Recipe For Disaster
Recipe For Disaster
Nina Harrington
Take one estranged Italian family, a celebrity chef cousin, add a secret inheritance, a pinch of family rivalry and a red hot hunk for taste. Mix and simmer until boiling point!Bunty Brannigan knew turning thirty would be tough, but she never expected her life would unravel before the candles on her cake had been blown out… But before Bunty can say Mozzarella, she discovers that she is in line to inherit controlling shares in the Caruso family business and someone has attacked her charming celebrity chef cousin Luca in her deli.Throw in a sizzling hot Italian lawyer and her birthday has turned Bunty’s world upside down!Praise for Nina Harrington'This is an entertaining read full of wonderful, engaging characters. (And lots of authentic yummy sounding food!!) ' - Harlequin Junkie'a lovely little book' - The Book Geek Wears Pajamas'Nina Harrington’s “Recipe for disaster ” is a delightful read. The story is about family, dreams, second chances or even third for some exceptional cases, taking charge of your life when you’ve just turned thirty and It’s never too late.' - Imagicalia
Take one estranged Italian family,
A celebrity chef cousin,
Add a secret inheritance,
A pinch of family rivalry,
And a red-hot hunk for taste.
Mix and simmer until boiling point!
Bunty Brannigan knew turning thirty would be tough, but she never expected her life would unravel before the candles on her cake had been blown out…
But before Bunty can say Mozzarella, she discovers that she is in line to inherit controlling shares in the Caruso family business and someone has attacked her charming celebrity chef cousin Luca in her deli.
Throw in a sizzling hot Italian lawyer and her birthday has turned Bunty’s world upside down!
RECIPE FOR DISASTER
Nina Harrington
Copyright (#ulink_55d1015e-e178-561b-81ff-e9bc4d72ddfb)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013
Copyright © Nina Harrington 2013
Nina Harrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472017130
Version date: 2018-06-20
Nina Harrington grew up in rural Northumberland, England and decided, aged eleven, that she was going to be a librarian, because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted!
Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker, and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer.
When she is not creating stories that make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine, and talking, for which she has had specialist training.
Contents
Cover (#u7b0ab997-395c-5d61-9224-ce223eb8e525)
Blurb (#u50c0dbd7-1ae3-5958-b1f2-82644fdab4b1)
Title Page (#u22b57ba9-fcf7-5571-876e-2ec338037e8d)
Copyright (#u55cbb737-919d-5818-97bb-4a3f54de48e2)
Author Bio (#u26dec823-2043-507b-b84f-e9e17a8bf274)
Chapter One (#uccc1af60-2514-5ffd-9405-a1d8e886babc)
Chapter Two (#ua50167d3-c727-5c0f-a15b-1aae2477c3ea)
Chapter Three (#uaa096ec3-559f-52d7-95d1-75fc7eff7db8)
Chapter Four (#u1fa56f5d-1ee1-5c88-9f7a-3c54ed17f8fd)
Chapter Five (#u1d03d3f3-2433-5b31-bd45-19c474f69fba)
Chapter Six (#uab8929ed-af41-5732-8270-c3587b47aad1)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Friday
‘Hi, Bunty. Isn’t he the dreamiest?’
Bunty Brannigan whirled around on the narrow London footpath and grinned at her old school friend Pippa, who was sneaking a quick cigarette in the doorway of the bookshop where she worked.
‘I thought you had stopped smoking, Pip.’
‘Hey. Lent is still a few months away and I need something to give up and it is not going to be my latest man crush, that’s for sure.’
Bunty snorted through her nose and dodged the pedestrians to step closer. ‘Who is tickling your fancy this time? The sales rep who slips you all of those free books? Or another hero from those hot erotica novels you keep trying to persuade me to read?’
Pippa shrugged and looked back longingly at the window display before replying with a slow sigh of frustrated lust. ‘They are nothing to me now compared to the lovely Luca.’
Bunty followed her gaze, gasped and stood frozen outside the bookshop. In an instant her shoulders slumped towards the pavement.
‘Oh, mozzarella balls!’
Bunty couldn’t help it. The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.
The downside of ghost writing your cousin’s cookery books was that sometimes you had to see a collection of your precious recipes — the traditional Italian dishes you had slaved late into the night to perfect — with Luca Caruso’s face plastered all over the cover.
And there he was.
Leering at her from behind the hardback copies of what the huge cardboard placard declared to be the eagerly awaited latest cookbook from Italy’s hottest new television chef.
Luca Caruso. Her least favourite cousin from her Italian family.
‘He really is to die for,’ Pippa drooled, gazing up at the life-size colour poster of Luca that dominated the bookshop window. ‘If only we had dreamy Italians like that around here every day.’
Bunty stared up at the poster and dreamy was not the first word that came to mind at that moment.
The stylist had gone overboard this time and the Luca who smirked back at her was just too perfect, too smooth and way too arrogant and oily to be digestible.
Real chefs did not have manicures and dental veneers, and that self-satisfied pout made her want to grab the placard and tear it to shreds.
Why did he have to turn up today of all days? Her thirtieth birthday was supposed to be something to celebrate! But the more she looked at the picture, the more depressed she became.
Look at him!
She was precisely one month older than Luca and their lives could not be more different.
Luca was the celebrity chef with the entourage of slick image consultants that made sure he looked totally professional and in control no matter what TV chat show or magazine interview he gave, extolling his business success and how he had personally saved the Caruso food company with his passion for good cooking.
While she was the one who actually came up with all of those recipes.
What did she have to show for all her years of hard work? Bunty sniffed. Her image revolved around aching feet from standing all day and a collection of plain, easy-to-wash work clothes.
He looked fresh and enthusiastic while she was exhausted from running ragged just keeping her shop afloat.
Pippa would probably be stunned by the fact that she was even vaguely related to this cardboard cut-out. But on second thoughts it was probably best not to talk about the Carusos. It would only upset her and she already had enough on her plate for that kind of headache.
‘Mozzarella? Do you think so?’ Pippa tilted her head to one side, slid her black-rimmed spectacles down from the top of her head onto her nose and peered closer to the glass. ‘No. Not my Luca. Did you see him on Hot Chefs Italia last week? Talk about host with the most. Girls in the audience were drooling! Luca Caruso is now, officially, on my hunkalicious hotties list.’
‘Sorry. I missed that one,’ Bunty whispered and pressed her lips tight together. She would rather run down the high street wearing nothing but strategically placed sheets of pasta than waste her time watching her cousin Luca Caruso pretend to know the first thing about cooking. Which he didn’t.
Italy’s hottest chef? Fake, fake, fake, fake, and fake. If the bookshops only knew the truth about who was really writing those recipes they would run Luca out of town!
Luca was the only member of the famous Caruso pasta-making family who could not boil water without burning it. Which was so ridiculous it was not funny.
Shame that she had signed a contract swearing her to secrecy.
‘Are you here for the book signing tonight?’ Pippa asked, and then whispered, ‘Luca will be here. In person. Oh, I can hardly wait. Do you think he would notice me if I swooned?’
Bunty took a deep calming breath before replying in a sweet voice, ‘Sorry. Too busy at the moment. Lots to do before the birthday party tonight.’
‘Oh, what a shame. He could have given you a few tips. You being the Italian food expert around here. Well, don’t wear yourself out. The birthday girl has to be ready to have some fun on a Friday night.’
Luckily Bunty did not have to reply because a customer pushed open the stained-glass door to the bookshop and the doorbell called Pippa back to work. She gave Bunty a quick finger wave. ‘I’ll try and get over once Luca has finished signing all our stock. See you later!’
Give me a few tips? Bunty didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
It was turning out to be one of those days.
First there was the letter from the local authority telling her that the new business rates on the deli were increasing from extortionate to legal robbery. Nice.
As if a one-woman food business could instantly magic up that kind of money. She had expected a price hike, but the amount they wanted made her brain spin.
And then there was the small matter that the second she had pressed the snooze button on her alarm clock that morning, it had struck her like a heavy weight that she was thirty years old.
Thirty! How could that be possible?
With one tick of the clock she had officially stopped being an up-and-coming chef in her twenties and was plunged into the hard reality that she was a thirty-year-old single woman who was still living above the family deli and, from the state of her bank balance, likely to stay there for a long time to come.
What had happened to the girl with the big dreams who had been so confident that she would have her own chain of Brannigans delicatessens specialising in luxury Italian ready meals by the time she was thirty?
The last thing she needed was a reminder the size of a window display that she was being held to ransom by her cousin Luca and her so-called family, who owned one of Italy’s largest food companies. Who apparently were in London for a book signing and had not even bothered to let her know. Typical.
Well, as far as she was concerned Luca and the whole tribe could stay where they belonged. Back in Italy. She didn’t need them and she certainly didn’t want to see them.
A cluster of elegantly dressed twenty-something girls with long glossy hair shuffled up next to Bunty and started giggling at the poster boy. Their expensive perfume drifted in her direction, just as the girl closest to Bunty stepped back a little and waved a hand in front of her as though wafting away a smell.
Bunty lifted her chin and sniffed. Hum. That was a mistake. She hadn’t even had time to change out of the kitchen-smelly work clothes she had been wearing for the past twelve hours.
‘Okay, yes, I have been chopping garlic most of the day.’ Bunty smiled across at her. ‘It’s not contagious.’
The girl smirked and pointed downwards towards Bunty’s ratty old black trainers, forcing their owner to glance down to what lay below her grease-stained, creased kitchen trousers. The fact that they were only inches away from a pair of silky black stockings and high heels only made her clothing look more decrepit than normal.
But then she spotted what was on the sole of her shoe.
Marvellous. She hated city dogs. And she hated their careless owners even more.
