“Do I know her?” I asked.

  “You sure do, Lily,” Cheryl said. “Allegra’s younger sister is Susan Powers, mayor of North Augusta.”

  * * *

  It was absolutely lovely to lock up the tearoom and head home in the middle of the afternoon. I could kick my shoes off, drop into a chair, and simply relax. I had a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge, and a book I’d been looking forward to getting into. Before going back to my little cottage overlooking the bluffs to take my labradoodle, Éclair, for a walk, I detoured to the veranda that runs the width of Rose’s house.

  Victoria-on-Sea was a huge, gorgeous house built in 1865 to be a vacation home for a Boston banker and his family. Situated on a large property on a stretch of bluffs looking out over Cape Cod Bay, the house was sparkling white, with a gray roof and gray accents, adorned with miles of intricate gingerbread trim, dormer windows on the upper level, and a wide covered veranda running the width of the house. It boasted eight guest bedrooms and suites, all en suite, and a set of rooms for Rose’s own accommodation.

  Most of the chairs on the veranda were occupied. B & B guests sipped drinks and pretended to read or to chat while keeping an eager eye on the TV people.

  Rose occupied the center of the circle of TV people—Tommy Greene, Josh, Scarlet, and Claudia - proudly holding court. Her black cat, Robert the Bruce, aka Robbie, was curled up on her lap. A thick hardcover book and a pitcher of icy lemonade rested on the table next to her. “Lady Frockmorton was very particular about her afternoon tea. Oh, yes, she had an eagle’s eye for detail. I taught Lily everything the head cook at Thornecroft Castle taught me.”

  “Fancy digs, Thornecroft,” Tommy chuckled. “How the mighty have fallen. They do tea in the conservatory now for the paying public, April to November.”

  “You should mention that on the program,” Rose said. “Afternoon tea is all about tradition, and . . . Here she is now.” My grandmother beamed at me.

  Josh said, “Hey there, Lucy.”

  “Lily,” I said.

  “Sorry. Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I am. Looking forward to it,” I lied.

  Scarlet grunted something that might have been, “Hi,” and continued scrolling through her phone.

  Tommy jumped to his feet and offered me a sweeping bow. “Can I get you a chair, Lily?”

  “No, thank you. I’m heading home. I hope everything went well today?”

  “Well enough,” Josh said. “Could have been better. Could have been worse.”

  “Pay him no mind, dear,” Claudia said to me with a warm smile. “Josh is never happy unless he’s unhappy. If you get my meaning. I found it was all quite delightful. Your guests raved about the food and the service, and your lovely stone building and beautiful patio might have been built specifically to be on TV.”

  “Thank you.” I flushed with pleasure. Never mind the TV program. Claudia D’Angelo liked my cooking!

  “Afternoon tea is one of life’s great pleasures, and you do it to perfection.”

  “What a load of rubbish.” Tommy, I noticed, wasn’t drinking lemonade. His glass contained an amber-colored liquid and a single square of ice. “Afternoon tea gives the rich and the posh something to do before they dress for the ball. Gives the common people belowstairs nothing but a lot of extra work.”

  “It provides me with a living,” I said. “As you saw this afternoon, plenty of people who also work hard for a living seem to enjoy it.”

  “Never mind him.” Scarlet studied her nails. “Tommy likes to pretend he’s all for the working classes. He reads all sorts of strange books in the library of his beach house in Malibu.”

  “You should try reading someday, Scarlet. They say it broadens the mind. If you need anything else broadening, that is.” He gave me a wink, which I didn’t return. The comment might have sounded as though it was good-natured joshing between friends and coworkers, but Scarlet’s mouth narrowed, and she stabbed at the buttons on her phone with renewed energy.

  “What time is it? Where the heck’s Reilly, anyway? I’m about ready for a nice glass of wine.”

  “You’re always ready for a nice glass of wine,” Josh said.

  She threw him a poisonous glare. Tommy laughed and leaned back in his chair. He lifted his glass in a salute.

