The Seafront Tearoom

by Vanessa Greene

Genres: Family Life; Women's Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

From the author of The Vintage Teacup Club
 
The first rule of afternoon tea: never rush. Take time to savor it. Just like friendship…

The Seafront Tearoom is an insider secret in small-town Scarborough – a beach-front haven with the best tea and cakes in town – and  journalist Charlie Harrison would love to put it on the map with a feature in her magazine. But single mom Kat Murray doesn’t want to see her favorite sanctuary overrun by tourists, and begs Charlie to seek out other options. She offers her help, as a “tea obsessive,” and so does French au pair Séraphine Moreau, whose upbringing makes her a connoisseur of everything sweet and indulgent.

Together the three women will scour the countryside for quaint hideaways and hidden gems, sharing along the way their secrets, disappointments, and dreams – and discovering that friendship, like tea, takes time to steep. But learning too that once you open your heart, the possibilities are endless. 

Reading Guide Included

Release date: December 1, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 384

Sample

Acknowledgments

Praise for The Vintage Teacup Club

Also by Vanessa Greene

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

Menu

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

PART TWO

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

PART THREE

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Epilogue

Letter to the Reader

Letty’s Classic English Scones

Séraphine’s Magnificent Madeleines

Charlie’s Deliciously Indulgent Florentines

Kat’s Perfect Afternoon Tea

Readers Guide

The Seafront Tearoom, est. 1913

LETTY’S CLASSIC AFTERNOON TEA

Served on a tiered cake stand.

SAVORY:

A selection of finger sandwiches—cucumber, smoked salmon and egg mayonnaise

SWEET:

Raisin and apple scones warm from the oven, with clotted cream

Victoria sponge

Rose and pistachio cake

Profiteroles

Strawberries dipped in chocolate

A SELECTION OF LOOSE-LEAF TEAS:

English Breakfast, Assam, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Jasmine, Spiced Orange

PART ONE

Love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.

—HENRY FIELDING

1

Thursday, August 14

Scarborough

Kat Murray and her three-year-old son, Leo, walked together along the beach in flip-flops, his small hand in hers. The rock shops and arcades of the South Bay were busy with holidaymakers and weekenders, making the most of the rare burst of warm sunshine on the British coast. As the two of them neared the harbor, the familiar smell of fresh-caught fish from the pier reminded Kat that they were almost home.

Leo dropped his mother’s hand and ran toward the shop underneath their flat, with its neon-pink sign and a doughnut model that was bigger than him. She ran after him, laughing. “I’m the winner!” he called out, touching the doughnut.

“Not again,” Kat said, sighing in defeat, then smiling at him. “One day. One day I’ll beat you.” She got her keys out of her bag.

She unlocked the front door and Leo climbed the hallway stairs ahead of her. She and Jake had moved into the flat four years before, when she was twenty-two, in love and carefree. A lot had changed while they’d been living there.

“What’s for tea today, Mummy?” Leo called over his shoulder.

Kat tried to recall what was left in the kitchen cupboards and fridge.

“Dinosaurs,” she replied. “On the menu tonight, sir, are Tyrannosaurus rexes and diplodocuses. I hope you’re not vegetarian.”

“No way,” Leo said joyfully. “I love eating T. rexes.”

Upstairs, Kat took a slice of rye bread and a sharp knife and cut carefully around the paper template she’d made—a dinosaur’s body shape. She cooked some long-stemmed broccoli and placed it around the dinosaur to make trees, then formed the earth with a homemade vegetable chili.

She’d decided to stay on in the flat after she and Jake broke up in order to keep a constant in Leo’s life. Anyway, there was something about the place—the sea view, the cheap rent, even the bent-clawed seagull that tapped with its beak at their window each day—that she thought she would miss.

She took the food through to Leo in the living room, and he smiled when he saw it.

“I like him,” he said, looking at the plate. “I’m going to bite his head off first.”

“You go for it,” Kat laughed. “Before he does it to you.”

Leo chuckled, picking up his fork.

