Page 5 of The Gingerbread Cafe
‘Her name was Nell.’ Gretel cleared her throat and put her bag down, grabbing hold of a box of matches on one of the uncovered tables and lighting a winter-spice-scented candle. She moved around the room doing the same on each table, the simple ritual bringing with it a wave of calm. She’d helped Nell set up on countless occasions. Useful talents like baking or working a till were beyond her, but she knew how to make things look pretty. She gulped back a sob, concentrating on the comforting flicker of each tiny flame as it danced to life.
Mr Birdwhistle hurried around sweeping dust sheets from tables, as though worried an anxious woman in charge of a matchbox hadblazing disasterwritten all over her.
Just as Gretel finished her rounds with the last satisfying strike of a match, she heard a key in the door and the frustrated shaking of a lock. Was it usually so reluctant to let people in? Maybe it was taking a leaf out of her book. She tried to slow her quickening heartbeat with a few deep breaths. But Mr Birdwhistle was checking his watch and nodding. He didn’t seem alarmed.
When the door finally shoved open, it sent a draught through the room that extinguished every carefully lit candle. As she caught a clear eyeful of who had just stepped through it, her skin went equally cold.
Chapter 4
Sothatwas who Mr L. Knight was.
Although no shining armour today. Or ever, Gretel wouldn’t mind betting – unless the pristine white chef’s uniform she’d seen him wear counted. Nell’s nephew Lukas gave her a visual sweep with his stern grey eyes, raising an eyebrow as his gaze landed on her penguin jumper dress. Well, he could just get lost if he didn’t respect good knitwear. She blew rogue strands of her hair from her face and tried not to look like a flustered idiot.
‘Gretel.’ His voice was huskier than she’d remembered from that day he’d nearly knocked her head off with a Christmas tree. Was he feeling the sadness of this place too? Surely not, Mr Steely Stone-Face.
His voice seemed to bounce around the room, mixing with the echoes of what used to be. There was no toasty log fire today. No dancing fairy lights or gingery treats under glass cloches. Silence had taken over where tinkling tunes had once reigned, and no matter how deeply Gretel breathed, she couldn’t smell the sweet comfort of hot chocolate. How she longed for a cup to warm her heart right then. Was all of that now lost for good?
Lukas ran a hand through his stylishly slate-grey hair and she watched as it resettled itself on roots that were as dark as his stubbly beard. Not that she was studying his face. She shook her head and wiped her clammy hands on her woolly dress.
Lukas looked down at the patch of floor he was standing on. ‘It can only be about a year since …’ His voice trailed off.
‘Since you nearly impaled me on this very spot.’ She winced. This was why she should stay safely tucked up in her maisonette and only ever speak to ferrets. ‘I mean, with a Christmas tree.’ Oh brilliant. That was unquestionably worse.
‘The whole season is a waste of good trees.’ He batted angrily at a dusty length of tinsel which had become partially unstuck from the ceiling and was wafting dangerously close to his face. Dust motes teased the air around him.
Gretel opened her mouth to protest about his season-bashing, but thankfully Mr Birdwhistle stepped forward, pulled down the unruly tinsel and shook Lukas’s hand.
While the other two introduced themselves, Gretel thought back to the day of the near impaling. Nell had been a friend of her mother’s, so Gretel had known her since she was a girl. Nell had definitely mentioned Lukas before, somewhat adoringly, and Gretel must have seen him in passing. But that day last Christmas was the first time Gretel could recall reallyseeinghim.
She dared a glance at the two talking men. Did Lukas’s eyes keep darting back to her? She could have sworn he was scowling at her poor, defenceless penguins. Mean old festive-bird-hater.
Yes, that was why Lukas Knight unnerved her. It was those flinty stares and his disconcerting animosity towards the one and only season where Gretel wanted to exist. That kind of attitude just wasn’tnormal.
At last, the solicitor settled them both down at one of the café tables, wrestling the tinsel under one of the dust sheets as though its presence might cause a fight. Gretel scraped her chair as far away from Lukas as she politely could. She had no desire to be choked by his spicy aftershave and abrasive words.
‘So, you two are already …acquainted?’ Mr Birdwhistle looked over the top of his specs at them.
‘No, we’re not,’ Lukas said firmly, clearly put out by the unnecessary emphasis. Well, good. She was glad he didn’t want to beacquaintedeither.
Gretel and Mr Birdwhistle jumped as the old-fashioned jukebox spluttered to life and spat out the words ‘Laaaaaast Christmas’.
‘I’m sure I didn’t switch that thing on.’ The solicitor twitched his head around.
‘That machine needs to go. The wiring has always been faulty, like it’s stuck in a bloody time warp.’ Lukas’s jaw was tight.
What was wrong with a familiar festive tune? If he wasn’t so scary, she’d have shot him a look. Although she had to admit it was spooky how the jukebox often chose songs that were oddly close to the mark. Not that anybody had been giving away any hearts last Christmas. Hers was safely padlocked, thanks all the same, George Michael.
‘Look, why are we here? Don’t you know I’m busy?’
Gretel could hear Lukas tapping his foot under the table like he needed to rush off and sauté some shallots, or whatever fancy chef people did.
‘I know you’re in charge of administering the estate, but presumably you don’t need to gather us here for some grand will reading,’ Lukas continued.
‘Quite,’ Mr Birdwhistle replied, shaking his papers as though not appreciating having the wind knocked out of his bird wings. ‘But it was the deceased’s wishes …’
‘Nell. Her name was Nell.’
For once, Gretel didn’t feel the urge to roll her eyes at Lukas’s words.
