Clemmie reached for the newspaper, scanning the lines in horror.
A source close to the Royals told us, ‘This particular torte has a long history within the royal household. It is not merely a well-loved dessert but one with deep roots dating back to wartime. As it appeared in the competition under the guise of a personal creation, questions must be asked.’
Betty’s lips pressed into a thin line. ‘They’re saying you didn’t have the right to claim it as your own.’
Clemmie slumped back in her chair. ‘This is a joke, right? I’ve already won, the show was televised live.’
Amelia’s voice was tight. ‘I wish it were.’ She exchanged a glance with Clemmie. ‘I suppose they could disqualify you.’
‘What will happen to The Café on the Coast if I’m branded a cheat?’
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next afternoon Clemmie kissed her granny on the cheek and stepped outside the café. The crisp sea air wrapped around her as she spotted Oliver’s car pulling up. The moment she slid into the passenger seat, she caught the concern in his deep blue eyes.
‘I saw the newspaper yesterday,’ he said quietly, his brow furrowed. ‘I’m really sorry, Clemmie.’ He leaned across and kissed her on her cheek.
‘It’s ridiculous. Sensationalised nonsense.’
‘I could have a word with Lady Rosalind,’ he offered. ‘She has the right contacts to squash bad publicity.’
Clemmie hesitated, ‘Would she really help me?’ she asked cautiously. ‘I mean, given Fiona’s her granddaughter…’
Oliver nodded thoughtfully. ‘Rosalind has always been a fair woman. Blood ties don’t cloud her judgement. If she believes something is right, she’ll do it. But we’d have to be honest with her. We’d have to tell her the recipe was gifted from the Earl.’
Clemmie felt a lump rise in her throat. The whole thing was a mess, and yet Oliver’s unwavering support soothed some of thesting. He reached over with his left hand, his eyes still on the road, his fingers wrapping around hers. ‘We can sort anything, together.’
But they couldn’t. The realisation hit her like a wave. Because he was leaving. In just a few days, he’d be gone, flying across the world to chase his career, while she remained rooted on Puffin Island.
‘Honestly, this will all come good,’ he reassured, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles. ‘You suddenly look very sad.’
‘It’s just…’ She trailed off, unsure how to put it into words.
‘Just what?’ he prompted, his gaze never wavering.
She swallowed. ‘Timing. Again. I was so mad with you at the end of the garden party, yet my time at Royalwood Cottage was so wonderful. I know it sounds daft, and I could never afford somewhere so grand, obviously, but it felt like… we were a proper couple. Living together. Waking up, having breakfast, I had so much fun shopping for my dress…’
‘Which is in the boot of the car along with all the accessories. They belong to you.’ Oliver smiled, his grip on her hand tightening. ‘And I know. I was thinking the same.’
Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken thoughts, the hum of the radio the only sound filling the space. They both knew what was coming. The distance. The uncertainty.
‘A year isn’t for ever,’ Oliver said finally, his voice soft yet firm. ‘We can work it out… if we both want to.’ He began driving.
Of course she wanted to work it out. But how? She could never leave Puffin Island– it wasn’t just where she lived; it was part of her, stitched into her very being. The café, the sea air, the people who felt like family. And Oliver? He thrived on movement, on adventure, on the sheer unpredictability of his life. Even if they tried long-distance for a year, then what? Would she be left waiting again, counting down the days until his next visit, only for him to be off to another continent afterAmerica? Would every milestone, every birthday, every bad day when she just needed him, be marked by a video call instead of a touch? Love wasn’t the problem. It never had been. But was love enough to bridge an ocean when the real question wasn’t just where he was going next, but whether they’d ever stop being two people pulled in different directions?
‘You do know I never want to move from Puffin Island,’ she said quietly, taking a sidewards glance towards him.
He did the same, before refocusing on the road ahead. ‘Yes, I know,’ he admitted. ‘And I’ve got to work out how I feel about that. I love my job, I love the travel… and I don’t want to let you down by making promises I might not be able to keep. No one can see into the future, but there’s one thing I do know.’ He paused. ‘I want you in my life. We just need to find a way to make that work.’
Warmth spread through her, a flicker of hope among the uncertainty. But doubt still lingered. Love wasn’t always enough, was it?
An hour later, Oliver turned into the car park of an elegant hotel, its sandstone exterior standing proudly against the mountainous terrain.
Inside, the foyer was the epitome of refined luxury. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting delicate patterns onthe polished marble floor. Elegant flower displays decorated the space, and well-dressed guests chatted as they passed through the reception.
They walked towards the bar, where Bunny sat waiting for them on a leather chesterfield. She was the embodiment of old-world elegance. Dressed in a perfectly tailored twin set, a string of pearls resting at her collar, she exuded a presence that demanded attention. Her sharp blue eyes flickered up as they approached, then she smiled and stood up. Oliver kissed her onboth cheeks. ‘Granny,’ he said and reintroduced her to Clemmie before they all sat down.
‘This is all very cloak-and-dagger,’ she remarked, picking up her teacup and taking a sip. ‘Accosting me on my way to Scotland like this. Now, tell me what’s going on.’
