‘Hello,’ he said, smiling at the nervous-looking woman with the pink cheeks and tied-back, unruly black hair sitting fiddling with a magazine. ‘Are you my ten o’clock?’

Issy jumped up, then, inadvertently, let her gaze stray to the large clock on the far wall.

‘I know,’ said Austin, wincing again. ‘I’m so sorry …’ He considered telling her he wasn’t usually late, but that wouldn’t have been strictly true. ‘Would you like to follow me in here?’

Issy followed him through another glass door, which led to a meeting room. It was basically just a glass box set in the middle of the open-plan office. It felt peculiar, as if they were two fish in a tank.

‘Sorry. I’m … hi, I’m Austin Tyler.’

‘Issy Randall.’ Issy shook his hand, which was large and dry. His hair seemed a little messy for a banker, she noticed. But he had a pleasant, slightly distracted smile, and thick-fringed grey eyes – maybe she should put him on her list for Helena. She was swearing off men for good after last night. She felt a growl coming on, but managed to suppress it. Focus! Focus! She wished she’d had more than three hours’ sleep.

Austin fumbled about for a pen, noting his client seemed a little stressed. When he’d left Leeds, he hadn’t been sure he’d make a natural banker. It was as far from examining coral as he could imagine, but the best thing he could find at short notice; the bank let him take on his parents’ mortgage too. However, since joining, he’d worked his way up steadily; it turned out he had excellent instincts about sound prospects and good investments, and as his clients came to know him, they trusted him completely and were very loyal to the bank. Senior management were reasonably sure big things were going to come to him, although they too wished he would cut his hair.

‘Now then,’ he said, having retrieved a pen from his pocket and blown the tissue fluff off it. ‘What can we do for you?’

He glanced at the file and realized to his utter horror that this was a different café altogether.

He pulled off his glasses. This was obviously going to be one of those days.

‘Uh, why don’t you just start from the beginning,’ he improvised.

Issy gave him a shrewd look. She’d spotted what had happened immediately.

‘Don’t you have the file?’

‘I always like to hear it from the client’s own mouth. Paints me a picture.’

Issy’s lips twitched. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ said Austin firmly, leaning forward and clasping his large hands in front of the folder. And while Issy caught the look of a shared joke in his eyes, she felt a spark of excitement at being able to tell her story properly. Either way, she was about to find out if her dream had the faintest possibility of becoming a reality.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Well …’

And Issy told him the story – missing out the sleeping-with-her-boss bits, and reshaping it more as a lifelong ambition, with lots of hard financial analysis backing it up. The more she told the story, she realized, the more real and plausible it sounded, like a creative visualization. She felt she was making it come true.

‘I brought you some cake,’ she added as she finished. Austin waved it away.

‘Sorry, I can’t take that. Could be seen as …’

‘Me bribing you with cake?’ asked Issy in surprise.

‘Well, yes, cake, tools, wine, whatever, really.’

‘Gosh.’ Issy stared at the tin in her lap. ‘I really hadn’t thought of it like that.’

‘What, you didn’t bring me cakes to bribe me?’

‘Well, yes, obviously I did, now you mention it.’

They smiled at one another. Austin rubbed his unruly hair. ‘Pear Tree Court … remind me, but isn’t that the tiny tucked-away place off the Albion Road?’

Issy nodded fervently. ‘You know it!’

‘Well, yes …’ said Austin, who knew every inch of the area intimately. ‘But … it’s not exactly a commercial area, is it?’

‘There are shops there,’ said Issy. ‘Anyway, if you build it they will come.’

Austin smiled.

‘I don’t normally take slogans from ghost baseball players as sound business strategies.’

Issy nearly forgot herself to remark on how much she loved that film, and didn’t he too? But for a banker, he was surprisingly easy to talk to. She’d been dreading this meeting, but now she was here …

‘I mean, I’m not sure it’s … show me your figures again?’

Austin studied them with some care. The rent was certainly affordable, and when it came to the baking, the raw ingredients weren’t expensive. Staff would be easy to find, if Issy was going to do all the cooking. But even so, the profit margins were painful, borderline minimal. For a very long slog. He squinted at it again, and looked back at Issy. It would all be down to her. If she would put the hours in, devote her entire life to cakes and nothing but, then it was just … just about possible. Maybe.

‘Here’s the thing,’ he said.

And over the next hour, his second appointment forgotten, he took Issy so thoroughly through every single step of the way to run a business – from national insurance to health and safety, food inspections, banking, marketing, stocking, margins, portion control – that she felt as if she’d spent a year in business school. As he spoke, occasionally taking off his glasses to emphasize a point, Issy could feel her nebulous dreams take real, meaningful shape in his hands; he seemed to be moulding the foundations of her castle in the air. Step by step he explained to her exactly what she and she alone would be responsible for; what she’d have to do. And not just for one day or one project; over and over and over again, as long as she wanted to make a living.

After fifty-five minutes, Austin sat back. He had a standard spiel – his ‘scare ’em straight’ speech, they joked in the back office – that he gave to everyone who came in with ideas about setting up a business. If you couldn’t face in your mind the workload involved, you were almost doomed to failure before you even started. But with this girl it was a bit different; he’d gone above and beyond to help her and show her the pitfalls and possibilities. He kind of felt he owed it to her after turning up so late, and with the wrong file.