A Scone To Die For (Oxford Tearoom Mysteries ~ Book 1) by H.Y. Hanna Read Free Book Online

parents were already seated—my father, Professor Philip Rose, at his customary place at the head of the table, with a full dinnerware place setting laid out in front of him and a linen napkin at his elbow. My mother, Evelyn Rose, had just served the first course: split pea soup with croutons and a drizzle of sour cream, in elegant porcelain bowls. No chipped crockery in my parents’ house or any stained mugs either. I don’t know how my mother did it but she kept all her china looking as pristine as the day she bought them from the Royal Doulton section in the local department store.
    “Sorry I’m late!” I gasped as I dropped into my seat. “I was—”
    “Darling, volume …” My mother frowned at me.
    I sighed and made an effort to lower my voice. “Sorry, Mother—I was having a drink with Cassie and Seth at the Blue Boar.”
    “Oh, how is Seth? Such a nice boy.”
    “He’s not really a boy anymore, Mother. But yes, he’s fine. He’s having some teething troubles settling into his new college, but otherwise he seems on good form.”
    “Which college has he transferred to?” My father spoke up for the first time. My father was an Oxford professor and the stereotype of the absent-minded academic, spending more time with his nose buried in his books than in the real world. Even though he was now semi-retired, he still kept an active interest in all things to do with the University.
    “Gloucester College,” I informed him.
    He nodded. “Good cricket team.” He lapsed into silence again, concentrating on his soup.
    “Yes, well, I was thinking, dear…” my mother continued smoothly. “Perhaps you could ask Seth to help you.”
    I looked at her in puzzlement. “Help me with what?”
    “Why, find a job, of course!”
    I gave her an exasperated look. “Mother, I have a job. I run a tearoom.”
    She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Yes, that’s nice, dear—but surely that’s not what you intend to do long term? I mean, you didn’t go to Oxford just to become a… a tea lady!”
    I sighed. We’d already had this conversation a thousand times. While I shall always be grateful that I attended one of the best universities in the world, it did come with a lot of baggage—the main one being a nagging sense of failure if you didn’t win a Nobel Prize, become a multi-billionaire top CEO, or run for Prime Minister once you’d left Oxford. Somehow you were always dogged by the constant question of: “What have you achieved that’s worthy of your brilliant education? You’ve been to Oxford! Why aren’t you living up to your potential?”
    I’d lived with that guilt for years—it was what had driven me to climb the corporate ladder, even though my heart wasn’t in it, and to remain in a career which had left me feeling empty and miserable—just so I could hold my head up and have an impressive title to whip out when people asked me what I had done since graduating from Oxford.
    But three months ago—when I turned twenty-nine and realised that the big 3-0 was rushing towards me—I had one of those “Oh my God, what have I done with my life?” moments. Maybe it was an early mid-life crisis. Suddenly I was sick of doing what was expected of me; I wanted to rebel, to do something crazy, to be that person that family and friends whispered about—with horror and disapproval and yet also admiration and envy—for having the guts to just do what the hell they wanted to and not care what other people think.
    The next day, I’d walked into my office in Sydney and handed in my resignation. A week later, I heard about the tearoom in Meadowford-on-Smythe while on an internet chat with Cassie: the owners were selling out and moving to the Costa del Sol, and the beautiful 15th-century institution was under threat. I didn’t know the first thing about running a food business—and I couldn’t bake to save my life—but I fancied a challenge… and I missed England.
    So I made probably the first