Hoisting her bags higher, Bunty could only shuffle off, red-faced, trying not to make it too obvious that she was wiping one trainer on the side of the kerb stone as she went.
She’d bet that never happened to the immaculate Luca!
And then she made the mistake of glancing at her wristwatch.
Brilliant. Now Luca had made her late too.
Although he was not totally responsible.
It had felt as though every customer who walked into the deli that afternoon had some urgent and important question about the provenance of the salami they were buying, or the secret ingredients that made her patisserie and ready meals so special.
She loved every one of the regulars who had been coming to Brannigans week in, week out, for weeks, months or years.
It was such a thrill to join in the busy chatter of the customers who gathered to taste and talk in appreciation of her food and she wouldn’t want it any other way. Busy, busy, busy.
But on the not so plus side, she was working every hour of the day to make the deli a success and it was well after five before she had escaped with her precious cargo.
She’d allowed just enough time to catch the bus before the six o’clock deadline. Okay, yes, it was rather unusual for a chef to deliver catering-sized packs of gnocchi and fresh wild mushroom sauce by public transport, but this was London on a cold wet January evening. She could either walk it, or catch the bus. Taxis were a luxury she could ill afford, and with this rush-hour traffic?
She had missed her bus. And was now officially and undeniably late for her delivery to Patrick at the Dog and Duck.
Patrick served a lot of food between six and seven in the evening and she could still make it before he sent out a search party. It wasn’t her fault that the customers at the hippest gastro pub in town adored her food. Or what they believed was Patrick’s food. He had tripled his order, and she needed that business. Especially now.
Dragging her gaze away from the bookshop window, Bunty dodged and dived along the busy pavements, trying to make up for lost time. The grey January drizzle had turned into sleet and beneath her padded jacket her T-shirt had begun to stick to her skin. She tried not to think about what was happening to her hair.
Had she ever looked like those glossy girls? And where had the last ten years gone?
Apart from the years spent at catering school, training as a restaurant chef, and then looking after her sick mother while running a deli, of course.
Apart from that.
She was still trying to come up with some explanation for her current state of grunginess when a cab cut her off as she tried to cross the street. Both of her hands were occupied with food containers, and the sauce almost ended up on the road as she swerved to avoid splattering the contents.
Luckily for her, Patrick was standing at the door chalking up the menu on a blackboard, and ran forward to take the bags from her. Homemade gnocchi was the first item on the board.
‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, sweetheart. Ten minutes later, and my little Italian treat would have been off the menu.’
‘Ten yards later, and you would have been scraping your treats and me off the front of that taxi.’ She leant forward, stood on tiptoe and kissed her old boyfriend lightly on the cheek and smiled. ‘You know you love me.’
The tall, handsome, stubbly Irishman nodded a couple of times. ‘True, but I’d love you more if you came back to work for me. A couple of nights a week? One night? I need you, babe. And you must have missed me!’ His eyebrows lifted a couple of times above the smile.
‘Tempting. But I think you only want me for my food.’
He swiped his hand across his thigh. ‘Drat. You saw through my evil plan. In that case I need to double up the ravioli and all the antipasti for the lunch crew. I’ll send one of the lads around tomorrow and pick it up.’
‘No problem. And since you love me, you get first look at some new meals I’ve been working on.’
Her mobile phone rang and cut short her stab at optimism. Bunty flipped open the cover. ‘Pronto?’
‘It’s me,’ Alex said. ‘We have a problem.’
‘Really,’ Bunty said, pulling a printed menu from her pocket, telephone lodged between her neck and shoulder. ‘Surely not. I thought you’d be out partying by now. Let me guess, you picked up a hunky date at the airport and have decided to bail on me?’
‘You should be back by now. At this rate you are going to be late for your own birthday party,’ Alex said with a high-pitched laugh and Bunty stopped, taken aback by the tone in her best friend’s voice. Alex McGee was an industrial chemist who travelled the world auditing production plants. She did stress for a living.
Bunty could hear the urgency in her friend’s voice as she turned to pass the menu across to Patrick.
‘I am on my way right now,’ she said into the phone.
‘Something wrong?’ Patrick asked, sounding concerned, from behind her.
‘Not a bit,’ Bunty said to him. ‘Alex is worried that I won’t have time for a serious makeover before my birthday party.’
‘Makeover? Not from what I can see.’ Patrick grinned, looking into her face. ‘Sorry I can’t be there. Mad busy. But I’ll be raising a glass later in your direction.’
‘Thanks, sweetie, but it is going to take more than Alex’s make-up bag to change my life,’ Bunty whispered to herself, ‘but it’s worth a try’ before smiling back at Patrick to reassure him.
Ten minutes later, sweaty and slightly out of breath, she was weaving her way along the busy pavements, filled with young people heading out after work to the collection of wine bars, cafés and bistros that had opened along the narrow pedestrian-only area of the London suburb. Her short cut took her past the new office blocks and apartments where there used to be small shops and businesses just like hers. They were good customers, but she still missed the old community that used to be here.
Head back, shoulders down, she strode out in her black trainers, dodging the cycles and scooters, switching from lane to lane down the backstreets, before turning the corner onto the main parade, with its collection of two-storey stone and brick buildings, where she could see Alex standing under the striped navy-blue and white awning of Brannigans.
Her parents’ deli.
Her deli now.
The thought caught in her throat, and Bunty exhaled slowly as Alex waved back and stepped out to greet her.
Her best friend from convent school was wearing the trouser suit Bunty had helped her choose the previous September. It was summer-weight dark navy worsted, faint pink fine stripes, with a cleverly constructed narrow lapel and trouser cuffs – but fitted in at the waist so that there was no mistake that this lady had curves to be proud of..
With that suit Alex had won the promotion she had been begging for, the two-seater sports car parked outside the shop, and six weeks’ paid holiday a year.
The coral silk shirt was an inspiration for a girl who paid a fortune for caramel highlights in her brown hair, and Alex looked great, even under fluorescent streetlight on a grey January evening.
‘Hey, look at you.’ Bunty grinned and gave her a one-armed hug.
‘More to the point, look at you.’ Alex tutted and stepped back to hold Bunty at arm’s length. ‘Is this the new fashion in kitchen grunge couture that I have been hearing about? Because I have to tell you, it is not working for me.’
Then she gave an over-the-top shudder. ‘Sorry, my girl. It’s time for an intervention. You pop inside and sort through your birthday cards with Fran. I need to skip up the street and ask the two hunks who run the gym if they can run door security for us. Because you are going to look so hot tonight I’ll be beating the boys back with a stick.’
Bunty snorted a reply. ‘Security for whom? I know you, Alexandra Caitlin McGee. Those poor boys wouldn’t stand a chance. I knew that it was a mistake leaving you and Fran to organise my birthday party.’
Bunty pushed the door wide open, reached inside and switched on the main lights so that she could see across the main shop floor, and through into the long refrigerated display area, and marble counter.
‘Spoilsport,’ Alex replied through pursed lips as she followed Bunty into the deli. ‘Bernadette Caruso Brannigan! Best decision you ever made. It’s going to be great. And no, I didn’t invite all of the people I wanted because you said that you wanted it low-key.’
Bunty nodded and dumped her bag on the counter. ‘Only my idea of low-key and your low-key might not be the same thing. Please tell me that Fran was joking about hiring a male stripper. I’m not sure that Elena has a licence for performance art.’
‘What? And spoil the surprise? My lips are sealed.’
‘Hah!’ Bunty tutted out loud, automatically picked up two packs of organic fusilli, and turned back towards the display shelving and their ‘New Arrivals’ section.
At the very same second that Fran leapt out at her from inside the store room waving a flag and screaming, ‘Surprise Party! Surprise! Happy Birthday!’
Bunty screamed out loud, her arms went flailing and the fusilli exploded out of their packets like yellow worms and cascaded like a fountain over the floor.
Happy Birthday. Right.
Fabio Rossi twirled the ice cubes in his crystal tumbler before taking a long slow drink of sparkling tonic water.
He leant one elbow on the brass rail in the cocktail bar of one of the most stylish boutique hotels in London and casually glanced towards the marble and wood-panel hallway as Paolo Caruso strolled past.
From the bar, Fabio could hear Paolo pontificating loudly in very good English with two stylish ladies in smart black business suits as they made their way out to a no doubt luxurious dinner with Paolo and his son Luca.
Pale, overweight, prematurely balding, and so smug in his superiority as head of the Caruso food company, Paolo seemed to have no problem at all pimping his only son and heir to the publishers and literary agents who all wanted a piece of the action that was the latest hot Italian chef—Luca Caruso.
Professional etiquette demanded that Fabio should keep his opinion of Paolo to himself, of course, considering that the Caruso food company was his father’s biggest client.
Rossi and Rossi had taken care of the Caruso family’s legal work for over fifty years and had built a major law firm out of the connections and income that came with it.
Shame that the Caruso family did not deem the youngest of the Rossi lawyers to be worthy of their business, no matter how many times his father and brother had tried to include Fabio in company meetings over the past two years.
Fabio lowered his tumbler onto the leather coaster on the bar and ran his finger around the rim while he took a steadying breath.
He’d thought he had left his past mistakes behind him in California.
Wrong.
Apparently respectable corporations did not want their reputation tainted by association with his kind of contract lawyer.
Oh, no. All Paolo Caruso saw was the lawyer’s son who had been dumped by his sweet, wealthy wife when his poker habit had got out of hand. A rogue. A misfit. A lawyer who could not control his obsession for the thrill of the chase.
Why did they need him? His father knew the Caruso family business inside out. Rossi and Rossi. Father and eldest son. They didn’t want a liability like Fabio Rossi working on their business accounts.
Of course, there was something that Paolo didn’t know…yet.
