Daisy James - Lucie’s Vintage Cupcake Company

Was this a joke? I asked myself.

Had the dessert been prepared by the proprietor’s five-year-old daughter?

Could it have been a genuine mistake? If so, it is a puzzle to me why an experienced Le Cordon Bleutrained pastry chef would make such a sloppy blunder.

Whatever the truth, it was surely an unforgivable error to make. I will not be returning to Francesca’s Trattoria any time soon and recommend that, if you are still brave enough to try its fayre, you steer well clear of the sweet menu, for if you stray onto its battleground you should know you will be taking your life in your hands. Maybe the pastry chef has yet to find her true vocation – she clearly takes no joy in her current post.

A very generous ***.

‘Oh, Lucie, I’m so, so sorry this has happened,’ said Hollie, her eyes sparkling with tears as she tucked her magenta bob behind her ears and topped up their glasses from the bottle resting in the cooler on the bar. ‘What did Gino say when he read it?’

‘He’s more livid than I’ve ever seen him, and that’s from a guy who’s not afraid of showing his red-blooded Italian emotions. He’s spouting about a cousin of his who can terminate Edmundo Cartolli for a very favourable price. I’m not sure exactly what he means – whether he specialises in taking down websites or individuals. He’s promising that if he ever lays eyes on Ed again he will not be held responsible for the indiscriminate use of his kitchen machete.

‘But what makes it much worse and cringingly embarrassing is that I know him. Would you believe we trained together at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris? He’s the guy I told you about who used to hog all the limelight and flirt outrageously with all the girls on the course. He even tried to get me to go on a date with him once, but it was the night before an important exam and I’m sure it was all just part of his tactics to distract me from studying so he could grab the top spot, like he always did! We were both fiercely competitive. You’ve no idea how hard I worked to take first place, but apart from one solitary occasion, it was always Edmundo Cartolli!’

‘Well, he’s a moron!’ declared Hollie, slamming the stem of her glass onto the marble bar. ‘Why is he a food critic anyway? He can’t be all that special if he can’t get a job as a chef, can he?’

‘Actually, not that I’ve followed every twist and turn of his career or anything, you understand, but I had heard that he was the youngest chef to be awarded a Michelin star at the restaurant he ran in Sicily. I saw the photographs. What? Well, you have to admit, he’s irritatingly gorgeous, especially in his chef’s whites! But for some reason he slipped off the radar last summer, not sure why. I can’t believe he prefers writing about other people’s food to producing it himself, especially when he graduated top of our class at Le Cordon Bleu. Not that I’m jealous or anything. He deserved it.’

‘Well, clearly he’s moved on to apply his exceptional talents to the arena of gastronomic criticism now,’ snapped Steph. ‘Maybe he was fired for poisoning one of his customers and now he’s just a narcissistic peddler of exposition used to draw attention to himself and attract readers of a similar ilk to his pathetic little blog. We all know that negative reviews bring more traffic to his website than a glowing endorsement. Readers of such garbage are like rubberneckers. Wasn’t it his scathing review of that French restaurant that established Anon. Appetit in the first place when the review went viral?’

‘Yes, but you know, I did hear he’d…’

‘Look, Lucie, Ed Cartolli is in the entertainment business. Some people, sad though it is to acknowledge, prefer to invest their precious time in reading vicious diatribes than reviews that are inspiring and uplifting. It’s human nature at its worst. But he of all people should understand how much hard work and sacrifice it takes to set up a restaurant and ensure it not only delivers on its promise of superb food, but exceeds its diners’ expectations so they want to return time and time again. With just one stroke – especially nowadays when reviews are so widely read – a business can be destroyed. It brings a whole new meaning to “poisoned pen”.’

Lucie had never seen Steph so wound up. While her honey-blond hair had been loosened from its elegant chignon in honour of Saturday night, her jaw was set, her lips pursed and her sharp sapphire eyes had narrowed. Two round spots of crimson had appeared on her cheekbones and a splash of prickly heat invaded her chest.

‘It seems I’ve made a habit of swerving into the paths of inconsiderate men lately!’

‘It’s not your fault, Lucie. You can’t control how other people decide to conduct their lives, but I agree it’s been a difficult week all round.’

Steph had been her friend since high school. She was her staunchest ally and knew her almost as well as her sister, Jess, did. When she had asked if she could avail herself of their couch after the Alex fiasco, she and Hollie had agreed without a murmur of hesitation. Not unexpectedly, though, her two best friends had expressed divergent reactions to the news she and Alex were no longer an item.

Steph had declared Alex to be an insipid, weak-hearted excuse for a man who didn’t deserve her continued heartache. Like Alex, she too worked in the legal profession – not in the pursuit of ever-increasing wealth for those who had more than enough for one lifetime, but in the field of matrimonial litigation where she relished the daily opportunity to star in her own courtroom drama. Lucie respected her advice and her judgement. As a side effect of her legal training she was able to slice through waffle and diversionary tactics to get straight to the crux of any problem and exploit its weakness.

Okay, her friend had reasoned over a commiserative cup of over-sweetened tea that fateful night, relationships sometimes didn’t work out. If Alex didn’t want to get married she got that, but to refuse all subsequent contact – to deny Lucie an explanation even – was not only callous but spineless. How could Lucie begin to work through her grief and move on with her life until she knew the reasons Alex had turned down her surprise proposal?

On the other hand, Hollie, top hair stylist and all-round incurable romantic, had been harsh in her condemnation of Alex’s hurtful rejection and had even joined her in a bout of weeping – much to Steph’s irritation. Hollie had urged her to call Alex to demand an explanation for his cruel and humiliating behaviour. Lucie had done as she was told, but her calls had gone straight to voicemail. She’d left two increasingly desperate messages which, in the cold light of day, she’d regretted.

‘Lucie, darling, you just have to move on,’ urged Steph, draining her glass and reaching into the cooler for a top-up. ‘Use this minor hiccup in life’s arduous journey as the catalyst to start following your dreams, not Alex’s! Why not don your Dessert Diva crown and focus on your own career goals? Use this setback as an opportunity to throw yourself headlong into the arms of your lifelong passion – the creation of confectionery magic! What happened to your idea to revolutionise the cake-making business by offering gourmet cupcakes modelled on our love of cocktails? I’m still waiting for those raspberry cupcakes with Prosecco-flavoured butter icing you promised!’

Lucie knew it was good advice. After all, she came from a family whose genes screamed culinary artistry, although her mother had long since relinquished her role of popular TV cookery personality and presenter.

‘You sound like my mother!’

‘How’s Margot enjoying her retirement in Sunny Spain?’ Hollie asked in an effort to divert the conversation to a more cheery subject as she ordered a third bottle of wine.