Page 3 of The Wedding Cake
“We only wanted to make sure you weren’t out with a nutter,” chirruped Jimena.
“See!” Freya flung her palms wide. “This is exactly why I cannot be arsed. I don’t know if I want to go through the same old restaurant/café/bar routine, only to get the same old results.”
Now she felt like a hypocrite, because at least her colleagues were being proactive on her behalf. When had Freya ever done anything about trying to meet a man in less obvious circumstances?
“Somehow I can’t quite see you getting it on with a guy halfway across the flimsy bridge over the Caminito del Rey’s gorge, like the adrenaline junkies do,” said Nicola.
“Is that so?” Freya arched her brow. “You’d be very surprised at my sense of adventure in that case. Well... my past sense of adventure.”
It was true. Freya had relished getting a regular dose of fresh air and engaging in all manner of outdoor pursuits, prior to setting up shop. Those had been the good old days when she’d had a work-life balance – not that she could protest at what she’d achieved on paper, or in her bank account. This lot, though, appeared to have pigeonholed her as a homely little old lady who needed to get out more. Well, it was time they got to know the dark horse she had once been. The wicked cogs in Freya’s brain started whirring and now she could feel a revenge team building event on paragliders coming on. That would soon shut their pie holes. Which was a pretty uncivilized thought, so best to leave it in her head. She loved her co-workers to bits really, except when it came to their incessant matchmaking banter. It was easy to toss this about like cheap confetti when you were either married, in a committed and loving relationship, or a player yourself (aka. Ricky).
“You wouldnae catch me putting as much as a wee toe on that scunnered walkway,” Ricky shrieked.
“Don’t be daft,” said Hannah in her Yorkshire accent, ever the voice of wisdom. She didn’t often contribute to group discussions but when she did she made her point known. “It requires more bravery to add the finer details to thousands of pounds worth of wedding cake. The Caminito is a literal rite of passage. You can’t live in this part of the world without having conquered it. It’s just a walkway in a gorge and the views are incredible.”
See, Hannah was so in tune with Freya. She could even read her mind.
“And I’m just a twenty-seven-year-old standing in front of a gorge four hundred metres above frigging sea level, screaming ‘no way, José!’” Ricky cried, putting his unique spin on the infamous Notting Hill movie line.
“I think you’ve planted a seed, Nicola. We’ll definitely get something extreme booked up for the spring,” Freya confirmed with a laugh, loving that she could sneakily pin the adventurous proposal back on her pastry chef.
“Count me right out.” Ricky shuddered. “You’re bananas.”
“Me too,” said Nicola, despite having suggested it in the first place.
“Me three,” chorused Jimena, predictable as ever.
“Sounds fab! I’m up for it.” At least Alejandro was enthused.
Okay then, maybe the idea was a little rad. But Freya was already determined that she would get the team away from these four walls and out into the great outdoors. Fine. They’d start with a spot of car racing on the world famous Jerez race track instead. She just wouldn’t tell them yet.
“Off you go,” said Hannah, ushering Freya out the door and down the stairs. “We’ll be fine. And if the date doesn’t pan out, for the love of God don’t suffer a second longer than necessary; come straight back here and I’ll make you a cuppa and order an Uber. Oh, and don’t forget to text me the moment you arrive so I’ve a pin of your location to pick you up if need be, although the bar staff should really be drilled to help if the guy’s profile doesn’t sync with reality and you want to extricate yourself from the venue.”
Again, Hannah was the model employee. She simply said and did all the right things. Always and without fail. Freya couldn’t have asked for more.
Freya did as she was told and left the building, not before picking up the weekly charity box of donations that she and her staff contributed to the town hall’s food bank scheme. The bags of lentils, chickpeas and rice weighed her down but it was important they did their bit. Times had been tough for those who worked in the tourist industry in the last couple of years, with many still out of work or struggling to support families on part-time wages while they waited for visitor numbers to go back to their previous levels, and more permanent roles to arrive. Freya wasn’t one to blow her own trumpet but this box from FOM’s employees was just a supplement to the huge weekly charity supermarket shop she did privately online.