It was true that Fabio was in London meeting up with a few prospective clients for his new law firm. But that wasn’t the only reason he had packed his bags and driven from Milan with his friend and business partner, Jerry Frobisher, yesterday morning.
His father had given him one last assignment for Rossi and Rossi before he officially left the family business and started out on his own.
A one-off situation, which was going to need his complete attention and dedication until the client’s instructions had been carried out.
He needed to stay engaged and focused and frosty.
Precisely the skills that he had tuned so meticulously in casinos around the world.
And that was exactly what he was going to deliver.
All of the hard work Fabio had done to rebuild some kind of reputation by swallowing his pride and going back to his father’s law firm had come down to this.
His chance to show that his family could depend on him to get the job done.
A chance to demonstrate what he could achieve and put the past behind him once and for all.
Like it or not, his start-up law firm needed the seal of approval that adding major clients like Caruso Foods could bring. This job might open doors that still stayed firmly closed to an ex-gambler with a reputation for being a hothead.
Fabio’s fingers tightened so firmly around the tumbler that for a second he thought the crystal would shatter from the pressure.
His past mistakes had brought him here. There was nothing he could do to change history but he had to look forward. His hard work was going to have to pull his brand-new company back from the edge and give it the professional kudos and future it needed.
The voices from the reception area faded away.
This was it. Rossi and Frobisher were on the case and the sooner he finished this last job for his dad, the sooner he could start work on his own business.
Time to rock and roll.
Fabio finished his drink, slid his designer jeans off the bar stool with a nod to the barman and minutes later strolled down the luxurious carpet outside the second-floor guest bedrooms.
A handsome, slim, fair-haired young man with a dark natural tan was deep in conversation with one of the very pretty uniformed chambermaids, his arm winding its way around her waist as she giggled in reply to a question.
Fabio coughed politely as he came up to the door and signalled to Jerry over the shoulder of the now preoccupied and still-giggling maid.
It only took him a few minutes to open up the wall safe in his bedroom, take out the first padded envelope enclosed in a black cover and slip it into a smart document wallet so he was ready and waiting when Jerry knocked on the door.
‘Right, partner.’ Jerry smiled, casually leaning like a fashion model against the door frame. ‘So tell me again what is so very important that you feel the need to make your way in rush-hour traffic through the centre of London so you can deliver a package? We have an excellent postal system, you know. Perhaps you should try it?’
Fabio took a breath and exhaled very slowly.
Why was he acting as a delivery boy for his father’s law firm? Because he owed his family for giving him a second chance after his life had crashed and burned. Owed them big time.
‘Relax. This is definitely the last assignment for my grandfather’s last private client. This package had to be hand delivered by a Rossi family lawyer between six and eight p.m. today and he knew that I was going to be in London so I agreed to help him out. They needed someone they could trust to put it in the right hands and it saves the family firm the price of the air fare.’
‘Ah. I am beginning to understand. Your father gave you a job when you needed one and now it’s payback time. Am I right?’
Fabio looked at his business partner with pity laced with exasperation. ‘Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve told you about my family in the last few months? I knew it was dangerous putting you in charge of recruiting office receptionists. Way too many distractions.’
Jerry smiled, displaying a set of stunning even white teeth, which highlighted his tan and pale blue fine cotton shirt. His azure-blue eyes focused on Fabio. ‘Ah. The delights of meeting lovely ladies who are so anxious to demonstrate their database skills. But do try and relax, Fabio, old chap. You’re starting to make me feel quite anxious.’
Fabio had to smile. He had known Jerry three years and in all that time he had never seen his business partner, and one of the smartest men in commercial law, raise a sweat.
‘Well, I would hate for that to happen. Here’s an idea. I have to finish this one last job, but as we have just spent most of the day setting up our new list of prospective clients, I think that might be worth a celebration. Don’t you?’
Jerry raised an eyebrow, then pushed back to full height and tugged down on the cuffs of his made-to-measure shirt. ‘Now you are talking my language. Forget the taxi. The Rossi and Frobisher courier service is on the case. Got the address handy?’
Chapter Two
‘Oh, you should have seen your face,’ Alex managed to get out as she wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘It was priceless.’
‘You,’ Bunty replied, her hand still pressed against her throat as she fought to bring down her heart rate, ‘are a menace. I could have had a heart attack. And think of the bad influence you are having on your baby sister. Shocking example.’
‘Were you really scared?’ Fran asked and flung her arms around Bunty’s neck and shoulders. ‘We thought it would be nice to give you a treat for once seeing as you cook for us nearly every day. I did the balloons and Alex made the hot chocolate just the way you like it.’
Bunty patted Fran’s arm and reassured her. ‘Not scared. Just taken by surprise.’
It was impossible to be annoyed with a girl who thought it was normal to wear a lime-green T-shirt with a scarlet red dragon logo and matching Chinese silk pants while vacuuming up dried pasta shells.
‘My own recipe, of course.’ Alex wafted a steaming beaker of chocolatey loveliness in front of Bunty’s nose and gestured for her to sit at the kitchen table. ‘And before you say it, yes, I know it’s my one and only recipe but not all of us are blessed with your culinary genius.’
‘Then it is a good thing that I adore your hot chocolate.’ Bunty smiled and lifted the beaker with both hands towards her nose. ‘Oh, that cinnamon smells so good.’
‘Don’t forget the vanilla extract and cream! Secret ingredients. Do you like the balloons?’
Bunty grinned up at the bunch of fluorescent-pink gas-filled balloons that Fran had tied to the back of her chair. They bobbed up and down in the air telling the world that she had not turned thirty at all. She was twenty-one with nine years’ added experience.
A feeling of overwhelming emotion bubbled up from the centre of her heart reserved for happy days, which had not seen much use of late.
‘They are the best balloons that I have ever seen in my entire life. Thanks, girls. You are the best. I…I don’t know what I would do without you.’ Suddenly her throat felt quite sore and words were a tad difficult.
‘Oh, Lord, she’s going.’ Alex waved frantically at her sister. ‘Fran. Quick. We need more hazelnut biscotti. Go, go, go.’
The second Fran jogged out into the deli, Alex scooted around the table and leant her head against Bunty’s shoulder.
‘Come on. Tell your aunty Alex. Why are you in the grumps? What’s going on?’
Bunty took a sip of the hot chocolate and waited until the delicious warmth had eased away the tension in her stiff shoulders before replying. ‘Is it that obvious? Well, if you must know I had always imagined that I would have achieved a lot more in my career by the time I reached thirty and the more I think about it, the more I feel like a big fat failure.’
‘Well, that’s crazy. So what would it take to make you feel better? Besides my hot chocolate, of course.’
‘Besides that, funding to open another deli some time in the next six months would be nice. I have the orders and I know that I could make a go of it. But I’m not sure I want to go cap in hand to yet another bank. Not yet anyway.’
‘Why not? You will get the funding you need. I’m sure of it. I mean, look at you.’
Alex waved her arm around. ‘Gorgeous girl. Busy deli and ideas to open more like it. Plenty of pubs and bistros clamouring to serve your grub. There are loads of reasons why a bank would fall over itself to loan you the cash to fund an expansion. And I know you have a brilliant business plan because I helped you write it.’
‘Yes, you did. And it is brilliant. Except for one thing. Security. The last two banks I went to both wanted me to take a mortgage out on the deli as security for the loan. I can’t do it, Alex. Won’t do it. All I have to do is remember how much trouble my mum got into over the years and it scares me witless. I’ve only just stopped paying off all of the loans she took out to try and keep her dreams alive. I can’t take the risk of losing the deli. We sacrificed so much to keep it going. It’s the only thing that nobody can take away from me.’
Alex grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze, then topped up their hot chocolate and nodded. ‘Keep the deli. Righty. Now we know what we need to do. Got it. What about the Brannigans?’
‘They would help if they could but the family are way too busy organising the latest Brannigan wedding for me to bother them with my problems. My uncle Pat sent me a lovely birthday card.’
Bunty narrowed her eyes. ‘And before you go there, I would eat my own feet before I asked the Carusos for a loan.’
Alex coughed and choked on a biscuit crumb and washed it down before answering. ‘Hey. It’s me. I would never say the C word in your presence. I suppose Luca has been begging you to write more cook books for him when your deal ends next week?’
Bunty lifted both of her hands high into the air in a dramatic flourish. ‘Begging and pleading. Emails coming in every week offering me an extension.’
Alex giggled and shuffled in her seat like an overexcited five-year-old high on sugar and artificial colours. ‘Did you make him grovel? Did you? Did you?’
‘Of course. Then I declined his offer in a polite and totally professional manner. It was a glorious moment. There are five more days left on my contract with Luca. Count them. Five. Then I shall finally be free. No more writing cook books for Luca. No more working for a pittance. Free to do what I want with my genius.’
Alex lifted her beaker in a toast. ‘Now that is something worth celebrating. Busy or not, it’s your thirtieth birthday. You are coming out to party this evening and enjoy yourself even if I have to drag you out. You know you want to. I can see you weakening.’
‘You are so bossy.’ Bunty paused, then lifted her chin and blinked a few times, then nodded. ‘And I hate it when you are so blindingly right. I should celebrate. These past few months have been tough but I survived the first Christmas without Mum. This is it, Alex. Tomorrow morning the new Bernadette will be in charge. No more messing about on the side lines. No more saying no to opportunities when they come along. This time next year I will be running, not one, but two Brannigans delis and my life will be back in control. No matter what. Deal?’
‘Deal. That’s why you love me.’ Alex looked up at the sound of rustling from the deli. ‘Now where is my lovely sister with the biscotti and…? Oh, my!’ Then her eyes widened with just enough of a sharp intake of breath to make Bunty swing around in her chair to see what all of the fuss was about.