“Can you bring my stegosaurus to watch?”

“Sure.” Kat went into Leo’s room and found the stuffed toy on top of his red chest of drawers. Above the chest, on the wall, was the Gruffalo mural Jake had painted. She paused for a moment to look at it. Things had been good, when they were good.

She put Leo’s stegosaurus down on the table, so that he could see it while he ate.

“Mummy, you know where I’d like to go soon?” he said, chewing on a piece of broccoli.

“Where’s that?”

“The Sealife Centre!” he pronounced, slamming his fork down in glee.

Kat nodded, smiling. He had been asking almost daily through the summer. But it wasn’t cheap, and each time she set money aside, a bill would come. Hopefully, tomorrow things would change—her friend Cally, receptionist at the South Cliff Hotel, had put her forward for a job there. Apparently the manager had all but confirmed that it was Kat’s if she wanted it. A few hours a week would mean enough money for the extra things Leo needed, plus the occasional treat, and with the hotel within walking distance of his nursery, she’d still be able to pick him up easily.

“Billy says it’s fun. There are jellyfish. And sharks.”

“I’m sure it is. We’ll go soon,” she said, kissing her son’s head. “I promise.”

Leo looked up at her. When she saw his dark brown eyes it was impossible not to think of Jake.

She’d get the money together.

The next day, Mr. Peterson, the hotel manager, ticked Kat’s name off on the list of interviewees. She turned her silver and turquoise ring around on her finger, waiting for him to say something.

Kat must have passed the South Cliff Hotel a hundred times, on days when she’d taken the funicular up from the beach—but today was the first time she’d been inside the grand white building. She’d arrived at the same time as a coachload of Italian tourists, and from the back room she could still hear them talking out in reception.

For the interview, she’d concealed the tattoo on her wrist—a bold circle, identical to Jake’s—underneath the long sleeves of a black blazer, and blow-dried her dark cropped hair so that it lay smooth. It was warm in the room though, and she longed to take the blazer off. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d normally wear.

“So, Kathryn. What is it that attracts you to the South Cliff?” Mr. Peterson asked.

She tried to remember what she’d practiced in front of the mirror the night before, and took a breath.

“I’m very interested in working in hospitality, and the South Cliff is internationally renowned. I’d be proud to be part of the team and I feel I could contribute a lot in terms of . . .”

Mr. Peterson looked down at her résumé, then took off his glasses and laid them down on the table. His expression seemed to soften.

“This is primarily a cleaning job, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Cally told me,” Kat said, feeling a little flat.

“Right . . .” Mr. Peterson nodded slowly. “Well, Cally is quite insistent you would be perfect.”

“I work hard,” she said. “Whatever I do, I work hard.”

“Yes,” the manager said, putting one hand on her résumé. “It certainly looks like it.”

The tension in Kat’s shoulders eased a little.

Mr. Peterson sat back in his chair. “I hope you’ll take this the right way. A degree in Hospitality and Culinary Arts, courses in tea-tasting, patisserie . . .”

“I know what you’re going to say, but I’m happy to do—”

“You’re overqualified.”

The words rang out and Kat tried to think of a reply to counter them.

“I should have looked through your details more carefully, but you know Cally. She can be very persuasive. Look, Kathryn—you’re young. You’re only, what . . .” He glanced back at her details. “. . . twenty-six? You’ve still got time to build a career for yourself. I don’t think I’d be doing the right thing employing you as a cleaner, not for either of us.”

“Is it that you think I’d leave? Because I wouldn’t. I need something steady.”

Mr. Peterson shook his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve wasted your time.”

“OK,” Kat said numbly. She got to her feet. “Well, thanks for seeing me all the same,” she said. “Could you—”

“Of course. We’ll keep your résumé on file.”

Outside, Kat took off her jacket, the sea breeze cool against her skin. She crossed the road to the rose garden on the cliffside, sat down on a bench and texted Cally a quick message to update her. Putting it down in writing made it more real. She felt as if she’d let Leo down.

