The Cosy Teashop in the Castle: The bestselling feel-good rom com of the year
‘Cakes, castles and oodles of charm: this book is huge fun and pure escapism’ Cathy BramleyCan Ellie bake her way to a happy ever after? A deliciously heartwarming novel for fans of Lucy Diamond and Milly Johnson.When Ellie Hall lands her dream job running the little teashop in the beautiful but crumbling Claverham Castle, it’s the perfect escape from her humdrum job in the city. Life is definitely on the rise as Ellie replaces spreadsheets for scones, and continues her Nanna’s brilliant baking legacy.When Lord Henry, the stick-in-the-mud owner, threatens to burst her baking bubble with his old-fashioned ways, Ellie wonders if she might have bitten off more than she can chew. But cupcake by cupcake she wins the locals over, including teashop stalwart, Doris, and Ellie’s showstopping bakes look set to go down in castle history!Now all that’s missing in Ellie’s life is a slice of romance – can Joe, the brooding estate manager, be the one to put the cherry on the top of Ellie’s dream?
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Caroline Roberts 2016
Cover design by Alexandra Allden © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016
Cover images © nPine / Getty Images (girl at cafe); iStock.com (landscape);
Shutterstock.com (all other images)
Caroline Roberts asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008125417
Ebook Edition © February 2016 ISBN: 9780008125394
Version 2016-07-19
‘Our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them’ – Walt Disney
‘Tread softly because you tread on my dreams’ – W. B. Yeats
Table of Contents
Ellie
Talk about flying by the seat of her pants. She hadn’t really expected an interview. The ad had caught her eye in the Journal, and well, she’d been fed up, felt messed about by her twat of an ex, her bore of a job and fancied a change – of life, scenery, postcode, you name it.
So here she was, driving her little silver Corsa up the estate driveway that was lined by an avenue of gnarled-trunked, centuries-old trees. Her stomach did a backward flip as the castle came into view: blonde and grey sandstone walls with four layers of windows looking down on her – Claverham Castle. Did people really live in places like this? Did people really work in places like this? She felt like she’d driven onto the set of Downton Abbey or arrived in some fairytale.
The woman at the huge arch of an entrance did not look like someone from a fairytale, however; huddled in a huge fleece, dark jeans and wellington boots, and having a sneaky fag. She popped the offending item behind her back when she spotted Ellie pulling up on the gravel, but the wispy trail of smoke in the cool March air gave her away.
Okay, breathe, Ellie, breathe.
A quick check in the rear-view mirror. She hoped she still looked half-decent. She found her lippie and interview notes in her handbag, and tried to convince herself exactly why she was the right person to take on these tearooms as she popped on a slash of pale-pink gloss. It had all seemed such a good idea two weeks ago when she’d spotted the ad in the local press: ‘Leasehold available for Claverham Castle Tea Rooms for the Summer Season.’ A place to escape, and the chance to achieve the dream she’d harboured for years, running her own café, baking to her heart’s content, and watching people grin as they tucked into fat slices of her chocolate fudge cake or strawberry-packed scones. A chance for change. So this was it! She sooo did not want to mess this up.
Her heart was banging away in her chest as she opened the car door. She stepped out with a pretence of confidence, aware of the woman still standing at the top of the steps. Sploosh! She felt a gloopiness beneath her feet, looked down. Shite! Her black suede stilettos were an inch-deep in mud and an attractive poo-like blob had landed on the right toe area. So much for first impressions.
She tried a subtle shoe-scrape on the grass verge, plastered a smile on her face and made her way to the castle entrance. A biting wind whipped at her honey-blonde hair, which she’d carefully put up in a topknot back at home in Newcastle-upon-Tyne this morning. Her black trouser-suit teamed with silky lime-green blouse was no match for the freezing cold. She hugged her arms around herself and headed for the door: a vast wood and iron creation – no doubt designed to keep out hairy, aggressive Border Reivers centuries ago.
The lady raised a cheery smile as Ellie approached, ‘Hello, you must be here for the interview with Lord Henry.’
‘Yes.’ She reached out a trembling hand in greeting. ‘Yes, it’s Ellie Hall.’