She inhaled the heady fragrance of the old town’s square, marvelling at how superbly its clusters of trees loaded with dazzling ripe oranges blended with the vibrant red of Marbella’s poinsettias. Luckily, the town hall was directly opposite the cakery, across the square, so she didn’t need to test her muscle power for long, and she gratefully made the drop at its reception. Weaving her way through the narrow, flower pot-strewn lanes, Freya reached the main road and crossed it, heading toward the sea. It felt strange to be leaving work at such an early hour. 6.30 p.m. was practically after lunch in this part of the world, and she felt more than a little guilty for abandoning her employees, despite knowing everything was ship-shape back in the cakery. But this was a date with a Norwegian. He preferred eating early, he’d said. Freya knew this already set the tone for the date. He (thought) he wore the decision-making trousers, and therefore he couldn’t hope to win a piece of her heart (or her esteemed cake). Still, nothing could have prepared her for his opening dialogue when she reached the upmarket tapas bar. He was – disappointingly – sitting indoors so she couldn’t even wrap herself up in a fluffyhyggethrow to navigate the experience.
“You are five and a half minutes late.” Lars, who turned out to be skinny, lanky and ash-blond, tapped his chunky Rolex.What the actual eff?He’d need to do better than that.
Then he stood and extended his hand robotically for a shake as if this was a business meeting. Not that Freya much wished to brush her cheek against the lazy stubble on his face. “It’s great to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you,” he said next. What in the frick was that meant to mean? She hoped he was only referring to her professional reputation, and he hadn’t been fed reports from the sparse suitors of her past. Perhaps this was some kind of challenge to see if he could be the one to defrost her heart?
“So anyway, I made the executive decision to order,” he continued before Freya could as much as open her mouth with her own greeting. “We are having fried eggplant with honey, alioli potatoes, fried squid and black pudding. The wine I have selected for us this evening is a vintage and oaky dry Rioja. The most expensive bottle on the menu.” Lars added the kind of wink and skew-whiff grin he clearly thought would make Freya roll over into submission, begging him to take her right now.
Again, what the actual fuck?Freya was not going to censor the cuss words in her head.This wasn’t some regency period drama where women were second class citizens, unable to formulate an opinion for themselves. She could have been a veggie for all he knew.
On the subject of drink, Freya wanted a gin and tonic. She was one of those ‘curious’ women who couldn’t appreciate the dehydrating and vinegary attraction of wine, red, white or rosé. Not that she needed to justify herself. And how had Lars intuitively ordered every single tapa that she loathed? There were plenty of options on the menu that Freya loved. If only she’d been given the chance to choose for herself – but apparently she was a child.
Lars rolled up the sleeves of his blazer so that he looked like an eighties yuppie, finally lifted the aviator sunglasses from his eyes, tipping them backwards to rest on his tufty hair, and pinned Freya with his steely blue gaze. Oh, he looked exactly like his profile picture on her dating app. On steroids. This was like being in one of those live-action animation movies, where the cartoon character and human being generally tend to wind one another up to the point of volcanic eruption.
“I cannot tell you what an amazing day today has been for business,” Lars crooned, oblivious to Freya’s musing as they took their seats. He helped himself to a handful of breadsticks from a pot that he moved to his side of the table. Freya knew it was uncouth, but she would have loved to shove them up his backside. She chewed back her snort laugh.
“Well, that’s great. I’ve had a pretty successful day myself, I¾”
“My Nordic kitchen design company has a contract for two million euros in the bag,” Lars squealed like a pig, rubbing his hands together ferociously. “The biggest real estate company on the coast wantsmy ideasto run seamlessly through their showhomes and into every specification of apartments surrounding one of Spain’s top golf courses. It doesn’t get better than that.” He grinned, seemingly into the distance, until Freya followed his gaze. He was scanning the figure of a Barbie-doll woman who would make the perfect accompaniment to Lars’ Ken-like self.
Freya put her rapidly mounting disdain on ice and played along, indulging the braggart by listening intently to his one-sided conversation about his plans for retail expansion into the Canary islands. Something incredibly strange was happening today. Just like the spontaneous idea Nicola had planted in her head earlier, now along came another. She would bide her time though, sitting through this horrific monologue of boasts until the right moment.
