She took her phone out of her apron pocket and hurried back into the café. No new customers. She logged on to her bank account; she was absolutely certain she’d paid those invoices.
She was thirteen kronor in the red. The payments had been rejected.
Just then her phone pinged with a message from Bea.
I saw the Veg Guy delivering to Espresso House as I was leaving—did he stop by your place too?
Yep. And he reminded me that I owe him money—apparently the payments didn’t go through. It’s a good thing I haven’t sleptwith him for a while—I would have felt like I was selling myself. A fuck for two boxes of cucumbers and a crate of milk!
LOL, Bea replied.
And I’m in tears.Nora felt as if she was actually on the verge of crying.
Let’s Get Bakingcould save you.
Nora took a deep breath. Not being able to pay her suppliers was serious. Bea was absolutely right when she said that something had to be done.
She ended the conversation and returned to the web browser, where Henrik Eklund’s smiling face appeared at the end of the trailer. She saw nothing but scorn in that smile.
2
Henrik Eklund made his way toward the sign protruding between the wooden buildings. NYMANS, it said in ornate bright-red writing above the usual patisserie pretzel. He couldn’t stop thinking about the email from his father that he had just read. Every year they recordedChristmas with the Eklundsa week after the recording of theLet’s Get BakingChristmas special was finished. However, for some reason his father had persuaded the production company to bring the family show forward, and now it clashed with the special. Hasse was well aware of the schedule forLet’s Get Baking, but he was apparently working on some other project that couldn’t be moved.
Presumably someone new at the production company had approved the change of plan without realizing that there was an issue. Maybe the situation could be resolved, but the TV company wouldn’t be happy. Don, the young new executive producer for TV24 and the show, had produced a much-hyped docusoap for a sister channel, in which sporty singles traveled to a sunny Caribbean island to take part in a series of challenges during the day and date one another in the evenings. He had mentioned over lunch a couple of months ago that he was already stressed by the tight schedule. He had also underlined the importance of the Christmas special’s viewing figures, and suggested that they needed to work on bringing more “reality” into the show. Which meant they needed all the recording time they could get.Genuineemotions. Their previous executive producer had always insisted thatLet’s Get Bakingwasn’t a reality show, but Don had complained that too little happened. As far as Henrik knew, the viewing figures had been solid that fall, but the competition was getting fierce because of all the streaming services, and according to the rumors TV24 had had a tough year.
Hopefully this would be a straightforward project. Maybe they could find a way to work more efficiently, which would give him time to fit inChristmas with the Eklunds.
He walked into the café and was met by the usual aromas of a Swedish patisserie: cinnamon buns, coffee, and freshly baked bread.
Västervik’s oldest patisserie was exactly what he had expected, with its terra-cotta-color tile floor, dirty-yellow walls, and tall glass displays overfilled with an assortment of classic cinnamon buns, Danish pastries, macarons, and other small cakes and cookies. There were simple cheese rolls with thinly sliced cucumber, a few cheese and ham baguettes, and plastic boxes of pasta salad. It was clear that everything had been made with care, and in spite of the faded decor, he could sense that the place had once been something special.Let’s Get Bakingworked only with bakeries that had potential, and Nymans definitely fit the criteria: things didn’t appear to be going too well now, but it had an impressive history. The fact that it was in Västervik was a bonus too; he knew that the production company was planning to include snippets of the local setting throughout the show. Though there wouldn’t be much snow, the deep-blue winter sea, rugged rocks, and fishing boats bobbing up and down beside isolated jetties would be perfect. Plus there was a very good hotel in town. Henrik had stayed in plenty of mediocre hotels in various small towns up and down the country, and he liked the prospect of more comfortable accommodations.
Elnaz, the show’s features producer over the last few seasons, was sitting at one of the tables opposite a woman who was presumably the patisserie’s owner. She didn’t smile or give any indication that she recognized him—definitely not the reaction he’d expected. The participants were usually very pleasant, even starstruck, but this woman was distinctly unwelcoming. The assistant behind the counter, a youngguy with dark hair hanging over his forehead and lively brown eyes, nodded and greeted him cheerfully. Henrik returned the greeting, then walked over to Elnaz and her glum companion.
As he approached the table, she glanced up at him. She didn’t exactly make a sparkling first impression. She might need to work on that. On the other hand, a moody owner, a woman in her thirties, would make good TV. Something different from the sweet, obliging small-town girl people would expect. No doubt this suited the production team very well. Henrik knew from that initial exchange of glances that he and the patisserie owner were on a collision course. TV24 would love it.
At first Henrik had refused to adopt the belligerent style that other chefs and TV personalities went for. Being angry only suited men who were dealing with meat, saws, and axes. When you were explaining to someone how an Italian meringue should be piped on top of a lemon mousse, rage was inappropriate. Worse even than trying to make buttercream with ice-cold egg yolks and the butter at room temperature. But somehow he had slipped into this more callous persona, and the viewers seemed to like the contrast between that and the sweet, creamy fluffiness of baking. He tried to be honest and direct rather than outright unpleasant. Honest even though no one had asked him to be, his sister had once said. And it was true that he could be pretty ... harsh.
His father thought it was all ridiculous. He believed that the most important thing was to be pleasant on camera so that the audience would love you. And it had worked for Hasse. The entire population of Sweden adored Hasse Eklund, the lovable twinkly-eyed baker who created the most fantastic bread and cakes. He had captured the public’s imagination as the poster boy for the family business in the seventies, and shortly after that he had been given his own TV show where he baked classic Swedish bread and pastries. He’d gone on to become a real star.
“Hi,” Henrik said. The owner gave him a brief nod, while Elnaz broke into a big smile and got to her feet. Only then did the ownerstand up. She was wearing loose-fitting blue jeans, a stained apron over a gray T-shirt, and a pair of worn Nike sneakers. Her pale-blonde hair was tied back in a high ponytail.
“Perfect timing—we’re just about done here,” Elnaz said.
Henrik held out his hand. “Henrik Eklund.”
She forced a smile, then shook his hand firmly. “Nora Jansson.”
Elnaz looked from one to the other. “I have to go—we’re checking out suitable locations in the area, but it’s probably best if the two of you get acquainted on your own.” She turned to Nora. “I’ll be in touch.” She pulled on a quilted jacket and headed for the door in her sturdy Doc Martens.
“There’s coffee over there, if you want some,” Nora said, looking over at the coffeepot. After a few seconds he realized the comment was aimed at him.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “Do you want something to eat?”
“A cinnamon bun would be good.” He always chose the same thing when he visited a patisserie. It was a classic and told him a great deal about the soul of the establishment. For one thing, the cinnamon bun was the pride and joy of his own family business. Originally made by Henrik’s paternal grandfather, it was the product that had made the company’s name. For another, it was something that every patisserie made. Even if they were in financial trouble, they could always bake a decent cinnamon bun.
Nora nodded. “Hassan, could you please bring our guest a cinnamon bun?”
