excellence on her course in pastry arts, cake- and bread-making at the New York Institute of Culinary Arts, and she had impressed at her interview. Her artisan loaf had wowed Guy, which was no mean feat, and her passion for the project was infectious, just what they needed for a new team in a competitive environment. Milly was right, it was important not to let her enthusiasm flag before Plum’s had even opened its doors for business, especially if there was a whiff of dissent in the ranks.
Juno came out on to Bleecker Street again just as the cloud seemed to lift and rays of sunshine pierced the sky. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up and down the busy street, wiping her palms down the side of her long black skirt, over which she wore her starched black atelier’s apron that buttoned on to her white shirt. The Plum Patisserie double ‘P’ logo stood out in gold embroidery. Meg had expected her to be in jeans, as they weren’t yet open. She waved from the other side of Bleecker Street, catching Juno’s eye immediately before a large truck with a shiny chrome fender blocked her from view. A gap finally appeared in the traffic and Meg took her chance and darted across the road.
‘Morning, Juno!’ She stepped forward, smiling. ‘It’s really great to meet you properly in person.’
‘Hey, Meg. You too. I’m really sorry about this.’ Juno looked close to tears as she gestured at the shopfront behind her. The gold ‘Plum Patisserie’ lettering shone handsomely against the bottle-green frontage.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For the whole mess and that you had to come out so near to Christmas to check up on things. I know how busy you must be. I told Milly things were getting sorted and they are, it’s just that we have hit a couple of roadblocks…’ She twisted her fingers inside her cupped palms and blinked rapidly.
Meg took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Juno, we are a team, a family and we will do whatever it takes to get things sorted, okay?’ She placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and felt the tension leave her muscles.
‘Okay.’ Juno nodded, giving her first smile of the day, even if it was a little forced.
‘That’s better. And I’m here to support you, not check up on you. What kind of team would we be if we left you to sort out all the crap alone?’ Meg remembered Pru’s hand on her back when she had needed it most; the extraordinarily feeling that she wasn’t alone was one that she would never forget.
Juno nodded again. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled, relieved and determined.
‘Now, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and we can go through where we are at. The shopfront looks marvellous, by the way. They’ve done a great job.’
‘They have.’ Juno beamed. This time her smile was genuine.
Meg stepped over the brass tread with its plastic wrap still in place and looked around at the spacious shop. The bakery occupied the back wall, with the café and counter at the front. The front door was wedged open by an improvised rough wooden block, allowing as much natural light as possible to fill the space.
The solid wood floor was a beautiful burnished oak, the honey tones of which made the whole room seem bright; it too was being kept under wraps beneath a layer of plastic that was taped down at the edges and corners. The counter stretched across the right-hand wall, along with glass display cabinets and blackboards. The walls had been beautifully panelled in dark wood and the ornamental brass rails and window seats were awaiting the standard button-backed cushions. Wooden bistro chairs were stacked in corners; on the tables, which had been pushed to the side, sat shallow packing cases full of crockery, glassware, cake stands and glass cloches, all nestling in white polystyrene squiggles. Everything from head height down looked to be near completion. The problem became evident when Meg looked up.
Long electrical flexes hung in loops from jagged fist-sized holes that had been
Juno came out on to Bleecker Street again just as the cloud seemed to lift and rays of sunshine pierced the sky. Shielding her eyes, she glanced up and down the busy street, wiping her palms down the side of her long black skirt, over which she wore her starched black atelier’s apron that buttoned on to her white shirt. The Plum Patisserie double ‘P’ logo stood out in gold embroidery. Meg had expected her to be in jeans, as they weren’t yet open. She waved from the other side of Bleecker Street, catching Juno’s eye immediately before a large truck with a shiny chrome fender blocked her from view. A gap finally appeared in the traffic and Meg took her chance and darted across the road.
‘Morning, Juno!’ She stepped forward, smiling. ‘It’s really great to meet you properly in person.’
‘Hey, Meg. You too. I’m really sorry about this.’ Juno looked close to tears as she gestured at the shopfront behind her. The gold ‘Plum Patisserie’ lettering shone handsomely against the bottle-green frontage.
‘What are you sorry for?’
‘For the whole mess and that you had to come out so near to Christmas to check up on things. I know how busy you must be. I told Milly things were getting sorted and they are, it’s just that we have hit a couple of roadblocks…’ She twisted her fingers inside her cupped palms and blinked rapidly.
Meg took a deep breath. ‘Listen to me, Juno, we are a team, a family and we will do whatever it takes to get things sorted, okay?’ She placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and felt the tension leave her muscles.
‘Okay.’ Juno nodded, giving her first smile of the day, even if it was a little forced.
‘That’s better. And I’m here to support you, not check up on you. What kind of team would we be if we left you to sort out all the crap alone?’ Meg remembered Pru’s hand on her back when she had needed it most; the extraordinarily feeling that she wasn’t alone was one that she would never forget.
Juno nodded again. ‘Okay.’ She exhaled, relieved and determined.
‘Now, why don’t we grab a cup of coffee and we can go through where we are at. The shopfront looks marvellous, by the way. They’ve done a great job.’
‘They have.’ Juno beamed. This time her smile was genuine.
Meg stepped over the brass tread with its plastic wrap still in place and looked around at the spacious shop. The bakery occupied the back wall, with the café and counter at the front. The front door was wedged open by an improvised rough wooden block, allowing as much natural light as possible to fill the space.
The solid wood floor was a beautiful burnished oak, the honey tones of which made the whole room seem bright; it too was being kept under wraps beneath a layer of plastic that was taped down at the edges and corners. The counter stretched across the right-hand wall, along with glass display cabinets and blackboards. The walls had been beautifully panelled in dark wood and the ornamental brass rails and window seats were awaiting the standard button-backed cushions. Wooden bistro chairs were stacked in corners; on the tables, which had been pushed to the side, sat shallow packing cases full of crockery, glassware, cake stands and glass cloches, all nestling in white polystyrene squiggles. Everything from head height down looked to be near completion. The problem became evident when Meg looked up.
Long electrical flexes hung in loops from jagged fist-sized holes that had been
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