At times like these, she wondered if things would have been easier if she and Jake had stayed together, if they could somehow have worked things out. Now he was back home in Scotland, his work was no longer steady, and it was Leo who would have to go without.

She walked down through the park, until the view opened up to reveal the full expanse of the sea. In front of her a little farther down the hill was the place she was heading to: the Seafront Tearoom.

A couple of people were sitting at tables outside, but inside the café looked quiet. She pushed the stained-glass front door, a bell signaling her arrival. As she stepped inside, she breathed in the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked scones. It enveloped her, as comforting as a duvet on a chilly winter’s day. The interior of the Seafront was reassuringly familiar—the wooden tables neatly laid with pressed white tablecloths, the delicate china teacups lining the shelves, and the 1920s table lamps.

“Kat.” Letty, the owner, smiled and tucked a strand of her silver-gray bob back behind her ear. “Come in. I was hoping we might see you today.”

Kat closed the door behind her. “Hi there,” she said, leaning in to kiss her hello. Letty was in her usual pressed black slacks, and an apron with a dusting of flour on it. Her son, Euan, was sitting up at the bar, dressed in a suit, looking at something on his iPad.

“Thought I’d pop by and say hello.”

“Everything OK?” Letty asked, her pale blue eyes inquiring gently.

“Yes,” Kat said as lightheartedly as she could, sitting down at her usual chair by the window. “I had a job interview. It didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She put an arm around Kat sympathetically. “Well, it’s their loss.”

“It probably wasn’t right for me anyway.” Kat shrugged.

“That’s the spirit. There’ll be something better out there for you, I’m sure.”

“I could seriously do with the money, though.”

Letty’s brow furrowed. “Are you OK to cover the basics? I can always help you out, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Kat said. “We’ll be fine. Leo can really eat, though . . . and he’s outgrowing his clothes so quickly.”

“Oh yes,” Letty said. “I remember how it was. Euan was the same,” she said, nodding over at her son, who was devouring one of her scones. “Thirty and he’s still over here eating my profits on his tea breaks.”

“I can hear you talking about me, you know,” he called over, a glint in his blue eyes.

Letty rolled her eyes indulgently. “Cheeky monkey!” She turned back to Kat. “Can you have a word with Jake?”

“He’s still getting the business set up in Scotland and it’s taking time.”

“Right. I suppose that’s not something that happens overnight. He’ll get there. Until then, what can I get you? An Earl Grey? I’ve got a Victoria sponge fresh out the oven. Cake’s on me today.”

Kat looked over at the counter. She could see the scones that were scenting the air so irresistibly, a Victoria sponge cake and a tray of brownies.

“Oh, go on then,” Kat said, a smile creeping back onto her face. “Thank you.”

Letty disappeared off into the kitchen and returned to the table a few minutes later with a pink-and-green-patterned teapot, a matching teacup and a slice of cake layered with jam and cream.

“Here you go,” she said, putting the things down.

Kat thanked her and took a bite of Victoria sponge cake. “Wow, this is delicious, Letty.”

Letty smiled. “Thank you. I consider that high praise—I know what your standards are like.”

Kat laughed.

Euan got to his feet, pulled his suit jacket back on and came over to them.

“How are you doing, Kat? It’s been a while.”

“Good, thanks.” It was comforting to see Euan. They’d grown up on the same street and while they’d moved in different social circles, with four years between them, he’d always been kind to her.

“And Leo?”

“Growing fast. I can barely catch up with him these days.” She smiled.

“You’ll have to bring him in next time.”

“I will do. He loves this place.”

“See you later, Mum.” Euan gave Letty a hug. “I need to head back to site.”

“Bye, love,” Letty said, putting her hand gently on his arm.

“Bye, Kat.” Euan gave Kat a nod good-bye and walked out, starting up a conversation on his mobile.

“What’s Euan working on at the moment?”

“The old cinema—they’re turning it into a restaurant. He’s done some of the designs for the project. It’s a shame they couldn’t keep it open—but this is better than it sitting empty.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll ask him to keep his ear to the ground for you,” Letty said. “It might be that some work comes up.”

