never did ask.’
‘I think it’s something to do with Lady Rosalind. She’s a friend of the Queen’s and great family friends with Oliver’s grandparents. But Granny, listen, you’ll never guess what I’ve found– the number 1705, right here in my room at the cottage!’
‘Really?’
‘It’s so bizarre, it’s engraved in the wood on the inside of the wardrobe.’
‘Now thatisstrange.’
‘I asked Oliver about it but he thinks it just means when it was made.’
‘He’s probably right, but what a strange coincidence. Oh, by the way,’ Betty said, her tone shifting, ‘you’ll never guess the latest local news. The Royal Yacht is still moored at Puffin Island and isn’t leaving anytime soon.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘Apparently there’s an issue with the engine, so it’s going to be here for at least another week.’
‘All the tourists will love that. I’ll be home in a few days to help out. I bet the café will be heaving.’
‘You’re not wrong. I’ve been run off my feet baking the now infamous torte. Everyone wants a slice!’
‘That’s incredible,’ Clemmie said.
‘So many people want to meet you… Oh, and I’ve been looking through all the recipe books from the past and seeing what you could possibly include in your new cookbook. Amelia said she’s going to clear a whole shelf for copies of your book in The Story Shop when it’s published.’
‘That’s lovely. Thank you.’
‘I want lots of updates!’
‘I’ll keep you updated on everything!’
After wrapping up the call, Clemmie gave herself one final glance in the mirror. Satisfied, she headed downstairs, the soft rustle of her dress accompanying her footsteps. When she reached the kitchen, the rich aroma of something delicious greeted her.
The kitchen was straight out of another time, full of old-world charm. A big racing-green Aga took centre stage, its cast-iron doors slightly open, letting out a gentle heat. Above it, copper pots and pans hung from a rail, their surfaces catching the light.
To one side, a grand inglenook fireplace dominated the wall, its blackened beams framing an empty hearth. The sturdy farmhouse table in the middle of the room was well-worn, its mismatched chairs only adding to the charm. A vase of fresh wildflowers sat in the centre, bringing a splash of colour.
The pantry door stood ajar, revealing shelves packed with neatly labelled jars of preserves, sacks of flour and tiny glass bottles of spices. Rustic wooden cabinets with wrought-iron handles lined the walls, while the polished stone countertops were scattered with fresh vegetables, a loaf of crusty bread and a well-used wooden chopping board.
Oliver stood at the counter, wearing an apron emblazoned with the words ‘King of the Kitchen’ and looking entirely at ease.
‘King of the kitchen? Did you bring that apron with you?’ Clemmie teased, raising an eyebrow.
He grinned and shook his head, gesturing towards the pantry. ‘They were hanging in there. There’s a “Queen of the Kitchen” one, too! Someone in the royal household clearly has a great sense of humour.’
‘It suits you,’ Clemmie said, laughing lightly as she leaned against the doorframe. ‘You’ve been busy, I see. Are we eating here? Shall I set the table?’
He nodded towards the door leading off the kitchen. ‘We’re eating in there and everything is already set.’
Clemmie peeked around the door and stopped in her tracks. The dining table was like something out of a dream, set with fine china with delicate gold patterns, silverware that practically gleamed and crystal glasses that caught the light. A little vase of fresh flowers sat in the middle, clearly picked from the garden, and tall candles flickered softly.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, her voice tinged with awe, touched by the effort Oliver had gone to.
‘Only the best for you,’ he replied with a grin, pouring her a glass of wine. ‘Go on, take a seat.’ He gestured towards the head of the table. ‘I’ll bring the food through in a moment.’
‘What are we having?’ she asked curiously, standing in the doorway.
Oliver wiped his hands on his apron and leaned against the counter. ‘A bit of a royal feast, actually. The roasted vegetables are straight from the estate gardens. Carrots, parsnips and the most enormous butternut squash I’ve ever seen– all grown just beyond the hedgerows. The herbs are from the kitchen garden here, too– rosemary, thyme, sage. And the venison? That comes from the royal grounds as well. Locally sourced, shall we say?’ He winked.
