Fern Britton Short Story Collection: The Stolen Weekend, A Cornish Carol, The Beach Cabin

‘Sorry. I don’t set the prices,’ the girl explained apologetically.

Penny handed the money over and then said to Helen incredulously, ‘But in Queenie’s, they’re ninety pence.’

‘Were not in Kansas any more, Toto,’ Helen informed her.

They munched on their pasties hungrily, but both decided – out of earshot of the nice young girl – that they weren’t a patch on Queenie’s, with her lovely shorter-than-short pastry and meaty, peppery filling.

‘Got any room left?’ asked Helen.

‘Possibly. What have you got in mind?’

‘There’s a Pizza Express round the corner.’

‘Go on then. That pasty was just an hors d’oeuvre!’ And they headed off for second lunch.

After a delicious lunch of shared pizza and dough balls, the two women decided to head back to their hotel. Both were tired after spending all morning on their feet and so they decided to spend the afternoon indulging themselves; Helen had a pedi and a facial while Penny luxuriated in a two-hour full-body citrus wrap with pressure-point massage and scalp treatment. It was bliss and her shoulder was feeling better already.

As Helen was calling the shots, she’d insisted that they spend the evening at their favourite London hang-out, Mortimer’s Champagne and Oyster Bar in the heart of Mayfair.

‘Where to?’ the cabbie asked as they jumped in his sleek black vehicle.

‘Upper Grosvenor Street, please,’ said Penny.

‘Any word from Simon?’ Helen asked.

‘I’ve tried to speak to him, but we’ve missed each other. I had a missed call from him but he didn’t leave a message, and there was no answer when I rang back.’ Penny looked anxious. ‘I hope he’s not giving me the silent treatment. I couldn’t bear it. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.’