The Little Café in Copenhagen: Fall in love and escape the winter blues with this wonderfully heartwarming and feelgood novel

‘We are?’ Was he offering me his business?

‘Yes, I’ve looked at all these agencies and what I was searching for was the right fit. You are the right fit. I like the way you think.’

‘So, I’d like to get started straight away. Do you think you could draw up a list of six journalists?’

‘Six journalists?’ I asked.

‘Yes, for taking the trip to Denmark. I think five days would be just the right length.’

When he said people, he hadn’t mentioned that those people had to be journalists. ‘Six journalists. Five days,’ I echoed.

He nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect. In five days we can show them the finest things Copenhagen has to offer and teach them all about hygge and I know just the person to help.’

Oh hell. No wonder the other agencies had fallen out with him. I knew from past experience that it was hard enough persuading journalists to turn up to things in London for one evening, let alone commit to a five-day trip abroad. If I managed this, it’d be a miracle. What had I done?

Chapter 4 (#u5e72e67f-6486-545d-b3ac-b178dffd3bb9)

You lucky cow. Connie’s message popped up as I was putting the finishing touches to a press list, a week later. I scribbled a few more notes before picking up my phone to text back.

I’ll bring you back some Lego.

Or you could take me too. I could pretend to be the Gazette’s travel correspondent. Who’d know?

If I get really desperate I’ll let you know.

I was still buzzing from exceeding everyone’s expectations and winning the pitch. Now all I had to do was find six journalists to go on the trip. Easier said than done. I got full honours mentions in the despatches at the Friday meeting and this time I did practise my modest, shucks-it-was-no-big-thing, Oscar winner’s acceptance look - with an additional helping of take that Josh Delaney.

The bastard gave me a mocking salute of well done. It might even have been touched with reluctant admiration. Although he got his own back in our very first meeting with Lars after I’d won the business. When I’d run through the proposed list of journalists for the trip, he just had to say something. He couldn’t resist showing off his knowledge. ‘Have you thought about approaching the Sunday Inquirer, Kate? They have double circulation of the Courier. Benedict Johnson is the new lifestyle editor there.’

Normally correspondents move from paper to paper, magazine to magazine and I would have come across them before. This guy’s name didn’t ring any bells. Trust bloody Josh to be one step ahead.

‘I’ll speak to him and see what he says,’ I said with a gracious smile at Josh. Still up to his rat-weasel tricks then.

‘Can I speak to Benedict Johnson, please?’ I’d put on my best friendly, perky voice.

‘Speaking.’ He sounded a little terse but it was difficult to tell in one word.

‘Hi, I’m Kate Sinclair from The Machin Agency. I’m–’

‘You’ve got five seconds.’ No mistaking the cynical hostility in those words.

‘Pardon.’ Shocked, I couldn’t quite believe that he’d said that.

‘Four.’

What I should have done was tell him to go do something anatomically impossible, but I was so taken aback and flustered, I went for the four second pitch.

‘I’m calling to find out if you’d be interested in coming on a press trip to Copenhagen to find out why the Danish have been cited as the happiest nation in the world. It would be a week-long trip that would take in a variety of destinations as well as a visit to the Danish Institute of Happiness.’

‘No.’ And then he put the phone down on me. I took the hand-piece away from my ear and looked at it disbelievingly. Rude sod.

I slammed the phone down. What an arrogant prick. Who the hell did he think he was? Where did he get off being so rude to people?

I redialled his number.

‘Are you always this rude?’ I asked.

‘No only to PR people, people offering to reclaim my PPI and timewasters. You’re all inter-changeable.’

‘And you’re not even prepared to think about it. You don’t know who I’m working for.’

‘No. And I couldn’t give a toss, even if it’s the Crown Prince of Denmark himself.’

When someone is so rude to you, it’s actually wonderfully liberating because you can be rude back to them.

‘Are you always this narrow-minded?’

‘How can I be narrow-minded? I’m a journalist.’

‘You seem it to me.’

‘What – because I don’t write PR puff articles or promotional pieces?’

‘I’m not asking you to write a puff or a promotional piece. I’m offering you an opportunity to find out more about the Danish way of life and what we could learn from it.’

‘Which would of course just so happen to include writing about your client’s product.’

‘Yes, a lot of the time, but this is different.’

‘If I had a pound for every PR that told me that.’

‘Excuse me, I’m not a PR. It’s not even a thing. A public relation. My name is Kate and I’m doing a job the same as you are. If you’d give me the chance to explain instead of barking at me like a mad fox, you’d see my clients want to promote a concept rather than their specific store.’

‘Mad fox?’

I heard a strangled laugh.

‘I’ve not been called that before. Plenty of other things but definitely not mad fox.’

‘If you’re this direct I’m not surprised. Perhaps I should offer you a week at charm school,’ I said, starting to enjoy myself.

‘Do such things still exist? Now that might be an idea for a feature.’

‘Are you typing that into Google?’ I asked hearing the tell-tale click of keys.

‘Might be. Or I might be doing some work, which is what I’d planned to do until you interrupted me.’

‘Look, I’ve phoned you because I thought you’d be interested.’