TASSIE’S TEAROOM
Henry had done a wonderful job on the renovation with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on one wall, and a fireplace with an elegant Persian rug in blue and green lying in front of it, bought for a song in Chippenham at an auction.
Two cosy armchairs sat either side of the fireplace with a little table for tea or to rest a book next to them.
Another wall showed off some art from a local woman who was very skilled at watercolours and who was thrilled to have her first mini exhibition.
Henry had already bought the one of Acorn Cottage as a surprise for Clara, so she was very sad when she saw it had a red sticker next to the frame. But Henry couldn’t wait to give it to her tonight so he would hand it to her after she opened the tearooms.
‘How are things in the kitchen?’ asked Clara, as she touched her stomach. She was five months gone and the sickness had vanished and now she was so hungry she might have eaten the crusts from the chicken sandwiches if allowed.
‘Great, Nahla is a wonderful cook. Who knew all this time she was cleaning for Tassie she had such nimble fingers for pastry?’
‘I guess we don’t know as much about people as we should because we put them into little compartments and it’s only by talking that we find out what else is inside them.’
Nahla and Rachel had chatted at Tassie’s funeral where the women talked about Tassie and the way they had been helped by their old friend.
‘For years she told me to come and tell you about my cooking but I was afraid to,’ said Nahla.
‘Why?’ Rachel asked.
‘Because your mother said to me when I came into the shop once that she doesn’t sell curry pies, so I left.’
Rachel had been so embarrassed by her racist stepmother.
‘I am so sorry, and I do sell curry pies and many other pies. I make French-style pies, and Thai chicken pies and even an Irish stew pie. The bakery is very multicultural.’
Nahla had laughed. ‘I know, I never thought it was you but it wouldn’t have worked back then when she was still in the shop.’
Nahla was given a job and soon she had the kitchen humming. Rachel was Executive Creative Director of Tassie’s Tearoom and Nahla was Head Chef, and Clara was taking care of the business side of things.
Clara had made a website, and had invited journalists from local papers and influential social media users to the opening along with the entire village of Merryknowe.
Mrs Crawford from the post office was front and centre, ready to come in, and Mr Toby the bus driver had stopped the bus down the road and had come to line up for the new curry pies he could smell when he got out of the bus.
The staff were all lined up against the counter in their white aprons and comfortable sneakers. Rachel had insisted on these for the staff because she wanted them to never have the pain of the blisters on her feet from the shoes Moira had forced her to wear.
‘Are the tea trays ready?’ Rachel asked Nahla, who stood at the front of the line.
‘Yes, all ready to go.’ Nahla smiled.
Rachel and Clara had gone to so many tearooms over the last few weeks, Rachel wondered if she could ever face a scone with jam and cream again. Clara’s nausea hadn’t made the trip entirely enjoyable but they found some wonderful ideas to add to their own dreams for Tassie’s Tearoom.
They had Russian Caravan tea in honour of Tassie and Henry, and Assam and Darjeeling from Roasted Oolong and herbal teas including a chocolate tea that Pansy was obsessed with.
With triangle point sandwiches with Scottish smoked salmon, poached chicken in Nahla’s lemon and dill tangy mayonnaise recipe and the classic cucumber sandwich, there was something for everyone.
The cakes were a triumph, with lemon teacake, and chocolate and orange profiteroles. Red velvet cake and mini-Victoria sponge with lemon curd and cream. Vanilla cupcakes with edible pansies on top looked so sweet and tasted just as sweet, and Rachel’s exquisite eclairs finished off the afternoon tea menu.
Clara had bought the tearooms a fancy Italian coffee machine and all the staff had done a barista course from a clever Australian girl who was bringing Melbourne coffee to the cafes of England, one espresso shot at a time.
And now they were ready for the opening.
Henry came through the front door, slipping under the ribbon like Clara had.
‘The flowers are up,’ he said. They had festooned the archway of the door with flowers and ribbons in different shades of pink, creating a magical entrance for the people lining up.
‘Everything is ready,’ he said to Rachel and Clara.
Clara leaned up to kiss him. ‘You’re clever and I love you.’
‘You’re beautiful and I adore you,’ he said in her ear.
Pansy walked out from the kitchen wearing her own small apron and chef hat.
‘Can we hurry up? I want to eat cakes,’ she said. Clara noticed pink icing on the corner of her mouth and used her thumb to wipe it away.
‘I think you’ve had a head start already, sweetie,’ said Clara.
Pansy went to the window of the shop and looked down the street.
‘People are hungry; we need to get ready.’ She turned to everyone in the tearooms.
‘Okay, Marco Pierre White,’ said Henry. ‘Let’s go to the back and let Clara and Rachel get ready.’
Clara buzzed about the tearooms, straightening the mismatched chairs, all painted by Henry in varying colours set around the tables of differing sizes, all painted white with a cover copied on top. There was Jane Eye, Mrs Dalloway, Emma, Clarissa, Rebecca, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Cousin Kate, and Arabella.
Little touches around the tearooms reminded Clara and Rachel of the path they had walked to this moment.
Tassie’s book collection was on the shelves and bowls of acorns and pinecones from behind Clara and Henry’s cottage were on the mantelpiece. Photos of