‘Bunty.’ Fran giggled and pressed her fingers to her mouth. ‘You have a…visitor.’
Fran was right. She did have a visitor.
Because strolling into her kitchen was the same man she had just been looking at in a bookshop window.
Luca Caruso.
In the flesh.
Right down to the silk and cashmere midnight-blue suit and gleaming white shirt and a natural tan that told her more than she wanted to know about where he had spent the winter.
Luca was holding a bouquet of yellow rose buds in one hand and in the other one of the pastry cream cannoli from her chiller cabinet. He was calmly nibbling at it as though he walked into his cousin’s deli every day of the week.
The whole scene was so surreal Bunty blinked several times to make sure that she was not imagining it. He had stolen one of her cannoli and was eating it. In front of her! In her kitchen!
What the…?
‘Hi, Bunty. I hope you don’t mind me popping in unannounced.’ Luca smiled between bites of the cannoli, revealing his excellent dental work. ‘But I was in this part of town for a book signing and I thought it would be mightily rude not to say hello.’ He stepped forwards and presented her with the roses. ‘These are for you, by the way. Happy birthday. I see that you are having a lovely tea party.’
Then his gaze shifted along the table and just for a second Bunty was so stunned that all she could think about was that the Botox injections he was having were totally amazing. His eyebrows lifted but his brow was rigid.
‘Is that Alex McGee? Wow. This is turning out to be my lucky day. Looking good, Alex!’
Alex replied with a snort through her nose. ‘What! Looking good? Don’t you tell me that I am looking good, mister. You stink. Do you really think you can turn up after all these years and make yourself at home as though you own the place?’
Luca leant against the edge of the table with his legs crossed and finished off his cannoli. ‘Such sweetness and light. It’s good to know that some things stay the same, Alex. Whereas Bunty here has made some serious changes to this place.’ His gaze scanned the kitchen and Bunty could almost feel those blue eyes rest on the immaculate stainless-steel pans and work surfaces.
‘Impressive. Very impressive. Congratulations, Bunty.’
By pressing her fingernails deep into her palm Bunty managed to both keep a faint smile on her face and not throw the hot-chocolate dregs at Luca’s smug and condescending and so very handsome, perfect face. It would almost be worth it to see the chocolate drip down his pristine shirt.
But that was what he expected her to do. And she was better than that. A lot better.
So instead she made a fuss of smelling the roses and taking a moment before she lifted her chin and replied in as calm a voice as she could manage. ‘Thank you, Luca. How very kind of you to pop in. It has been such a long time since you last graced us with your presence. Is this a social call?’
He tipped two fingers to his perfectly cut dark hair in salute. He pushed out his lower lip and bowed slightly from the waist in her direction. ‘The only reason that I am signing books today is because of the great work that you have been doing to make those books so successful over the years. You’ve been fantastic. So, I thought that I would deliver your end-of-contract bonus in person.’
Luca carefully brushed the pastry crumbs from his fingers before reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a folded piece of paper with two fingers.
It took him all of two strides with his long slim legs to cover the floor between them, and then Luca stretched out his hand and presented the cheque to Bunty with a small flourish. ‘Thanks for all of your help, Bunty. I mean that.’
She took the paper, unfolded it in silence, and then looked at the number handwritten on the cheque. Then looked again. ‘Are you sure this is right? I wasn’t expecting this much.’
And was instantly thumped hard in the arm by Alex, who peered at the cheque and sniffed. ‘Ah! Not nearly enough to cover all of the aggro you have had to put up with over the years.’
Luca narrowed his eyes and pointed two fingers towards Alex. ‘You are quite right. I have added a little extra as my personal thanks, which I hope you will accept. In exchange for some of your time.’
‘My time?’ Bunty coughed out loud as Alex gasped in disbelief, but Luca held up both hands in surrender and laughed. ‘Relax. Let me finish and then I shall head off to the book signing and leave you in peace. Okay?’
His shoulders seemed to drop into a relaxed pose and for the first time since he came into the room Bunty saw what looked like a real light in Luca’s eyes. Something close to being genuine, so when he spoke the words still took a while to sink in.
‘I am thinking of changing the company slogan.’ He smiled, then traced some letters in the air. ‘The Caruso Family Kitchen. What do you think of that crazy notion?’
Then he folded his arms and leant back before speaking. ‘Traditional recipes that have been handed down from generation to generation. And…’ He paused and licked his lower lip, and the breath caught in Bunty’s throat.
Here it comes. This is the pitch. This is really what he came here to say.
‘We are going to need a new cook book of family recipes to come out at the same time as the TV campaign. New branding on the supermarket ranges. The lot. I’m actually quite excited about it. Ah yes, I can see you are surprised. I know. It would be a completely different direction from the modern Mediterranean food people are used to seeing, but I think it will work. Especially if both the Caruso cousins are involved.’
He nodded. Twice. With his lips pressed firmly together. ‘That’s right. Your name would be on the cover and photo on the back page with all of your contact details. I owe you, Bunty. You can be damned sure that I will sing your praises to the rooftops – I can promise you that. Joint TV interviews. Radio. Full press coverage. We will even film the promo adverts right here in the deli. Plus half the advance and any of the royalties we pick up. Fifty/fifty all the way down the line.’
Luca must have seen the expression on Bunty’s face because he half reared back. ‘Now don’t give me that look as though you are going to say no. Will you at least think about it? Take your time. No pressure. But if it is something you would like to do… I will make it happen. The advance is going to be at least six figures or I’m sacking my agent. Call you tomorrow.’
Then without asking permission or seeking forgiveness, Luca picked up Bunty’s hand, kissed the back of her knuckles and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. With a quick wink at Fran and a kissy kissy mwah mwah sound towards Alex, he flicked one hand in the air and then bowed to all three of them.
‘Ladies. It has been a delight but now I must leave you and meet my adoring fans. Don’t get up. I shall see myself out. Ciao, bellas.’
And with a quick wave over one shoulder he strode out of her kitchen and a second later the doorbell chimed as the door closed behind him.
Bunty sat in silence looking at the space where he had been standing, then glanced back at Alex, who was doing her famous gaping-fish-mouth impersonation, and finally at Fran, who was smiling and shaking her head.
‘Look at the state of you two.’ Fran chuckled. ‘You would think that you had never seen a handsome Italian before. What a performance that was. That boy should have been an actor. Although…’ she took a second to nod ‘…that new recipe book is not a bad idea, Bunty. You could use that kind of publicity and the food sounds great. The money would come in handy too.’
Bunty sat back in her chair, picked up her drink and swallowed it down in silence, her brain reeling, her head thumping and her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.
‘Did I just imagine it?’ Alex muttered. ‘Or did Luca Caruso just walk in here as though he owned the place and try to bribe you to work for him again?’
‘Oh, that was Luca, all right,’ Bunty whispered. ‘No doubt about it.’
‘Amazing.’ Alex blinked. ‘I mean. I hate to give the creep any credit, but it takes a serious amount of ego to pull off that trick!’
‘Is it a trick?’
Alex opened her mouth to reply, closed it again with a snap and whirled around in her chair with her arms folded.
‘Please don’t tell me that you are even thinking about taking his offer. This is Luca! Faker extraordinaire. He will make sure that he rips you off one way or another to line his own pockets.’
Bunty focused her gaze on the cup that she was cradling in her hands. ‘What have I just been saying about seizing every opportunity I can get? I need the money. I need the publicity. And it is exactly the kind of traditional Italian food that I supply across London. So, yes, I am thinking about it. I am thinking about it a lot.’
‘Oh, Bunty. I thought you wanted to be free of the Carusos.’
‘I do, Alex. I do. But I am thirty and my dream of running a chain of Brannigans delis seems to be as far away as ever. This way I am working with Luca – not for him. Fifty/fifty. That was what he said and I will hold him to that. Equal partners. Promotional videos filmed right here. That’s new. Perhaps… Perhaps we can work together on those terms? I might be okay with that. A new opportunity, remember?’
Alex exhaled slowly and shook her head before rubbing the back of Bunty’s neck.
‘Make it sixty/forty. If that boy needs your help so badly that he would lower himself to turn up in person and turn on the charm, then he can afford to give you a decent percentage of the loot. Of course we shall have to find a bulldog lawyer to tie him down on the numbers and make sure that your names are the same size on the cover. And if he wants to use those recipes of yours in this new supermarket range? That is going to cost him a helluva lot extra. Think about that!’
Bunty replied by slumping forwards in her chair and pressing her fingertips into her forehead. ‘Just when I thought things were finally getting clearer. What a mess.’
Alex snorted back and waved her fingers in Bunty’s direction. ‘You think this is a mess, try Gatwick airport on a Friday afternoon! Although there were some advantages.’
She leant towards Bunty and smiled grimly through half-closed eyes. ‘I had no idea that airport shops carried such a wide selection of non-black clothing. Especially plum chiffon cocktail dresses. And shoes, and bags, and other fripperies! For once, you can have something made by another pair of hands to wear at your own birthday party.’
Bunty could not help but smile back. ‘That was very thoughtful. Thanks. But plum? Not so sure about that one with my hair, but, yes, you are right. As usual.’ She hesitated before going on. ‘Alex, after what happened just now with Luca, I need to get my head around what I need to do next. Don’t say anything just yet. It might be too early to celebrate.’
A trim French-manicured and moisturised hand was flung up in front of her face – palms forward. ‘Understood. My lips are sealed and shall only be opened by copious glasses of fine wine. And yes, I know that Luca has always been the golden princeling of the Caruso family, but tonight is your night and nobody is going to spoil your birthday party.’
Then she jumped up and stretched out both hands. ‘Righty. Let’s get you ready. Cinders shall go to the ball!’
