and carefully drape it over the bottom tier of the wedding cake, patting it to adhere to the square base. I pat out the air bubbles on top to give it a smooth surface. Then I turn the cake pedestal around, smoothing out the icing from top to bottom, and grab my secret weapon—an acupuncture needle. The point is very fine and the perfect tool to pop any air bubbles on the surface. And any tiny holes that are left are easily buffed over. Then I pick up a smedger— a combination of edger and fondant spreader—to smooth it out. Next, I grab a surgical scalpel to cut the excess at the bottom of the cake. I smedge some more, then use the scalpel again to get the bottom clean. Then I use flexi smoothers to buff out any imperfections and make my crisp edges.
Now, the base is done. I step back, satisfied with my work, and go on to repeat the process with the remaining two layers of cake. As I retrieve more fondant, my mind drifts away from cake and back to this evening at Kensington Palace. Specifically, Kensington Palace Apartment 1A.
I fight the anxiety that filters through me. I’m nervous about meeting Princess Helene. Xander assures me she’s brilliant and fun, but she’s so … regal. The royal family like I picture them on TV. What if I mess up protocol? What if she thinks I don’t belong there? Or worse, what if she doesn’t think I belong with Xander?
I bite my lip, an overwhelming feeling sinking right through me and into my bones.
Navigating this royal landscape is so daunting.
And I only hope I’m up to the task this evening.
I shove the worries from my head. I need to focus on this cake now. I want to get it wrapped in fondant before Priya arrives for her interview. I grin. I told Matilda we shouldn’t wait to contact her because someone will snap her up if she is everything her letter and CV project. Luckily, everyone was available to meet this morning before lunch.
And if she’s as good as her CV, I hope Shane and Matilda will bring her on board as soon as possible to help me with the most important order of my career.
* * *
I’m putting the finished cake into a fridge when Matilda approaches me.
“Priya is here,” she says, glancing at her watch. “Fifteen minutes early. I like that.”
I nod. That is an excellent quality to see. “I do, too.”
“I have copies of her CV on my desk. I’ll bring those when I come out,” she says. “I put Priya in a booth. We won’t mention the exact project in the shop, of course, but that gives us a more comfortable space to chat.”
I get an image of the one office in the back that is shared by Shane, Matilda, and Charlotte. It’s practically the size of a broom cupboard and incredibly cramped. Last week, I nearly tripped over a box of files simply trying to place a piece of paper on the desk.
“Sounds good. I’ll go and sit with her first while you and Shane get ready, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful. Shane never likes to greet an interviewer early, but right on the dot.”
“I remember,” I say fondly. I also recall I was incredibly nervous, and my palms were damp when I had to shake their hands during my interview. Of course, Priya has worked at one of the poshest restaurants in London, so I doubt she is anxious about an interview for The Biscuit Cutter.
I wash my hands and remove my apron. I pop into the loo, freshen up my lipstick, and then retrieve my notebook from my tote. This notebook is my work notebook, and the cover has mixing bowls, wooden spoons, biscuit cutters, and rolling pins on it. I jotted my questions for Priya in it, right after the list of biscuit flavours I wanted to test for the April menu.
I move through the kitchen and pop open the door to the café. I sweep past Charlotte, who is making coffee, and Nina, who is dealing with a customer at the till. My eyes sweep over the café. There are customers dotted in booths, drinking cups of tea and tucking into the sweet treats they’ve purchased. Near to the door is a small table full of iced biscuits wrapped in cellophane and tied with ribbon, enticing customers as soon as they enter.
To the left, in a large