  “You’re sure the Wi-Fi works in my room?” Claudia asked Rose. “I didn’t have a chance to check when we arrived, since Reilly hustled us out in such a rush. I have work to do later.”

  “It reaches everywhere in the house,” I said. “As well as on the veranda.”

  At that moment Reilly came out of the house. “I’ve been on the line with the network. They’ve had a complaint.”

  “What is it now?” Josh groaned.

  Reilly jerked his head toward Rose and me.

  “Spit it out,” Josh said.

  “It’s inappropriate for you to be staying here. At this B and B. The complainant said it will give Tea by the Sea an unfair advantage.”

  “And that’s a problem how?” Tommy said. “All’s fair in love, war, and reality TV, don’t they know?”

  Reilly gave me a sideways glance as he said, “That’s not true, Tommy. We run an honest competition.”

  Scarlet snorted and continued scrolling.

  “Who’s this so-called complainant?” Josh asked.

  “The network didn’t say.”

  “One of the other competitors obviously,” Josh said. “Who’s up next?”

  “North Augusta Bakery. That’s in the town nearest here. Homey sort of place. Gingham curtains on the windows. No tablecloths on the tables, patio table–type seating. Does bread, rolls, breakfast pastries, donuts, cakes, cookies, that sort of thing. Breakfast sandwiches for breakfast, and sandwiches and soup for lunch.”

  I decided not to mention that the owner of the North Augusta Bakery had been lurking around Tea by the Sea earlier.

  “Sounds more your sort of place, Tommy,” Scarlet said. “You can pretend to be a member of the working classes having your lunch break.”

  “Probably them complaining,” Josh said. “Tell the network if they can find suitable accommodation for four people in Cape Cod in July with no notice, we’ll go there.” He leaned back, crossed his legs, and finished his drink. “Meanwhile, we’re staying here. I’m not moving into a motel on the highway, and I’m pretty sure none of you want to, either. Tommy, pass me that bottle. I’ve had enough lemonade. Are you ready for us in there?”

  “Yes,” Reilly said. “Mrs. Campbell was kind enough to offer us the use of her drawing room as a meeting room.”

  I threw a questioning glance at my grandmother. She tried not to smirk. The drawing room at Victoria-on-Sea is not quite as private as it first appears.

  Josh stood up. “Okay. Let’s see what we got today. Claudia, you’re with me and Reilly. Scarlet and Tommy, find something to amuse yourselves.”

  “Reilly,” Scarlet said, “did you arrange to have a bottle of wine put in the fridge in my room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will be amused.” Scarlet got to her feet and sailed into the house without another word.

  “As for me,” Tommy said, “I’ll escort this lovely young lady home.”

  “I don’t think—” I said.

  “No problem at all.” He picked up his glass as well as the bottle.

  “Actually, I need to talk to my grandmother,” I said.

  He pouted dramatically. “I guess that means me and my bottle will retire to our room. Josh, I hope we don’t have to all go out to dinner together.”

  “Command performance,” the director said. “I’ve made a reservation. We want the locals excited about our show coming to their town, and that means you need to show your ugly face. And that also means you have to try to pretend to be a nice guy.”

  “I’m always a nice guy,” Tommy said. “Can I help it if everyone around me’s an inconsiderate jerk? And that, Josh, includes you.”

  Tommy went into the house and slammed the door behind him. Reilly rolled his eyes at me and he and Claudia followed Tommy.

  I dropped into a chair. “I hate group dynamics. Even worse when you have mega egos attached.”

  “Reminds me of the quilting guild in Grand Lake, Iowa,” Rose said.

  “You’re always full of surprises. I didn’t know you quilted. I’ve never seen anything you’ve made.”

  “I don’t. Because one week as a member of the quilting guild of Grand Lake, Iowa, was quite enough for me, thank you very much.” She sniffed and picked up her glass of lemonade. “It’s early, but everything’s off kilter today. I might have my G&T now.”

  Robbie stretched and yawned.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Rose asked.

  “Talk to you? I didn’t want Tommy Greene’s company, that’s all. His charm’s as false as his teeth.”