Chapter Three
Fabio peered out of the side window of Jerry’s 4 x 4 luxury car and tried to read the street names on the white plaques pinned high on the walls around him.
They had been on the road for almost an hour and had probably travelled not more than a couple of miles. Most of it either stuck in traffic or going around in circles in the one-way road system.
‘Come on, Jerry. This is your city. Surely you can find one deli? Please. I would like to get there before midnight if that is okay with you.’
‘Hey,’ Jerry chuckled and rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you know every street in Milan? No. I didn’t think so.’
Then he gestured with his head towards the sat-nav display. ‘We can’t be more than five minutes from the address but it looks like a pedestrian-only area to me. Which means I need to find a parking space and stay with the motor while you make the drop. The traffic wardens around here are ruthless.’
‘I’ll take your word for that.’ Fabio sighed and shrugged into his suit jacket as he scanned the street. ‘This is not what I was expecting. No big businesses. No factory units. Which makes me curious. What has the Caruso family got to do with someone who lives around here?’
‘Your dad didn’t tell you anything at all?’ Jerry replied, his attention on the traffic lights.
Fabio shook his head once. ‘My grandfather Salvatore only kept a few personal clients after he retired and Mrs Caruso was the last. There are bundles of sealed paperwork waiting to be opened but the ball only starts rolling once I make the delivery and the client opens the box and takes the prize.’
‘Didn’t you look inside? I would have.’
‘Look inside? Hell no,’ Fabio choked. ‘My grandfather would come back and haunt me. It could be anything inside that package. And frankly I am not so sure I want to find out. The Carusos are not labelled the smiling assassins for nothing. You won’t find tougher business people. The sooner we can get back to our new business, the better, as far as I am concerned.’
‘Amen to that,’ Jerry replied. ‘Here we go. Lights are on red. If you want to go, go now. I’m parking in that supermarket just around the corner. Be waiting for you there. Best of luck.’
Bunty sat back in her hard wooden chair and swayed a little from side to side as her whole crew of pals and teachers from the convent school and catering college joined in a very loud and very out-of-tune version of ‘Mambo Italiano’ that Elena was playing at full volume in her honour.
Normally the background music would have been Greek bouzouki music or Elena’s favourite classical opera CD, so this really was a special treat. Just for her.
There were wine spillages and salad-dressing smears and breadcrumbs all over the tablecloths, and probably over the new plum-coloured wrap dress Alex had squeezed her into. At some point she had lost her shoe under the table.
Then Fran had presented her with a crown she had made from gold paper and wire and insisted that she wear it as a party princess — at a jaunty angle, of course.
Worse, her make-up was probably a wreck after a brief but intense crying jag after Sister Teresa had made the sweetest speech about how proud her mother would have been of her and what she had achieved, which had everyone in the room reaching for the tissues. There was not a dry eye in the house. Even Alex the strong ‘accidentally’ dropped her napkin on the floor and had to drop out of sight for a couple of minutes to find it.
Bunty glanced up across the tables spread out around the room. It didn’t matter that she looked a mess. Not to her friends and family who had come out on a cold January evening to help her celebrate her birthday.
She grinned across at Maria who was carrying out yet more plates of lamb and roast potatoes. Her friend replied with a jaunty wink as one of the catering students patted her bottom the second the plate hit the table and Maria pretended to squeal, and then sat down heavily on his lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
These were her real friends. Her real family. Girls from the local convent school she had known all of her life and their husbands and boyfriends, pals from the local shops, students she taught at the catering college. All loud, boisterous and having fun. And that was precisely how she liked it. No false pretences here. Real people who shared her life each and every day.
She was so lucky to have them.
A warm glow of happiness and contentment spread from deep inside her like a furnace that pumped the heat from her heart to the very ends of her fingertips. She had never felt so safe and secure. Protected. And cared for and part of a very special community of friends who looked out for one another.
Maybe turning thirty was not so bad after all when she had friends like these in her life. So what if she didn’t have a mega TV career like her cousin Luca? She had something much better.
Bunty leant sideways and rested her head on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Have I said thank you yet for pulling this all together? It’s amazing and I love it.’
Alex laughed out loud and gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Several times. It’s the wine, you know, causes short-term memory loss in older women. I have built up resistance over the years so it takes a lot longer to kick in.’
Then Alex started rubbing her hands together and humming the last verse under her breath. ‘Now. Back to the important stuff. What totally outrageous thing have you decided to do before the end of the day? Remember the rules – it has to be spontaneous, the opposite of what you would normally do, and fun! Points will be awarded for the most ingenious solution!’
‘Dance on the table?’ Bunty suggested, then shook her head and waved her arms around. ‘No. Forget that one. The table legs wouldn’t cope with my current body weight and this food is too good to waste. Something outrageous. Um…’
Then she looked over Alex’s shoulder back towards the entrance to the restaurant and her breath caught in her throat.
Standing not three feet away from her was one of the best-looking men that she had seen in her life. She was five feet nine inches so he had to be at least six feet two inches in his very shiny, slim, smart black shoes. Her gaze tracked up his body before the sensible part of her brain clicked in to stop it.
Slim hips. Broad shoulders. A handmade cashmere and silk business suit in a shade of midnight blue, which was so perfect it made her drool. A tailored white shirt open at the neck. Dark chestnut-brown hair that curled into neat waves, which simply begged to be touched.
‘Hello,’ he said in a rich deep male voice that crossed the air space that separated them and reverberated inside her head. ‘I’m looking for a Bernadette Caruso Brannigan. There was a note stuck to the door at Brannigans deli telling me that the party was at Elena’s. Have I come to the right place?’
He was Italian mixed with a delicious topping of American English. And he had come looking for her.
Bunty whipped around in her seat before Alex caught her open-mouthed staring at the top three buttons on his shirt, which were unfastened, revealing a hint of tanned skin with dark chest hair. Taunting her.
If he dressed like this in January, August would be interesting.
For some reason her breathing had become irregular and she suddenly felt remarkably warm.
‘Oh, Alex,’ she breathed in a low hiss of appreciation. ‘I owe you big time.’
‘This is so true, but what particular thing have I done now?’ Alex replied between mouthfuls of garlic bread.
‘You said there wouldn’t be a male stripper.’
‘Who? What?’ Alex looked up and whirled her head around like a meerkat before it froze in the same direction Bunty was focusing on.
‘Oh. I see what you mean.’ She coughed. ‘Girl, I don’t know who he is, but I think you have just found your challenge. What are you waiting for? He is all yours. Go get him.’
It took Bunty a second to find her shoe and stagger to her feet a little unsteadily but in three strides she slipped behind the other diners. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that her friends were either too busy enjoying themselves to notice, or nudging one another and nodding towards the door.
Little wonder.
Alex or Fran had excelled themselves.
Her Italian treat became more spectacular with each step.
She could almost taste the testosterone he was breathing out in her direction. It was the kind of allure that had worked with cavemen and was still working just fine right now. Which was quite amazing considering it had been quite a while since anyone had fired up her inner cavewoman.
It also made speech a little tricky so she licked her lips and flicked her hair out before hitting him with her best smile.
‘Did I hear you say that you are looking for Bernadette Brannigan?’ she asked in a low voice. ‘Because you have definitely come to the right place.’
His head lifted so that when she was within touching distance she had to look up into a pair of gorgeous caramel-brown eyes. ‘That’s me,’ she said and flicked up one hand coquettishly. ‘But my friends call me Bunty.’ Then she blinked and smiled. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Miss Brannigan,’ he replied, and stretched out his hand to close his fingers around hers. It was only a momentary handshake but long enough for her to recognise soft office-boy skin above a sinewy muscular grip that made all of her girly brain cells go ping. ‘I am sorry to interrupt your meal. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?’
Outside? Well, this was different. Bunty shot a glance back towards Alex, who was grinning like a loon and waving both hands from the wrist telling her to go.
‘Yes, of course,’ Bunty simpered and waited until he had opened the door before stepping out onto the pavement and waiting for him to follow her.
She whirled around too soon and had the pleasure of feeling the gentlest of touches on her arm.
And he had stunning hands. She had always liked hands. Especially clever, clean, nimble hands. Even if these hands were at that moment drawing a wallet from a very professional-looking black briefcase.
‘Miss Brannigan, my name is Fabio Rossi of the law firm Rossi and Rossi of Milan. I have been instructed by my client to deliver this package to you in person.’
Bunty stared at the black sealed wallet her hunk was holding out towards her, glanced up at the serious expression on his face and then back to the wallet.
And just like that the effects of two hours of wine drinking and general merriment popped like an overstretched balloon and what was left of the rational part of her brain kicked right back in.
Not a male stripper.
Not a birthday present in the shape of a hunky Italian.
He was a lawyer. From Milan.
Nightmare!
‘You’re delivering paperwork? At this time of night? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’
Bunty gestured with the flat of her hand back towards the noisy party that was still in full swing inside the restaurant. ‘As you can see this is my birthday party. And I am rather occupied at present.’
‘The instructions from our client were very clear. A Rossi lawyer was to deliver this package to Bernadette Caruso Brannigan by the end of the day.’
‘Your client?’ She blinked. ‘What client are you talking about? Please explain before my head explodes.’
‘Rossi and Rossi are the company lawyers for the Caruso family.’
Bunty closed her eyes and pinched the top of her nose. Just when she thought this day could not get any worse.
Luca. It had to be Luca.
Nobody else in the Caruso family gave a damn about her birthday.
He knew that she would be interested in the offer he had made earlier and was only too ready to wave a new contract in front of her nose before she had a chance to change her mind.
Clever boy! But not when she was in the middle of her party.
He held the wallet out towards her and she glared at it in disbelief for a full two seconds before snatching it out of his hand. She had embarrassed herself enough for one night. Time to end this debacle.
