Page 67 of The Little Teashop of Lost and Found
Perfectly Preserved
Lola drove herself up on Thursday and since the skip had departed again, we managed to squeeze her small hatchback into the parking place next to my old Beetle, while still leaving room for Nile, who appeared to have gone off somewhere early.
He was certainly home last night, though, because the flat lights were on. I think I’m becoming a curtain twitcher …
There were no workmen around, though Jack would be in later after another job, bringing the tiles we’d chosen for the kitchen and customer cloakrooms, and I knew Ross would begin sanding the café floorboards next morning, which sounded like another noisy kind of day.
We took Lola’s overnight bag up to the flat and I gave her a guided tour, which, given the size of the place, took all of five minutes.
Then I made coffee and sampled some of the contents of the whole basket of tiny jars of jams, preserves, pickles and chutneys she’d brought for me to try. They were all so delicious that I decided that, as well as using them for the teas, I’d sell them from the counter in the café, too.
Lola showed me a picture on her iPad of the display stands she’d had made for stockists who were taking a range of Dolly and Lola’s products.
‘I haven’t got room for a stand in the tearoom, but I wonder if Bel and Sheila would be interested in having one in their waffle house next spring?’ I suggested. ‘Remember I told you about that?’
She nodded. ‘Oh, do you think they might?’
‘They’d certainly have room, because their café will be in a former carriage house, so you can show them the photos when we go up to dinner later.’
‘We’ve had some small carrier bags printed with our logo so I can bring you a supply of those for behind the counter, if you like?’
‘It’s OK, I’m having some upmarket doggy bags printed with our logo, for anyone who wants to take any leftover sandwiches and cake home from their tea, so we can use those,’ I said. ‘They’re white card, with our logo up the side in a dark teal colour.’
‘That sounds quite swish,’ she said. ‘What do you think of the lemon curd?’
‘That and the orange version are so yummy, they’d make great tart fillings, garnished with just a twist of candied peel.’
I looked down at the pot I was holding, realized I’d eaten almost the entire contents of the orange one, and put my spoon down quickly. ‘I’m glad you’re making horseradish sauce too, because I’ll need it for the roast beef sandwiches.’
‘Dad started growing it a few years ago, along with the herbs, and Mum tried out lots of recipes till she came up with this one: it’s not too explosive, but still strong enough to add a bit of zest.’
‘It does that all right,’ I agreed, and then we screwed all the lids back on the jars and went downstairs. I’d already sent her lots of photos of how the café looked before we started on the renovations and then some of the ensuing chaos, but now I’d painted the teashop itself, at least she could get some idea of what the final result would be.
‘I love the colour scheme – it’s just like the flat!’ she enthused. ‘All these chalky blues and whites and creams – light but somehow not cold.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought. I nicked the idea from my bedroom at Oldstone Farm. Sheila Giddings is part Norwegian and she’s decorated it in what Bel – that’s her daughter – calls Scandi-style. It goes with the blue and white patterned china, too, in an odd kind of way.’
‘I like the way the big mirror behind the counter at the back of the room reflects the light from the bow window.’
‘I think it must have been there since the place was the Copper Kettle, and so had the signboard, because you could still make out theletters of the last two names before the Branwell Café. It’s gone to be properly sanded down and repainted.’
I led the way out of the front door into the little cobbled courtyard, which was dappled by weak sunshine.
‘I think The Fat Rascal is an inspired name choice,’ Lola said. ‘Are you going to have them on the menu?’
‘Yes, miniature versions. In fact, I’ll have a Fat Rascal Tea as an option to the Classic Tea with scones.’
‘Good idea!’
‘You can see where Jack has mended and undercoated the Victorian trellis porch,’ I pointed out. ‘I’m having all the outside paintwork dark teal picked out in white, to match the new sign.’
She caught sight of Small and Perfect opposite and said with interest, ‘That must be Nile’s shop? But it looks shut.’
‘It isn’t often open, because he makes his living finding expensive bits and pieces for wealthy collectors. His car wasn’t there earlier so he must be off somewhere, which is a shame because you could have had a look round.’
‘And I’d like to catch a glimpse of this mythical beast, too,’ she said with a grin.
We went across and peered in the window anyway, though the distorting bull’s-eye-glass panes gave everything a slightly rippled effect, not to mention a faintly bilious tinge of green.