“Thanks, that would be good.”

No use being sentimental. Her old job at the cinema ticket office hadn’t been perfect, even though she’d enjoyed working there, especially the matinees full of friendly pensioners and new mums. Kat sipped her tea slowly, gazing out of the window. Life moved on, and places changed. She’d find a way to move forward too.

An hour later, Kat was waiting by the door to Leo’s nursery, holding a jumper for him. She was glad she’d put it in her bag—the warm day had cooled a little and Leo had only been wearing a T-shirt when she’d dropped him off before her interview that morning.

She’d browsed on her phone at the tearooms and found one new job that might be suitable—as an admin assistant at an estate agents. It was outside town, so would mean a long journey there and back, but she could manage that if she had to.

A meter or so away two mothers were chatting—Amelia, a redhead with a pregnancy bump, and Emma, a dark-haired woman carrying a pink scooter. She knew the women from pickups and drop-offs, and had chatted to them occasionally. Today she kept her eye on the nursery door, waiting to see Leo come out.

“How about this Sunday? Are you and Sam free for lunch?” Amelia asked her friend. “Work has been crazy, so I could do with something to look forward to.”

“Sounds great,” Emma replied enthusiastically.

“Sam and I are taking Lily to soft play in the morning, so some adult company after that would be wonderful. Can’t count on my husband for that!”

Amelia laughed. “It’s a date, then. Do you like rhubarb crumble? We’ve got some rhubarb fresh from the garden and—”

A tickle in Kat’s throat made her cough. Amelia turned, noticed her and looked faintly embarrassed. “Hi, Kat, didn’t see you there.”

“Hello,” Kat said with a smile.

“I was just saying—” Amelia seemed to stop herself. “You know, we must have Leo round for a playdate one of these days. He and Lily get on so well.”

“He’d enjoy that,” Kat said.

They stood quietly for a couple of minutes that stretched out. Finally, the nursery door opened.

Kat looked out eagerly for her son. He was still at the back of the room, taking his time as he walked over. Amelia and Emma greeted their toddlers.

“Well, best be off,” Amelia said, with a smile at Kat. The two women set off with their children, who were squealing with excitement, in the direction of the shops.

Kat clutched Leo’s jumper to her chest. He caught sight of her and, waving a quick good-bye to his friend, dashed over to her with a huge smile. As soon as he reached her he gave her a bear hug, encircling her legs.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Kat said, ruffling his dark-blond hair. “Here, put this on.” She passed him his red jumper and he slipped it over his head quickly.

He looked at her suit skirt and wrinkled his nose. “Why are you wearing those funny clothes?”

“Oh,” she said, looking down and touching the synthetic material. “I had to be smart for something.”

“Boring. I like your green dress better.”

“I’ll put that on when we get home,” she said, smiling. “OK?”

That night, after she’d put Leo to bed, Kat opened the antique wooden cabinet in her kitchen. Inside were glass jars filled with different types of tea—from fragrant Indian blends to refreshing herbals, each one with a handwritten luggage tag attached. She chose a jasmine bud that expanded in the water into a flower, put it in a delicate china teacup and carried it over to the sofa. She picked up the quilt she’d been working on for Leo, made from scraps of old duvet covers, and pushed the needle into the fabric, bringing together colorful sections of material. Each fresh new stitch of white cotton soothed her.

Tomorrow morning she’d apply for the admin job she’d spotted, tailoring her résumé more carefully this time. Yes, it had been two months of unreturned applications, and interviews ending in apologetic shakes of the head, but this could be the one.

She was distracted by a buzzing sound.

Her phone was vibrating on the coffee table, the screen lit up. She reached for it.

JAKE.

The name that used to be half of her world. Now it was a few letters, nothing more.

