Page 3 of The Hampton Beach Café 6
“Excuse me,” the woman said, her voice shaking slightly. “Can I speak to you two for a moment?”
“Of course,” Frances said warmly. “Are you all right?”
The woman looked down at her hands for a moment before speaking. “Yes, but I think we should have lunch. I came in here hoping to do it now, but…”
She gestured around the busy café and shrugged.
Frances and Lucinda exchanged a quick look, their curiosity piqued.
“Clarkson has been doing this for years, apparently. He was nearly arrested a few years ago for fraud and embezzlement!” Martha said, her voice breaking. “I feel like such a fool.”
Frances and Lucinda listened sympathetically, offering a few words of comfort and encouragement while keeping an eye on the café. They assured Martha that it wasn't her fault and that she had done nothing wrong by trusting Clarkson—that was the nature of a con man.
Frances wanted to hear more about her experience with Clarkson and offer whatever support they could. So as Martha prepared to leave, she spoke up.
“Let’s meet with all of us, in a few days' time for lunch?” she suggested.
Martha nodded, offering a kind but sad smile, and headed for the door. As she reached it, she turned back to Frances and Lucinda, her expression grave.
“I'm sorry I had to be the one bearing the bad news about Clarkson's criminal behavior,” she said. “But I'm glad you found out about it before it was too late, and you got taken as badly as I did. You can still make good, girls, you really can.”
As they watched Martha leave, Lucinda went back to serving the customer who had been patiently waiting as the older woman had barely held back her tears.
“Sorry for the wait,” Lucinda said.
Frances turned away from the exchange to prep the coffee machine for the next order and was wiping down the rail of the espresso machine when she heard the bell above the door jingle again. Glancing over her shoulder, she managed to contain a gasp when she saw Malcolm step into the café. Her heart rate increased, and she felt her palms begin to sweat as he quietly looked around the busy café and joined the end of the line in front of the counter.
Lucinda handed her the order slip for the customer she had just spoken to and took the chance to whisper at her.
“What is he doing here? Is he going to cause trouble?”
“I don't know, Luce,” she said quietly.
Orders flowed in and Malcolm got closer and closer, with Frances and Lucinda swapping places so completed coffees could make their way to their destination tables.
One cappuccino, three lattes, and a very strong double shot espresso later, it was Frances' turn to step up to the cash register.
“Sorry,” Lucinda whispered as she picked up the tray with the coffees on it and went to deliver them.
Stepping toward the ordering point, Frances braced herself for his approach, but he surprised her by being very polite—even for him.
“Good morning, Frances,” he said with a polite smile. “Can I have an espresso and a slice of that chocolate cake?”
Frances forced herself to keep a neutral expression and replied, “Sure, that will be $7.50.”
He smiled that client-winning smile of his and tapped his black credit card, and she tried not to roll her eyes. His smile and flashy spending had never impressed her. Apparently, six months was long enough for him to forget that.
“Can I choose my own table?” he asked.
Frances felt her left eyelid twitch as she nodded. Was it a dig at her running a café? Or was he just forcing her to interact with him by asking questions?
He wandered over to two of the free tables in the far corner of the room near the windows, and she felt an odd panic that he was going to sit at her favorite table—somehow that would feel like one intrusion on her life too far. She breathed a sigh of relief when he took the table one position away from her favorite spot. Only then did she take the next customer's order.
“Hi, what ca—”
There was no one there, no one waiting. Praying silently that he hadn't noticed, Frances busied herself by preparing his order. She noticed Lucinda glaring at Malcolm from behind the bar in the gallery section of the café. Frances felt her friend's anger radiating off her in waves. They had been over the breakdown of her marriage many times. No matter the fact that he had never been physically cruel to her, cheated on her, or raised his voice to her—she hadn't been happy in a long time. Lucinda knew that even though Frances had done her very best to be calm and collected about it, Malcolm had hurt Frances deeply with how he had ended their marriage.
With the coffee ready and after carefully determining the smallest slice of cake in the round—which was difficult as she tried especially hard to make all her cuts even—she had nothing left to fuss over. She set a blank expression on her face and crossed the room carefully. The last thing she needed was to fall on her face or drop the tray.