‘Right. Job done. You can go now. I can’t deal with you and any contract paperwork tonight. Thank you. Goodbye. Goodnight. Have a nice life.’
He stepped forward so that he was totally inside her personal body space.
‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Miss Brannigan. I have to verify that you have both received and opened the package and read the contents before I can leave.’
‘You have to see me open the package before you go?’ Bunty snorted through her nose. ‘Are you joking me?’
His brown eyes locked onto hers and held them like a rock. ‘Not at all. Those are my instructions. I’m not going anywhere.’
At this distance all she could focus on were the thin pale tan lines radiating out from the corners of his dark caramel eyes and the no doubt designer amount of dark stubble above that full, sensuous upper lip. Dark brown stylishly cut short hair curled around his ears but his eyebrows were naturally thick and manly.
A long, thin, tanned face, dominated by a strong narrow nose, classic cleft chin, fantastic cheekbones. So overall a full score on the male-model-businessman-lawyer look. Fabio was probably a big hit with the lady clients at the law firm he worked for.
Inhaling was a mistake. He smelt of expensive male grooming products, which right at that moment were worth every penny. Her sensitive nose picked up citrus and musky notes above a tang of something that was very much Fabio Rossi.
Then the right side of his mouth turned up into what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.
And every sensory switch inside her body turned on. Just like that. Completely out of the blue and totally, totally not what she wanted to happen.
Especially not now.
Speech was impossible and for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, they both stood there in silence. Breathing in air that positively crackled with electricity. Neither of them willing to shift an inch.
It was almost a relief when someone’s mobile phone started ringing.
‘I think it’s yours.’ Fabio blinked, breaking the connection, stepped back and folded his arms.
Bunty turned away, reeling, sucked in some air because apparently she had stopped breathing, bent down, reached into her tiny wrist bag that came with the dress and found the phone in the inside pocket. She flipped open the tiny silver high-tech unit and pressed the receive button as a familiar voice hissed down the line.
‘Sorry to interrupt but are you coming back in?’ Alex whispered. ‘Maria is just about to bring in the birthday cake and we are frightened of the fire risk. You can bring the hunk with you if you like to help you blow out all of the candles.’
‘Be right there,’ she replied and closed down the phone.
Sucking in a long breath of the cold night air, Bunty lifted her head and stared into the face of one of the best-looking men she had ever met in her life.
Hell. Who was she kidding? He was gorgeous. Shame that he was the lawyer working for Luca.
The cold air helped to clear her head so that when she spoke the words came out in some vague order and almost in control.
‘I will try and find the time to look at the paperwork tomorrow. You know where to reach me. Brannigans deli. Just down the street. Goodnight, Mr Rossi.’
And before he had a chance to reply, she clutched hold of the paperwork in one hand and pushed open the door with the other, propelling herself into the room and a loud chorus of cheering.
Leaving Fabio Rossi standing on the pavement outside with a curious smile on his face.
Chapter Four
Saturday
Things to do:
Make enough wild mushroom ravioli and sauce for the special offer over the next few days;
Luca’s offer. Twelve months. Sixty/forty to me. What else do I want? Start a list so I am ready when he calls, but don’t be pushed into reading that contract paperwork — make him wait for once. This is the new Bunty – hear her roar!
Be civil to the Rossi lawyer – he was only doing his job;
Pretend to enjoy being thirty. Yay. Sob;
Remember — denial is good.
Bunty rolled her heavy pestle against the fragrant lightly toasted green fennel seeds inside the mortar, pushing down with all of the strength she could muster, crushing the seeds and releasing their wonderful aroma.
It helped if she imagined it was Luca’s leering face at the bottom of the mortar.
This was all his fault!
Her brain had been spinning most of the night, working through the options, over and over again, weighing up the pros and cons and, the more she thought about it, the more obvious the answer had become.
She had to accept Luca’s offer. She didn’t have any choice.
And not just for the extra publicity and cash. This was her chance to show the Caruso family that she was just as capable of running her own successful business as they were.
Working as Luca’s partner would be exactly the boost that she needed to make her dream come true and prove her uncle wrong at the same time!
Twelve months. That was all she needed. One year. Just long enough to get her catering business up and running, train the staff and build the orders so that she was ready to go when she found the perfect location for the second deli.
To do that she was almost willing to put up with being in close proximity to the Caruso family – as long as they did not try and interfere with her work.
But there was something else that kept whirling around inside her head every time she punched her feather pillow to try and find a comfy spot.
Luca had come running to her to ask for help.
Surely that had to give her some bargaining power?
Bunty stomped extra hard on what was left of the seeds. Now all she had to do was pluck up enough courage to insist on it the next time she saw Luca.
He had tried to jump the gun by sending that contract paperwork with Fabio Rossi last night. Forcing her to make a decision. Well, that could wait. In fact it was going to have to wait; a very long time if she had her way.
This was her decision. This time she was going to be the one setting the terms of the contract. And she was going to make him wait.
Her hands stilled and a giggle bubbled up from inside her chest and emerged as a short cough.
It was finally going to happen!
She was actually taking that first step closer to her dream. After all these years of planning and talking and more planning she could almost see the labels on her food going out to restaurants and pubs and bistros all over London from not one but two delis.
And maybe, just maybe, she might be able to afford a third deli. And then another until she had her own chain of Brannigans delis across the city. One day.
Now that…that was worth celebrating.
With a quick shake of her head, Bunty tipped the coarse fennel powder into the large metal tray already packed with sliced mushrooms, chopped parsley, garlic and shallots and spooned the herby warm olive oil over the part-roast vegetables. She had just popped the tray into the oven when the comforting sound of warm laughter echoed out from the deli.
Alex and Fran had stopped to chat to Maria, who was working the counter, before they strolled through into the kitchen.
‘Morning, lovely ladies.’ Bunty smiled. ‘Be with you in a minute.’
‘Happy Saturday, sweetie. So,’ Alex said as Bunty wiped down the chopping boards. ‘You are looking remarkably perky for a thirty-year-old lady who partied late into the night. So. Are you going to tell us what happened with Fa-a-abio last night? Elena has already been around the street telling everybody that you’ve got a hot new squeeze. Come on, we’re dying to know what happened when you two stepped outside for your romantic interlude.’
‘Happy morning after your birthday from me too,’ Fran said as she slid past Alex. ‘I only saw Fabio for a few minutes yesterday but he looked nice. And this is lovely — I love the flowers!’
Bunty had set the staff dining table next to the patio doors leading to her walled garden with colourful china in Mediterranean blue and yellow, on a pristine white linen tablecloth embroidered with flowers and yellow swallowtail butterflies. A huge crystal vase stuffed with a display of expensive flower-shop lilies, orchids and roses towered over the jams and marmalades, butter and fresh juice.
Alex sat down heavily at the table, and then gestured towards the impressive display already present. ‘Those, my darling sister, are what are known in the trade as “apology and get me out of trouble” flowers. They cost a fortune, look good on the day, but they don’t smell of anything and they don’t mean anything. Florists all over the world are taking millions from blokes who are seriously desperate and don’t know what to do about it. Am I right?’
Bunty nodded. ‘Fabio Rossi. The hotel ordered them. What’s in the bag?’
‘Yesterday’s brioche from Strasbourg, which needs toasting, and a bag of fresh Danish, from two doors away, which doesn’t. And you don’t get away that easily. Come on. Explain. A hunky Italian gate-crashed your party and you let him get away with it. This is not normal Bunty behaviour.’
Bunty grabbed the bag from Alex and emptied the pastries onto a plate.
‘Actually you may well be right,’ Bunty replied with a smug grin. ‘Because the new improved version of Bernadette Brannigan has decided to make some changes in her life and it all kicks off today.’
Fran looked at Alex and then back to Bunty. ‘Changes?’
Bunty nodded very slowly. ‘Changes. Big changes.’ Then she shot a glance at Alex. ‘Starting with my least favourite cousin. You know that Fabio came here to deliver a package from the lawyers in Italy last night? Well, I think that it’s the new contract that Luca wants me to sign. And I have decided not to even look at it.’
She winked at Alex, who was sitting with her mouth dropped open, and then refilled their glasses. ‘Luca is trying to make me jump through hoops again and muscle in and take over, which means one thing. He is desperate for my help. And guess what? I am not playing that game anymore. That contract is going to stay right where it is. Sealed up. Waiting until I decide to open it and not a minute before. Luca is going to have to agree to all of the extra conditions that I have come up with or he can take the paperwork home with him back to Milan unsigned.’
Bunty grinned and picked up a pastry and tore into it in the stunned silence.
Then Alex reached down and pulled something out of her other bag. ‘This was meant for later, but after that little announcement a celebration is called for.’
It was a round cake-like object. Covered in thick dark chocolate icing and white chocolate curls.
Bunty sat up, leant towards it, and sniffed. ‘Is that coconut?’ she asked, smiling at Alex, then Fran, who was grinning away.
‘Al made it herself. This morning! But it’s okay, I watched her like a hawk. It’s got all of the right stuff in it. I made the curls,’ Fran said, picking up a bread knife.
Bunty’s face relaxed into a broad grin as she looked, open-mouthed, at her best friend. ‘You baked? For me? I am impressed, young lady. And you are forgiven.’
Alex frowned at her in mock exasperation. ‘You only turn thirty once in your life and I didn’t have time yesterday with organising the party. And don’t sound so surprised. I am a trained chemist, you know. I can follow a recipe.’
‘As long as it doesn’t taste like hand cream. Oh.’ Bunty licked her lips around the forkful Fran had speared on her plate. ‘Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact…’ she tasted a big piece, eyes closed ‘…this is an historic moment. Miss Alexandra McGee has cooked something so delicious that it tastes better than my own recipe. Congratulations.’