“Hi, Jake,” she 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, August 14

A village near Bordeaux, France

“No more for me, thank you,” Séraphine Moreau 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 wineglass. 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-blond 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 neighboring chateau, had been relaxed and unhurried, as if she’d always known them. It had been good to practice 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 beach ball 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 favorites 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 been keen on English culture,” Patrick said to Anna and her husband. “And of course she’s the linguist in the family. My English, well, as you can hear, it’s terrible. Luckily, it comes naturally to her.”

Séraphine felt a flush creep onto her cheeks. “Dad, shhh,” she said, laughing. She looked at Ravi and Anna and rolled her eyes playfully in her father’s direction. “I’m pretty rusty. I’ve finished my teacher training course, but want to improve my English before I start looking for a job.”

“That’s good. Such an exciting time in life—preparing to fly the nest,” Anna said.

Séraphine’s confusion must have shown.

“Sorry—flying the nest, leaving home,” Anna explained.

“Oh,” Séraphine laughed. “That’s a nice phrase. Yes, I suppose so. Though I won’t be going too far—I’ll be looking for work in Bordeaux, private classes to start off with, then a permanent job next autumn.”

“And before that—wouldn’t you like to go to England?” Ravi chipped in. “Now’s the time in life for big adventures. How old are you now?”

“Twenty-three,” she said.

Age didn’t mean much, Séraphine thought. What mattered was how you felt inside. She remembered the sensation of grass beneath her bare feet, by the river the day before. Laughing. Feeling free. The butterfly touch of a kiss on her neck. She felt complete in a way she never had before.

“That’s the way to perfect a language, too,” Ravi continued. “Total immersion.”

“Hang on, Ravi.” Anna nudged her husband. “That’s what we said about coming here, isn’t it? And look—we’re still so incompetent we’ve got these lovely people talking to us in English.” She laughed. “But you’d be more disciplined about it, Séraphine, I’m sure. And you’re already quite fluent.”

“I wish we could invite you to be our guest,” Ravi said. “But now we’ve sold up and there’s definitely no going back.”

“You prefer it here?” Séraphine asked. She was more comfortable talking about them than herself.

“We adore it,” Anna said. “Who wouldn’t? Good food, wine, company . . . We were ready for a change after the kids left home.”

Instinctively, Séraphine glanced at her parents. A look passed between them. Her brother Guillaume had left home the year before, in difficult circumstances, and they hadn’t been at all ready for the change.

“. . . But England’s a wonderful place for a young person, you’d enjoy it.”

“You thought about living there, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Patrick prompted his daughter gently. “Earlier this year you were saying . . .”

Séraphine tensed. “It’s very expensive though, isn’t it? A friend of mine went to London and—”

Anna laughed and wrinkled her nose. “There’s more to England than London, you know.”

“She’s right, Yorkshire’s the place to visit,” Ravi said. “Would you consider going up north?”

“Maybe,” Séraphine said. “I don’t know. Where were the two of you living?”

“In Scarborough. It’s a lovely town. You’re right by the sea, and while—granted—we can’t guarantee the glamour, or the weather, of Antibes or Nice, it’s fun in the summer. The people are friendly, and it’s affordable.”

Séraphine sensed that the others were waiting for her to respond. “It sounds nice. I don’t expect there’d be many jobs, though. Summer’s nearly over.”

“Bet you’ll find some au pair work going,” Anna said confidently. “Hang on, what about Adam, Ravi? Is he still looking for someone?”

Ravi nodded. “I think he is, actually.” He turned to Séraphine. “Lovely guy. He was our neighbor for years—has a ten-year-old daughter.”

“His wife was from here,” Anna said. “They married very young, and lived in France until she passed away in an accident four or five years ago. I don’t know what happened, but it must have been terrible for them. I remember him saying he’s keen for his daughter to speak French, to keep the connection—so he’s looking for someone to live with them and teach her.”

“You’d make a wonderful au pair,” Hélène said, wrapping a squirming Mathilde in one of the warm towels. “Would you like that, darling?”

“Maybe,” Séraphine said, slowly.

Anna was already reaching into her handbag for a pen and paper. She checked her phone and wrote something down. “Here’s Adam’s