Page 60 of Chocolate Cake for Breakfast
She laughs. ‘Of course. I made sure I had a peek when youwere in reception, waiting for Anna. Just to make sure I wasn’t going to beworking with some weirdo.’
‘Isn’t that dress a bit too fancy?’
‘No! Definitely not.’ She coughs. ‘I mean, I think youshould wear it. With some heels. If you’re going to be in the paper, you’ve gotto look your best, haven’t you?’
‘Right. Okay, then. Crikey, this feels so weird. But quite niceat the same time.’
‘You deserve some nice things happening to you,’ she says.‘Good luck for tonight. And I’ll see you back at work on Monday.’
*****
I’m feeling nervous as I make my way to the Swan Hotel formy meeting with the journalist at six.
This afternoon, I wrote the final instalment of the story,although I haven’t sent it to Logan yet. I’m quite embarrassed, to be honest.It feels as if I’m laying myself bare in that story. It’s like the heartache myheroine feels when things go wrong with Lorcan is all aboutmyheartache.
At least I know Logan won’t be around. When I casually askedabout everyone, Katrina guessed I wanted to know about Logan. She told me he’sworking with another of his clients in Guildford over the next few days, so atleast I know that I won’t have the worry of any more awkward encounters when Iarrive at the hotel.
I’ve finally accepted it’s time I gave up on him.
And after the launch of the Celestial Café, I won’t have toworry at all because Logan will probably be gone...
*****
I arrive at ten minutes to six and Pauline on receptionwelcomes me with a broad smile.
‘Martha! You’re here! Ooh, how are you feeling?’
‘Erm, not bad, thanks.’ I grimace, leaning on the desk. ‘Tobe honest, Pauline, I just want to get this over and done with and go home.’
She smiles, a happy glint in her eye. ‘Well, I’m sure you’llhave the time of your life! Just go on up in the lift and I’ll let him knowyou’re here.’
I glance around. ‘The reporter’s here already?’
Her smile falters. Then she goes full beam again. ‘No, no, Ijust meant that when he arrives, I’ll send him up.’ She gives her head a littleshake. ‘Just ignore me. I’m babbling. It’s all so thrilling.’
‘Right.’ I smile at her, wishing I felt the same. I supposeitisquite exciting, the thought of the place where you work featuringin the local newspaper. Maybe Pauline’s hoping she might be quoted in the paperherself... her ten minutes of fame...
I walk along the corridor to the brand-new lift, which is tobe used exclusively to carry guests up to the café-bar. Tucked discreetly in adarkened corner, it has stunning purple lighting which shines through the glassdoor and makes a stylish, dappled effect on the wall. Riding up in it, I feelquite grand. And when I step out of the lift at the top and walk out, the sightthat greets me takes my breath away.
I knew when I saw the illustrations that it would be classy –but I wasn’t prepared for this level of cosy sophistication. It’s like steppingout onto a very long and elegant balcony overlooking an Alpine village. A dozenor so tables are set for dinner, each with a candle glowing in a pretty glassjar, and the place smells delicious, like home-baked bread. Any worries I mighthave had about meeting in a place open to the elements, on quite a chilly nightin April, are banished immediately. It feels warm and snug up here, thanks tothe strategic placement of two stylish outdoor heaters. Several large, creamcanopies are draped overhead to protect customers from any inclement weather,but tonight, the sky is clear and full of stars.
I wander over to the railing, between two tables, and standthere, gazing wistfully over the lights of Sunnybrook High Street. It’s all soromantic and my thoughts naturally drift to Logan. He must be really busy rightnow, juggling plans for the launch with work for his other clients.
After a while, I glance at my watch, wishing this BobbyBostwick person would hurry up and arrive. It’s already six-fifteen.
I hear the lift door open and turn, feeling slightlyirritated that the journalist is late.
And my heart gives a giant leap when I glimpse the manwalking towards me.
Logan?
I stare at him in amazement. Candlelight flickers on hisface in the semi-dark and I can’t quite judge his expression. Perhaps he’scoming to tell me that the journalist is late?
‘Martha.’ He stops in front of me and pushes a hand throughhis hair. ‘You don’t know how relieved I am that you’re here.’
I frown, confused. ‘But why wouldn’t I be? I’m meeting ajournalist to give an interview.’
He hesitates, glancing down for a second. ‘Actually, you’renot,’ he murmurs with an apologetic look. ‘I arranged all this. So we couldtalk.’
