The Little Bakery on Rosemary Lane: The best feel-good romance to curl up with in 2018

Marsha swallowed and took another bite. ‘On Monday,’ she said, a flurry of crumbs shooting from her mouth.

Roxanne flinched. ‘On Monday?’

Marsha nodded. ‘Yes. I know her editor very well so I’ve managed to arrange for her to be released immediately. Time is of the essence here, I’m sure you understand …’

‘Of yes, of course,’ Roxanne said, wondering if she understood anything anymore. ‘So, er, is that all?’

Marsha nodded, her cheeks bulging like a hamster’s. ‘Yes, thank you for your time …’

‘Thank you,’ Roxanne exclaimed, polite to the last and willing herself to hold it together as she sprang up from the seat and strode out of Marsha’s glass box. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She would probably have expressed her gratitude if Marsha had kicked her in the teeth.

‘Roxanne? You forgot this!’ Marsha was standing up now, still chewing, bovine-like, waving her scrapbook and planting greasy fingerprints all over it. As Roxanne darted back to retrieve it, Marsha frowned and sniffed its appliquéd cover. ‘Does this smell of burning to you?’

Chapter Five (#ulink_c0e202d9-e8fa-518d-996f-59c6ecc0d182)

All eyes were upon Roxanne as she made her way back to her desk with her stupid old-school scrapbook wedged under her arm. At least, it felt that way. In a decade of working here, Roxanne had always regarded the office as her second home, with its scruffy old swivel chairs and temperamental toaster and dog-eared magazines piled everywhere. In some ways she preferred it to her real home as all the team were here, the lovely people who cared about magazines as much as she did and who were like family, really. Ibiza jaunt with Amanda aside, she had never been one for holidays. If she did force herself to go away – alone, usually, on some kind of ‘activity break’ where you were pretty much guaranteed to meet other single people – she tended to spend the second half of the week sketching ideas for shoots and itching to return to work.

Not today, though. Right now, she’d have given anything not to be here – to be magically transported back to her flat, with the door firmly locked. She was aware of Jacqui’s gaze following her as she lowered herself onto her chair back at her own desk. Zoe was staring openly, her mouth ajar. Yes, I’ve just been told some awful news, she wanted to announce, just to be done with it. Someone’s being brought in over my head, so I’m effectively demoted – but, hey, I’m fine with that because, apparently, I’m going to ‘love’ her!

She glanced back at Marsha, insulated from the rest of the team in her glass office. Her predecessor, Cathy, had never used it, preferring to have a desk out here in the main space, in the thick of things. Marsha was on the phone now, stuffing more pastry into her pursed little mouth.

‘Everything okay, Rox?’ Serena murmured from her own desk, which faced Roxanne’s.

‘Yes, it’s fine,’ she said briskly, catching Kate giving her a quizzical look.

‘Want to nip out?’ Serena whispered. ‘Get a coffee or something?’

‘No thanks.’ Avoiding eye contact, Roxanne shook her head.

‘Are you sure? You look awfully pale. Was it something she—’

‘I’m-fine-honestly,’ she barked, causing Tristan to spin his head around from the art department. Roxanne started rummaging in her top desk drawer, not because she needed anything but to give herself something to do. Like the top of her desk, it was a terrible tip. She delved amongst staplers, rolls of Sellotape, parcel labels, bulldog clips, cans of hairspray, notebooks and lip balms in a cacophony of flavours, willing Serena to stop giving her sympathetic glances, and wishing everyone would just leave her be.

Roxanne wasn’t sure she could handle anyone being kind to her right now. She thought again of that time with the fish slice, when her mother had smacked her upper arm: it wasn’t the actual event itself that had triggered her tears. It had been later, when she’d run out of Rosemary Cottage and up into the hills by herself, and had happened to come across Len from the garage with his wife, Pat, and their two young children. They were out with their dogs and had beckoned her over to join them.

Hey, what’s happened, Roxy? You look all upset!

People had called her ‘Roxy’ then. Not anymore; she had cast that off like an unwanted jacket when she’d moved to London. Pat had hugged her, and that’s when the tears had flowed.

Roxanne shut her desk drawer, delved into her bag and pulled out the small notebook in which she wrote copious to-do lists. There was tons to get on with, and keeping busy would at least get her through the rest of the day. She had a shoot coming up and she needed to call in clothes and accessories from fashion PRs, as well as trawling her favourite vintage shops for quirkier pieces. She wanted to book a new model – a fresh face – rather than one of her regular girls, which meant arranging a casting. Plus, there were Kate and Serena’s shoots to oversee, and a whole raft of product launches Roxanne should show her face at over the coming week.