  Rose shrugged. “Exaggerated for dramatic effect most likely. I’m sure he’s very nice underneath. He is from Yorkshire, after all.”

  “Where everyone’s perfectly lovely. A county of pussycats.”

  Conscious of the non-TV guests still relaxing on the veranda, Rose dropped her voice. “Are you aware that Scarlet’s a former Miss Louisiana?”

  “Josh mentioned that. Does it matter?”

  “Only if you’re concerned about her qualifications to judge baking. Of which she has exactly zero. I’d be surprised if Scarlet’s the name on her birth certificate. Her qualifications to be on TV, however, are obvious.” Rose snorted, and Robbie, still on her lap, curled his lip. Those two really did look alike sometimes. My grandfather’s heritage is Scottish, and Rose’s cats had always been honored with the name of one Hebridean hero or another. “Claudia’s perfectly lovely,” Rose said. “I’ll enjoy getting to know her, if I get the chance. They’re here for more than a week, until next Wednesday.”

  “You should have told me they’re staying here.”

  “Didn’t I?”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “No reason I should have. You don’t involve yourself with the day-to-day running of the B and B, love. If you’d like to take a more active part—”

  “Definitely not.”

  “As you keep telling me.”

  “Because,” I said, “I have more than enough to do.” I smiled to soften my words as I stood up. “I’m going home. Do you want me to make your drink first?”

  “Thank you, but no. I’ve decided to wait a while longer. Everything is better with anticipation.” She picked up her book with one hand, stroked the cat with the other.

  I went into the house. The main door opened onto the front hall, where we’d set up a reproduction antique desk for reception. A wide sweeping staircase with a red carpet and solid oak banisters led to the second floor, and the ground-floor hallway continued along the length of the house. Guest bedrooms ran off the hall, and Rose’s suite was at the end. The drawing room was at the front of the house, overlooking the veranda, the guest parking area, the formal gardens, and the long driveway leading to the main road. Doors to the dining room were across the hall, and turning left led to the kitchen.

  I pay the B & B housekeepers a bit extra to let my dog out a few times during the day and ensure her water bowl’s refreshed, but today I was glad of the opportunity to have a short romp with her. I took one step across the hall, intending to duck through the dining room and out the French doors, but an angry shout from the drawing room had me stopping in my tracks.

  “Yes!”

  “I said no, and that’s final.”

  My ears perked up. The rest of the house was quiet, as it usually is in mid-afternoon.

  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Josh,” Reilly said, “our audience is mostly women. Women watch for the food, not to look at younger, prettier women.”

  “That redhead comes across so well on screen. What would it hurt to include the shots of her talking to Tommy?”

  “No, the old woman’s much better. That English accent’s a hoot.”

  I assumed the old woman was Rose and the redhead, Bernie.

  “Moot point, both of you,” Claudia said. “The old woman, as you call her, is the cook’s grandmother, and the redhead is her friend. They’re hardly impartial observers.”

  “So what?” Josh snapped. “No one knows that, Claudia. No one cares.”

  “I know. I care,” Reilly said. “And that’s final. What I want to include are the shots of that jerk leering at Scarlet, and Tommy giving him what for.”

  “That has nothing to do with the cooking,” Claudia said.

  “It provides dramatic interest,” Reilly said. “Okay, what about using the old guy with the loose dentures? Claudia, do you think he’s too old?”

  I slipped into the dining room and shut the double doors behind me. Interesting, I thought. I didn’t know anything about the TV business, and I didn’t want to know, but it seemed strange to me that Reilly, who’d been introduced as the director’s assistant, was telling the director what they were going to do.

  Chapter 4

  If my kitchen had been crowded yesterday, it was really crowded today. So crowded there wasn’t room for the clapper-board woman or the assistant director. The woman had to stand in the open doorway leading outside, and Reilly shouted at us from the entrance to the dining area.

  Bernie and Rose had been banished entirely.

