The Seafront Tea Rooms Read Free

said, picking up.
    ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How’re things?’ His Scottish accent sounded stronger now.
    ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
    ‘Nothing. Listen, Kat, I’m here. Downstairs. The bell’s not working.’
    She got up and went over to the kitchen window, peering out. Jake looked up at her from the street and smiled, still talking into his phone.
    ‘Can you let me in?’

2
     
    Thursday 14 August
     
    A village near Bergerac, France
    ‘No more for me, thank you,’ Séraphine said. Her father Patrick offered her the slice of raspberry tart again, ready for her to change her mind, but she put her hand over her plate. ‘Honestly, Papa, I’ve had enough.’
    Patrick drew his dark eyebrows together and set the tart down reluctantly, then shook his head. ‘Just like her mother,’ he said in English to their guests, Ravi and Anna. ‘They do all the hard work in the kitchen and then let everyone else do the eating.’
    A warm laugh went up around the table. Séraphine’s mother Hélène nudged her gently in the ribs and whispered behind her hand in French, ‘They don’t see what actually goes on when we’re baking, of course.’ She smiled, toying with the gold pendant on her necklace.
    Since Séraphine was a young girl, she and her mother had baked together, the two of them feasting on the freshly picked berries, flaked almonds and pieces of chocolate that never made it as far as the oven.
    Today, sunshine warmed Séraphine’s shoulders, bare in a strappy red sundress, and glinted off her wine glass. A few baguette crumbs and an olive stone were all that were left on her plate, remnants of the long afternoon’s dining under the apple tree in the garden of her family’s chateau. The twins, her brother and sister, both eight years old – splashed contentedly in the swimming pool nearby.
    ‘I’m glad you could make it down,’ Anna, one of her parents’ guests, said to Séraphine over the narrow table, with its red-and-white gingham tablecloth. ‘Your mother said you weren’t feeling well earlier.’
    ‘I’m much better now, thank you,’ she replied politely. She twisted her wavy dark-blonde hair up and secured it with a clip. The late-afternoon breeze was cool on the back of her neck. ‘It was only a headache.’
    Séraphine had been tempted to stay in bed that morning, her mind still buzzing from the events of the past weeks, but in the end distraction had been welcome. Conversation with Ravi and Anna, an English couple who’d recently bought the neighbouring chateau, had been relaxed and unhurried, as if she’d always known them. It had been good to practise her English with them, too – over the summer, since finishing her exams, she’d barely spoken a word.
    ‘Mathilde, Benjamin,’ Hélène called out to the twins, who were splashing water over the side of the pool as they threw a beachball to each other. ‘It’s time to come out now.’ She turned back to her elder daughter. ‘Séraphine, have you seen their towels?’
    She picked up the fluffy beach towels on the grass next to her and passed them to her mother. ‘Here you go.’
    Hélène went over to the twins as they clambered out of the pool, shivering slightly.
    ‘Your mother said you like to read. Do you read in English?’ Anna asked Séraphine. ‘I have a few books you might enjoy.’
    ‘Thank you, yes. My favourites are mysteries and crime novels – Agatha Christie, that kind of thing. Classics too. I’m reading Rebecca at the moment – I’m enjoying it.’
    ‘A wonderful book,’ Anna agreed.
    ‘I love the part where she describes the laying out of afternoon tea, the performance of it – the silver tray, the kettle, the cloth.’
    ‘Yes. Quite an important part of the day – or at least it was back then,’ Anna said. ‘Most people don’t have the time, or take the time, now. I have to admit I was more in the habit of grabbing a latte than stopping to sip Earl Grey.’
    ‘Séraphine’s always