Page 137 of Deep Blue Sea

‘Mum, this is supposed to be my summer holiday. I’m a student, not Gordon Ramsay.’

‘Stop complaining,’ she grinned, hitting him with a dishcloth. ‘Me and your auntie Rachel had a paper round and two waitressing jobs at your age. Just because you go to a fancier school than we did doesn’t mean you’re not going to get to work when your mother says so.’

‘And get Rachel to make another batch of lemonade while you’re in the back. We’ve run out!’ shouted Dot after him.

Diana and Dot had seriously underestimated how popular they were going to be. Ever since they had opened the café at eleven thirty, at exactly the same time as the church bell had chimed to indicate the beginning of the village fair, there had been a queue snaking out of the door. Dot had apparently pulled an all-nighter to prepare an array of delicious-looking cakes and scones, but it wasn’t even three o’clock and they looked in serious danger of having nothing left to sell. An entrepreneur who appeared on a Dragons’ Den-type programme had once told Diana that a major cause of business failure was stock control, and she hoped that they hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew.

But no one could deny it was a roaring success. It was a beautiful afternoon and people must have come from far and wide to the fair.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and then a voice.

‘I wonder if you’ve got any of the Diana cake. I’ve been told it’s the best in show.’

Spinning round, she saw Adam standing right behind her. He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

‘You came,’ she said, wiping her hands on her pale blue Moschino dress.

‘You asked.’

She didn’t like to mention Thursday night. The café glowing like a romantic French bistro for the evening she had planned together.

‘This is seriously impressive, Di.’

‘I didn’t do much,’ she lied. ‘Put a few flowers in jars. That’s all.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’

‘What have you heard?’ she asked, filled with pride.

‘I’ve heard you’ve transformed the Blue Ribbon top to toe.’

Diana smiled. ‘Dot’s Bakery: we’re changing the name. It’s what everyone around here calls it anyway, and I thought we could do lovely little spotty cake boxes, maybe merchandising like aprons and mugs.’

‘And dozens of franchises across the country?’ smiled Adam. ‘I like it.’

Diana couldn’t deny it had crossed her mind. Secretly she liked the idea of making a big success of a business, so that for once people wouldn’t look down on her, dismiss her as a gold-digger, the secretary who’d snagged the boss. Also, in some small way it would be keeping Julian’s memory alive – and Diana realised that she did want that very much, despite her feelings for Adam, which were making themselves heard at that very moment.

‘Do you want some lemonade? Rachel’s made it. It’s rather good.’

Adam nodded.

‘I’ll just grab two cups and we can sit outside. I can get Charlie to cover for me . . .’

She realised she was rambling and stopped.

‘Take your time.’

The door of the café tinkled open, although she could barely hear the bell over the din inside.

‘Diana. Diana Denver.’ It was the vicar, and he looked hot and exasperated. ‘There you are, my dear. They are shouting for you in the marquee,’ he said, lowering his voice from its sermon level. ‘Judging is about to start. I have to say, there is a tomato out there the size of a watermelon . . .’

Diana glanced at Adam and winced.

‘Go,’ he mouthed, and then winked at her.

She hoped that he would follow her out of the shop towards the marquee, but as she turned back to look at him, he was already sharing a joke with Charlie.

Rachel was making her eighth batch of lemonade. One cup of sugar, one cup of water, one cup of freshly squeezed lemon juice to make the syrup, then a further four cups of water and plenty of crushed ice to dilute. She had varied the recipe throughout the day, even adding a few secret ingredients she had found in Dot’s cupboards, although she preferred it herself straight up, with a little grated zest and mint. She had shared a private grumble with Charlie earlier on in the afternoon, not quite believing that she had been roped into helping out with the café. As if she wasn’t doing enough for Diana, she thought, feeling momentarily irritated, then stopped her uncharitable thoughts.