Page 33 of Barging In
TheKingfisher’s Restwas also luxurious, and although Florence had been newly refurbished, she couldn’t compete with the space and comfort of a twelve-foot wide-beam. Living in your workplace, she was discovering, also made quite a difference.
The weather wasn’t the only reason she regretted leaving the jetty that morning. It had resulted in an awkward encounter with Victoria. Less than twenty-four hours after vowing to avoid her, she’d spotted Victoria on the towpath. There was no getting past her unseen. On foot, one could turn around and slip away unnoticed. Gliding along a thin stretch of water on a bright orange narrowboat, there was no escape.
Sailing past her at a glacial pace, she had felt compelled to acknowledge the woman. What was intended to be a brief nod instead became a long stare. Victoria had that older-woman sexiness wrapped up in confidence, and it made Clem’s brain stall for a moment. It might have been the cause of the inane smile on her face as she cruised away. Hopefully, Victoria hadn’t noticed from so far away.
On her second day off, she’d struggled to keep her mind off the woman and ended up deep-cleaning Florencebefore beginning her evening bake. Cleaning was good forthe soul, not to mention a welcome break from a relentless queue of customers.
She’d done her best to move on from the awkward encounters with Victoria and had avoided checking her ratings since. But now, pulling out her phone, Clem decided it was time. As much as it grated her to not have the full five stars, it was probably best for business. It was unrealistic to be that perfect, and it stank of paid reviews. Bad feedback was always useful — if it was genuine, anyway. It often pointed to areas that needed improvement.
Victoria had added a comment to the one-star reviews. She’d stated that as the director of Otterford Wharf, she suspected they were the work of a disgruntled former employee, adding,I would encourage anyone to try Clem’s Coffee & Cakes for delightful cakes and friendly service from an even more delightful Clem.
Clem blinked and reread the last bit.An even more delightful Clem.Seriously? Victoria had written that. Her stomach fizzed, and goosebumps prickled along her arms. Andformer employee? Had Victoria sacked her catering manager?
At that moment, Max climbed onto Florence’s bow with a bottle and two small glasses in tow.
“I do have glasses, you know.” Clem smirked.
He shrugged, handed her one, and filled it halfway with scrumpy.
“Thanks,” she said. “I appreciate you helping today. I was struggling to keep up.”
“No problem. I enjoyed it,” he said, taking the seat beside her.
“I am going to pay you for all the hours you’ve worked.”
Max opened his mouth.
Pretty sure he was going to protest, Clem cut in. “I insist. And it will only be minimum wage. I can’t afford any more than that.”
“I could certainly use the money, so thanks. Now, tell me what happened the other day with Victoria and those bad reviews.”
Eager for Max’s opinion, Clem handed over her phone to show him Victoria’s replies.
His eyes scanned the screen, jaw dropping as he read. Passing the phone back, he asked, “So she wasn’t the one who left them?”
“No. She seemed to think it was her catering manager. Christine, I think her name was. So it was likely she who made a complaint to the landowner, too.”
“How sure is Victoria?”
Clem shrugged. “I don’t think it could be anyone else. The curator, Jasper Sinclair, had no complaints. He was coming most days for coffee and walnut cake.”
Max fidgeted in his seat and said far too casually, “Oh, was he?” He failed miserably to hide the grin tugging at his lips, which suggested he might have noticed.
Clem narrowed her eyes. “Yes… what’s this about?” She waved her finger at him. “You were grinning like this the last time I mentioned him, too.”
“Oh, nothing,” Max said, his eyes softening. “I think he’s fit, that’s all.”
“Is he gay?” Clem asked, though she felt she already knew the answer.
“No straight man dresses that well, trust me. His waistcoat collection? Adorable.”
Clem chuckled. “If you say so.”
“But I’m in my thirties, and he must be in his late forties, maybe older.”
“What’s age got to do with anything?”
Max shrugged and took a sip from his glass. “Nothing, I guess.”