  I’d been in the B&B kitchen before six to get muffins and a coffee cake in the oven along with a quickly-prepared breakfast casserole for Edna to serve to our guests, and I arrived at the tea room promptly at seven and been told to wait. I took a seat in the garden and watched the activity as the sun rose over Cape Cod. Crew bustled around as equipment was unloaded and carried into the tearoom. First Scarlet, then Claudia, and finally Tommy went into the makeup trailer, and after various degrees of time had passed, they came out camera ready.

  Bernie’s car drove past and parked at the steps of Victoria-on-Sea. Rose emerged from the house, Bernie took her arm, and they walked down the driveway, past the trucks and trailers, through the gate, and took seats at my table.

  “What brings you two here?” I asked.

  “I’m acting as your agent,” Bernie said. “It was Rose’s idea.”

  “Agent? I don’t need an agent.”

  “Sure you do,” Bernie said.

  “Even supposing I did, what makes you qualified?”

  “You know many agents, do you?” Rose asked me.

  “No, but—”

  “Until you do have a proper agent, we decided Bernadette will act on your behalf.”

  “When did we decide this?”

  “Yesterday at tea. Matt agreed,” Bernie said. “You need to have someone representing your interests in all this. That person will be me. I worked at a law firm, remember, and I know plenty of lawyers I can call for advice at a moment’s notice.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Whatever. I’m not being paid for this, although they are paying for the use of the property. The publicity’s supposedly enough, although I have my doubts.” I grimaced at Rose and Bernie.

  They smiled back.

  “Whatever,” I said again.

  “Lily,” Melanie, the makeup artist, called from the steps of the trailer. “You’re next.”

  I stood up. I’d spent a lot of time deciding what to wear for my big day of baking. The kitchen is my happy place, so I eventually decided to look happy in a sundress splashed with blue and yellow.

  “That dress has too much pattern in it,” Bernie said.

  I looked down at myself. “What do you mean?”

  “You look like an abstract painting.”

  “I want to stand out.”

  “No, you don’t,” Bernie said. “You want your food to stand out.”

  “Good morning, ladies. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Tommy Greene’s false teeth flashed at us. “Mrs. Campbell, right? Late of Yorkshire and greatly missed there, I’m sure. And the lovely Bernadette.”

  Rose tittered. Bernie vacillated between looking pleased and offended. I left them and went to have my hair and makeup done.

  I sometimes wonder if the reason I like baking so much is that I’m not at all an impulsive person. Cooking’s an art, but baking is a science. There’s room to experiment, of course, to try new things, and the sky’s the limit when it comes to decorating, but the principles of baking are constant. The ingredients have to be weighed or measured accurately, balanced perfectly one to the other, and baked precisely at the time and temperature required.

  I love nothing more than to be alone in my kitchen, measuring, stirring, folding, and then admiring the fruit of my labors when the end product emerges from the oven or the refrigerator. I can’t make a living working alone in a private kitchen, so I have to work at restaurants or bakeries, and now that I have my own place, I still need staff and customers, some of whom are more demanding than they should be.

  Baking while a room full of critical people questioned my every move, and a camera filmed it happening, was not my happy place.

  But, I told myself, I’d decided to do this show, and so I would do it willingly, cheerfully, and professionally. After all, wasn’t introducing people to good food, well prepared, one of my joys in life?

  Yesterday I’d baked while the camera filmed me. Today the three judges would talk to me and ask questions while I worked. I’d given them advance notice of what I intended to prepare so they could have their questions ready.

  I started with scones, which is what I make the most of every day. Can’t have afternoon tea without freshly baked scones.

  “Tell me about afternoon tea, Lily.” Claudia gave me an encouraging smile. Tommy stood behind the cameraman, watching. Scarlet had disappeared. “Why does it appeal to you?”

  I added the premeasured butter and dry ingredients to the mixing bowl and kneaded them together with my hands. “Afternoon tea’s all about tradition. About hospitality and taking time to gather with friends to enjoy the finer things in life. Afternoon tea, in my opinion, anyway, is a delicacy, an indulgence, and it should be treated as such. What can I say? I love treating people.”

  “I’ve been told your grandmother worked as a kitchen maid in an English castle in her youth. Did she teach you about the proper serving of tea?”