She made a barrage of calls until lunchtime rolled around, at which point she grabbed her bag and darted out of the office before anyone could ask to join her.

On a bench in Golden Square, clutching a chicken sandwich she didn’t want, she called Sean.

‘Oh, darling,’ he said, when she’d splurged what had happened. ‘Tina Court! She’s meant to be a bit of a terrier …’

‘You know her?’

‘Just in passing. We haven’t worked together. So, what’re you going to do?’

‘Nothing. I mean, what can I do? Marsha’s within her rights to bring in whoever she wants …’

Sean sighed. ‘Just sit tight, darling, and see how things pan out.’

‘Yes, I will. Sorry to land all of this on you. I know you’re busy shooting today—’

‘Hey, I’m okay for a couple of minutes,’ he said gently.

She cleared her throat. ‘Pringles all ready?’

‘Huh?’

‘For the party,’ she prompted him.

‘Oh. Haha – well, Louie’s been onto the caterers. Foie gras lollipops! I don’t think so …’

‘Let me know if you need anything,’ she added, before they finished the call – knowing, of course, that he wouldn’t, and that this was hardly a casual flat party where one might expect friends to bring a bottle of wine. No, this was an extravaganza with waiting staff, a seafood bar and a budget of thousands, and right now she couldn’t wait to slick on her red lipstick and get her hands on that first glass of wine.

The office announcement about Tina’s arrival was brisk and to the point. Jacqui had rounded everyone up, in the manner of an eager sheepdog, and now the whole team stood around stiffly while Marsha, who was perched with exaggerated casualness on the edge of Jacqui’s desk, enthused over Tina Court’s imminent arrival.

‘I know she’s going to fit in so well here. You’re all going to adore her. She’s such a breath of fresh air …’ Implying what? Roxanne mused. That they were currently stale? ‘She’ll shake everything up!’ Marsha wittered on, seemingly oblivious to the cloud of gloom now hanging heavily above them as she babbled on about figure-fixing fashion, page after page of cheap knickers that promised to squish in one’s tum.

‘How depressing,’ Tristan mouthed at Roxanne, with a horrified look. She nodded and shrugged. At least her colleagues seemed to share her view. Roxanne had assumed a non-committal expression, and was trying to keep her gaze firmly on Marsha as she spoke. However, it was impossible not to register the quick looks of alarm and sympathy her colleagues were giving her. She knew what they were all thinking: Poor Rox! How must she feel, being effectively demoted? Is this a sneaky way of trying to force her out?

Then Marsha was thanking everyone for their time – ‘We’re heading into such an exciting new chapter!’ she trilled – and everyone was trying to check out Roxanne’s face as she scuttled back to her desk. Before anyone could accost her, she scooted out of the office and along the short corridor to the ladies’ loo.

As she tried to collect her thoughts at the basins, Serena and Kate arrived in pursuit. ‘My God, Rox, what’s going on?’ Serena exclaimed.

‘You heard,’ Roxanne replied with a grimace.

‘Fashion-director-in-chief? We’ve never had one before. I’ve never even heard it used as a job title …’

‘No, that’s because Marsha probably made it up.’

Kate ran a hand through her short coppery hair. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It means she’ll be running our department and changing the style of our pages beyond all recognition,’ Roxanne muttered.

‘But why?’

‘Because that’s what Marsha wants, and she and Tina go way back, apparently. They’ve worked together before. Marsha said they’re quite the team …’

‘Well, that’s complete nepotism!’ Kate gasped.

Roxanne murmured in agreement, once again visualising the chilled glass of wine she would soon be clutching at Sean’s party. Usually she was happy to work late, but she was now experiencing a strong desire to escape from the building as soon as possible. ‘Everyone hires people they know,’ she said, trying to remain professional rather than letting rip with how she really felt. ‘Cathy brought me in, remember? We’d worked together before too. It’s natural to want people you trust.’

‘Yes, but that’s because you’re the best,’ Serena declared, ‘and this is different. Tina’s pages are a mess, more like a tatty old catalogue than proper fashion – and come on, we’ve all heard what she’s like to work with. She’s had her assistants and interns in tears. No one seems to last there more than a couple of months …’