Bunty raised her glass of juice and clinked it against the other two.
‘To the new version of Bunty Brannigan,’ Alex said with a smile. ‘I’ve a feeling that there are going to be a lot of changes around here by the time your next birthday comes around.’
By the time Fabio got to the breakfast room in the hotel that Saturday morning, a faint January sun was shining in from the garden courtyard, the other guests were wandering out to do touristy things and Jerry had already loaded up their table with pastries, toast and everything that went with it. Fabio dropped his laptop bag onto the tablecloth and pulled up his chair as their waiter served coffee and took his order for bacon and scrambled eggs.
‘Well, how did it go last night? Any progress?’ Fabio asked, leaning across to try and distract Jerry from his broadsheet newspaper.
‘Do you want the good news or the less bad news? Okay. I took the time to do a little background check on the lovely Miss Brannigan after we got back last night,’ Jerry answered between chewing.
He quickly glanced around the now empty dining room before going on. ‘And what do you know? It turns out that her grandmother, Fiore Caruso, was not too happy when her only daughter Talia married an Irish grocer and started a new life here in London as Mrs Talia Brannigan. Bunty’s mother did not inherit a thing when her mother died. Now isn’t that interesting?’
Fabio stopped with his Danish pastry halfway to his mouth. ‘Her own mother cut her off? I should have known this wasn’t a simple delivery job.’
‘Looks that way. Come on, pal, you saw the set-up last night.’ Jerry folded up his paper, reached across and grabbed more toast. ‘The lovely Miss Brannigan runs a one-woman deli in a small shopping area in London. She might be Paolo Caruso’s niece but unless she is very good at hiding her hidden wealth the Caruso clan sent her mother out into the wilderness with only the clothes on her back. A simple tale of a warm and sharing Italian family life.’
‘Careful! The Caruso business paid for my university education. What’s the less bad news?’ Fabio asked.
‘Bernadette Brannigan has every reason in the world to tell her Caruso family precisely what they can do with their unwanted birthday delivery and tell them in great anatomically correct detail. If I were hot-headed and Irish I might even be tempted to have a sacrificial burning ceremony. And in the meantime, I suggest that we take the weekend off. What do you say?’
‘Ah,’ Fabio said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’m beginning to understand. You have a date tonight, don’t you? Yet another poor innocent girl has fallen prey to your charms. Am I right?’ Suddenly he slid forwards and rested his elbows on the tablecloth. ‘Well, forget it, partner. We are going back to the deli this morning to impress on the lovely lady that my job is to make sure that she has ripped open that package and read whatever the client wanted her to see and, the sooner she does that, then the sooner we can both get back to our lives.’
Jerry hesitated, and then tried to look sympathetic. ‘Why am I getting the feeling that your usual charm crashed and burned in flames last night? All you have to do is tell your father that you have delivered the letter in accordance with his client’s instructions and we can move on. This was supposed to be a simple courier job. What happened?’
Fabio shrugged. ‘Lack of background. I turned up when her birthday party was already in full swing at a great Greek restaurant. I’ve sent flowers to apologise for interrupting her, so she’ll either thank me politely, or throw them back at me when we get there. So much for my sensitivity and charm.’
‘Much overrated in my opinion,’ Jerry said, shaking his head.
‘Research, research, research. This is exactly what happens when you don’t have a proper brief,’ Fabio replied, leaning closer towards Jerry to make sure that the waiter clearing the tables would not be able to overhear their conversation. ‘My grandfather looked after Fiore Caruso’s personal business and not even my father knows what’s in that letter. He is on standby to deliver separate sealed envelopes to Paolo Caruso and various other family members when he gets my call. But not until then.’
Fabio reached for the marmalade. ‘You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Fiore Caruso set some bombshell up before she died. That could make life very interesting for the rest of the family.’
‘Um. Define interesting. But here is a piece of trivia for you. Did you know that Luca’s wife Sophie Caruso went to the same catholic school with Bunty, just down the road from the shop? The two of them were pretty close as teenagers.’ Jerry sniffed. ‘I wonder if there are photographs? Those girls in convent school uniforms? I would pay good money to see those.’
So would I, Fabio thought.
There was silence around the table for the few seconds it took for that precious visual to sink in, and for Fabio’s breakfast to arrive.
‘That’s not the point.’ He coughed. ‘We need to go straight back to work. And fast. One way or the other we need to have something to tell my father by the end of today. Got it, Jerry?’
‘Got it. Now, talk to me about that Greek restaurant you went to last night. I want to know everything.’
Chapter Five
‘So Rossi and Rossi are the Caruso company lawyers. Is that right?’ Bunty asked.
‘For over fifty years. Best in the business,’ Fabio replied with a small shoulder shrug and followed Bunty through the deli, which was already busy with customers, and into the kitchen.
‘No doubt.’ She flashed a half-smile at the handsome Italian who seemed to fill the space between the front door and the counter and block out the light.
Rossi. Of course.
She knew that she remembered that name from somewhere. Rossi and Rossi were the lawyers who wrote the contract that locked her and her mother into slave labour working for Luca for pennies when her father died. The Carusos only swam with the big sharks. And legal sharks did not come any bigger than Rossi and Rossi of Milan.
Shame. Fabio was even more gorgeous in daylight. Designer jeans that cupped his bottom beautifully and a simple white shirt. Carefully chosen to highlight his golden tan and the flash of gold in his wristwatch.
It was sinful to be that attractive and a lawyer.
But this flash hotshot Italian lawyer was not going to faze her. Oh, no.
She was the new Bunty now.
In control. Calm and organised. Open and honest.
‘Should I feel honoured that Rossi and Rossi sent a Rossi man to deliver my birthday card last night? Because I have to be honest and tell you that I am not feeling the love. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had no idea that the Caruso side of my family would send me anything, hence my surprise when you gate-crashed my party last night.’
‘Understandable,’ he replied and crossed the floor in a couple of long-legged strides to come and stand next to Bunty. They stood in silence for a few seconds as she rearranged the contents of her bakery shelf, his hands plunged deep into his pockets of his slim-fit denims, his gaze locked onto the floor.
‘Actually I was surprised that none of the Caruso family was there in person to help you celebrate last night. Or did I miss them?’
She snorted through her nose. ‘At my party? That would be no. We are not exactly what you would call a close family. The only connection I have with my family in Italy is through some work I do for my cousin Luca. Have you heard of him? Yes? Luca came to chat with me yesterday about working with him on his next cook book but that was it. He seemed to think that his overwhelming personal charm and a much better deal would persuade me to give some of my time to a joint project.’
‘Did his plan work?’ Fabio asked, glancing in her direction.
Bunty breathed in deeply through her nose, lifted her chin and chuckled as she walked away from him. ‘Yes. It did work. Against the odds. I am actually thinking of taking him up on the new idea. Which, believe me, is totally amazing. That boy is no fool. He knew that I wouldn’t be able to turn down the chance of having my name on a book cover next to his. I need that publicity and I need the extra cash to support my business plans. It is as simple as that. So he flattered me just enough to stop me telling him exactly into which body orifice he could insert any offer he had to make for a new contract. And left with a smile on his face.’
Fabio straightened his back and his eyebrows went skywards. ‘As bad as that?’
‘Oh, yes. Until his offer I could not think of anything that would persuade me to work for the Caruso family again.’
He turned around and his gaze locked onto her face.
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ He spread his fingertips out on the counter and bent close enough for her to almost touch the fine stubble on his chin as it contrasted with his perfect-toned, smoothly tanned cheeks.
Those deep brown eyes scanned her face for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked, laser sharp, on hers.
Suddenly Bunty felt the need to make sure that the labels on the tins and packages of amoretti biscuits were perfectly aligned.
Anything to avoid looking at the man standing so close who was working for the family responsible for her pain, and totally oblivious to all of the reasons she had promised herself that she would never work for them again.
No more birthday and Christmas cards that were never returned.
No more reminders of the bitter disappointment on her mother’s face as she was rejected time and time again when she tried to make arrangements to visit Italy for a few days’ holiday in the huge house on the lake where she had grown up. There was always some excuse why it was not convenient.
And it had broken her heart and, in the end, her spirit.
All the more reason why Bunty was more determined than ever before to create her own dynasty and food business and make her mother proud.
She was going to show them that she was just as capable as they were. Better, in fact!
Her way.
Bunty picked up an escaped piece of fusilli that Fran had missed, stood back and peered at her display from various angles. In four days she had the chance to wave goodbye to her current contract and focus on her own business plans.
But if Luca could help her to do what she wanted? Fine. If not, she would get along fine on her own.
This time she was prepared to use him just as much as he had used her skills.
Even if it meant working for Luca for another year.
Bunty swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Take control. Take control.
She turned and took one step closer to Fabio so that she was totally inside his body space before looking into those amazing caramel eyes.
A small smile creased her lips and when she spoke her voice was light and soft and totally focused on Fabio.
‘Of course, Luca might have popped back for some quick cannoli. He simply cannot resist my special recipe.’
The right-hand corner of Fabio’s mouth turned up and his lower lip twitched into the faintest smile. Oh. Perhaps he did have a sense of humour after all.
‘They must be good. Your cannoli.’
‘Very,’ she answered in a low calm voice. And blinked. Twice.
‘Perhaps I should try one?’ Fabio whispered in a voice as smooth as hot chocolate sauce poured over fresh cream profiteroles.
‘Maybe another time. Right now I need to get back to work. And no doubt you do too. Both busy people. Do we understand one another? Mr Rossi?’
‘Perfectly, Miss Brannigan.’ Then he blinked and returned her smile with a quick flick of his head over one shoulder. ‘Shall we get down to business?’
