Free A Little Love by Amanda Prowse Page A

Pru always felt a sense of terrible fear, as if a band were tightening around her chest. Only this time the fear was even greater, for someone else had featured in the dream.
    ‘Oh God, Alfie,’ she whispered, ‘I heard his horrible laugh and there he was, with his hand outstretched, introducing himself to Christopher—’ She broke off and breathed deeply. ‘It felt so real. I was rooted to the spot and even though I was trying to speak, no words would come out.’
    Pru sank back against the pillows, her heart thumping, too scared to go back to sleep in case the dream was still lurking.
    Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it and held it at arm’s length – her eyes were not that good in the early hours. It was a text from Christopher! She beamed at his words: Thanks for a lovely evening! Can’t sleep!
    Pru replied with, Me too! x Then she wriggled down under the summer duvet, her face scarlet with embarrassment, instantly regretting the addition of a kiss. She lay under the covers until the dark filled every space inside her and her joy turned to something closer to panic. Her breath came in shallow pants. Slowly she peeled back the covers and sat up against the pillows. Her stomach lurched as she closed her eyes and imagined the moment, the conversation that she would have to have. Her bowels turned to ice. It wasn’t fair. This should be a happy time and yet for her it was like walking on a beautiful cliff edge – a cliff edge from where she was unable to admire the view or feel at peace because she knew that at some point she would have to jump. And that knowledge clouded everything. Maybe it would be easier to run in the opposite direction, avoiding the jump – and the view. Was she going to have to make that sacrifice just to keep hold of what she had?
    Pru looked around her beautiful bedroom. She and Milly had worked so hard for all they had achieved and her success was the one thing that gave her happiness and confidence. The idea of it all coming crashing down around her was more than she could bear. She forced herself to think back to the first time they had seen the premises on Curzon Street, knowing the memory would distract and cheer her.
    It had been Mills that had spotted the advert, running into the shop with a snippet of newspaper, which talked of a ‘neglected gem in the heart of Mayfair, in need of a little redecoration’. The description alone had been enough to set their pulses racing. The shop and upstairs flat they were renting on Argyll Street, a short stroll from Oxford Street, were small and they were fast outgrowing them. Pru wanted a café, shop and showroom as well as the bakery, and she had always known that Argyll Street would be only a stepping-stone. A useful place in which to build up their custom and save hard, until they had enough to move into the sort of premises they had always dreamed of.
    The funds had been in place for a year and customers continued to flock to their doors, eager to get their hands on pain au froment , pain aux noix , beignets aux pommes , pain baguette and their world-famous, flour-dusted, crusty boules de pain . The pleasure of hearing the ping of the till and the rustle of stiff brown paper bags filled with fresh goods baked on site hadn’t waned and Pru knew that the right address and space could take Plum Patisserie to a whole other level.
    Trudy, always wary of fanciful ideas that weren’t grounded in good practical common sense, had insisted on coming with them to look over the Curzon Street premises. While she bantered with the cab driver, Pru and Milly sat with faces pressed against the windows. They gazed at the grand façades of W1, at the hotels and corporate offices, and the specialist businesses that sat between them – Silvers Milliner’s, Tregowan’s Glove Shop and Bijoux the Chocolatier among them – each with a gleaming brass front step and a brightly painted sign suspended over the door. These were just the sort of establishments they