She smiled and waved her right hand with a wide flourish. ‘After you.’ She sniffed. ‘Saturday is a busy day.’
Fabio pushed open the door and followed Bunty into the kitchen. And froze. Trying to take in what he was looking at.
In contrast to the kaleidoscope jumble of textures and colours from the bright packaging in the shop area, the kitchen walls had been painted in a pale cream, which seemed to absorb the overhead light and reflect it back onto the long sealed-top worktable that ran the length of the room.
From the hard tile floor to the false ceiling panels and stainless-steel cookware, it was the kind of spotless clean space that made Fabio want to whisper. Painted cupboards lined one complete wall. Floor to ceiling. The overall effect was stunning. And professional. This was a kitchen that would not look out of place in a top city restaurant.
‘Was this a working kitchen when you bought the place?’ Fabio asked as Bunty strode down the hard floor towards a dining area at the very back of the room.
‘A gentleman’s tailor. When the house and workshop came on the market, my parents made the old maestro an offer he couldn’t refuse. The skylights and patio windows were his idea, and they still work. I prefer to work in natural light whenever possible.’
‘What do you use the table for?’ Fabio asked, glancing at the huge long, smooth surface stretching away from him towards a set of tall patio doors that seemed to lead onto an outdoor space. Various shapes and sizes of complicated-looking machinery were clustered in the centre.
Bunty reached forward to pick up a plastic container and his gaze was drawn to her long slender fingers, which had clearly never seen a manicure. No rings.
This girl had working hands. Deft and able. He admired talent – always had — and there was something about Bunty that screamed that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He had made a mistake at the restaurant the previous evening when he thought she was attractive. Even in this light she was stunning. She had changed into a smart white chef’s jacket and wide-leg navy blue and white trousers, which contrasted with her porcelain skin. And that hair! Dark auburn brown, tied into a loose knot at the base of her neck. Low black training shoes. She was sexier than she had a right to be.
Years of professional gambling had given him the ability to judge people very quickly.
He was rarely wrong. But of course there could always be a first time, and Bunty Brannigan was certainly hiding something.
Suddenly conscious that he had been ogling her hands for far too long, he looked up into her hazel-green eyes. Intelligent and something else. Wary. And why not?
Perhaps he had better get back to that.
‘So you make all of the food yourself?’ Fabio asked.
‘Please don’t sound quite so surprised, Mr Rossi. I am a trained chef, and this is my work. And my pleasure. I change raw ingredients into delicious finished meals. I also use the kitchen for my catering students from the local college.’
A teacher, then? Smart girl. He liked smart.
‘Does anyone in your family cook from scratch?’ Bunty asked. ‘It’s quite a tradition in mine.’
Fabio laughed out loud at that one, and shook his head at the thought of his mother or sister making an elaborate meal. ‘That would be no. They like to shop. Buy things other people have cooked or follow a few simple recipes when the occasion demands.’ He paused for a few seconds as Bunty rearranged the packets into a neater design. ‘I don’t think a creative gene runs in the Rossi line. Not so far anyway.’
Her lips were full, warm and when she smiled the difference on her face was startling.
‘I am sure you understand how families work, Mr Rossi. Well, this is Caruso family business and I would rather not discuss it.’
‘Well,’ he replied. ‘In that case, we’ll just talk about you instead.’
Bunty turned her head and blinked at Fabio a couple of times, eyebrows high. She found herself drawn to his brown eyes. Only they weren’t brown, more of a soft truffle golden brown like the caramel topping on the finest crème brûlée dessert. His thick, wavy, gelled-back hair was only a little darker than the slight stubble above his lush upper lip and each side of the chiselled chin.
And every pore was oozing sex appeal.
The kind of sex appeal that could encourage a girl to let her guard down and say more about the Caruso family than was necessary or good for family relationships. Especially to a man who worked for her family and was probably being paid to report back everything that she told him.
She glanced at the wall clock and exhaled slowly. She had a couple of hours at most to get her act together before Luca called. She had to come up with a master plan. And there was only one way she knew how to do that – by cooking, and thinking, then cooking some more.
She didn’t have any more time to waste on lawyers. Even if they were only doing their job.
Bunty rolled her shoulders back and inhaled.
She could do this. This was her life. And she was damned if she was going to let anyone tell her how to live it.
Bunty turned around, rubbed her hands together and her eyes instantly locked on Fabio, who looked up at that moment as though prompted by some unseen signal.
Their gazes locked across the few feet of warm kitchen air that separated them. And stayed locked.
The weird thing was, the longer she stared at him, the slower her breathing became, and her fists unclenched one finger at a time until she could rest a hand on each hip.
‘Nice flowers,’ Fabio said in a cool, calm and totally matter-of-fact voice after what seemed like a geological time period of intense quiet. It was a rich, warm voice. And it came from deep within his chest so that it reverberated between the walls before finding a home between her ears.
‘They are. Thank you.’
‘You are most welcome.’ His head tilted about ten degrees to the side. ‘Do you want to talk about last night?’
‘You mean, when you gate-crashed my party?’ she replied.
‘Doing my job. Our client laid down some very specific instructions. Step one was to deliver the package on a specific date to a specific person.’
He nodded in her direction. ‘But there is more. I meant what I said last night. One of the Rossi legal team has to personally see you open that package and work through the contents. And until that is done I am not allowed to leave your side. Have you, by any chance, found the time to…? No?’
Bunty inhaled slowly and did the squinty-eyed thing at him. ‘No. As you can see I have a business to run and your emergency is not my problem. But if you give me your number I’ll let you know when I am good and ready. So feel free to go back to Milan or wherever your office is.’
The corner of Fabio’s mouth twitched just a little. ‘I wish I could, Miss Brannigan. But the client was very clear. And since my client paid in advance, it would be wrong of me to shirk my duty.’
‘How noble. And I really don’t want to appear rude, but things are going to get quite busy around here and you are going to be in my way.’
‘I won’t be in your way.’ He smiled, and turned sideways and slowly started to unpack his laptop computer on her kitchen table. ‘This will be just fine.’
‘Take a gold star for persistence, but you can’t be serious. You actually have to stay here until I open the package you brought all the way from Milan? Was that a nod?’ Bunty crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Unbelievable,’ she snapped. ‘This is blackmail. Pure and simple.’
With a shrug of her shoulders, Bunty broke eye contact, turned and went back to work, focusing on the oil and herbs in the roasting tray. ‘Well, find someone else to use that trick on, Mr Rossi, because I am not playing. Anyone who puts pressure on me to do something is going to find that it does not work.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘let’s set out a few game rules. As far as I am concerned, Mr Rossi is my father, chairman of Rossi and Rossi, Milan. I’m Fabio. Will you call me that, Bunty?’
She whirled around to tell him what he could do with setting rules in her kitchen, and froze. His eyes were locked onto her face with an intensity that had the power to blast any sensible thought from her mind.
The air between them was so heavy with electricity that Bunty was terrified to say anything in case one word would cause a spark.
Maria walked through, waving a thin piece of paper. ‘Hi, Bunty. Frank’s been on the phone. He wants double quantity ricotta today. That okay?’
Bunty almost recoiled as though a spring had been released that had been holding her to Fabio, and, judging from the expression on his face, she had not been the only one caught up in the moment.
She paused a second to wipe her fingers on a damp cloth and to remember how to breathe again before flicking through a bundle of order sheets hanging from a metal clipboard, then changing the quantity on one.
‘No problem. That’s sixty ricotta, thirty peppers and thirty porcini. And can you tell him that the organic salami is on offer this week? Thanks. Oh – and, Maria? This is Fabio Rossi. Better get used to seeing him around. He could be here for quite some time.’
As Fabio flicked his eyes up from the press release he was working on with Jerry for the launch of his new firm, Bunty took a bowl out of the fridge, and started flouring a huge board.
What looked to him like lumps of dough appeared from nowhere and she started to thump them with the very solid rolling pin. Hard. Her hands moved swiftly, transforming the dough into a thin oblong.
When he risked looking up again, thin strips were being passed one after another through a roller clamped to the table. One after another, fast, a production line; she twiddled with something on the roller machine then started feeding the pasta through again.
He couldn’t look away. Fascinated. Entranced. Six, seven pieces of dough become transparent strips of golden pasta. Brushes. Milk. Knives.
Bunty was focused totally on the food, oblivious to his presence. Tiny squares of filled pasta shapes appeared on a metal tray on the table between them as she worked. Ravioli. It had to be ravioli.
Fabio loved ravioli.
This woman was a magician. Transforming flour and bowls into the most amazing food. A conjuror. A specialist.
There had been very few times in Fabio’s life when he’d felt inadequate. Work and study had always come easily to him, no effort required. No challenge.
This was one of those times.
All he could do was smile and get back to work, silently loading and downloading what he needed, his fingers and eyes working through a well-established sequence. This was his world. And it had nothing to do with the microcosm that whirled around him as he sat there.
Bunty might be a genius in the kitchen but this was what he excelled at. Seeing patterns. It did not matter whether it was card tricks or book-signing dates and places and people.
Especially people.
Fabio watched as Bunty moved around, chopping and adding what smelt like herbs to pans, and wondered at the woman who dominated the space.
For the last ten years of his life he had worked in an industry built on suspicion, where every employee was a possible security risk. Every contract designed to build in get-out clauses for the clients for when things went wrong.
Then there was the poker. Casinos where he had worn sunglasses during the day, indoors, to prevent other players around the table from guessing his next move. You could hide body language with practice, you could even create a poker face, but you couldn’t hide the truth in your eyes.
Bunty Brannigan showed everything to everyone.
She was completely open. Almost raw. She had never learned the art of concealment. It had been years since he had met someone so comfortable with revealing themselves to others. So happy in their own skin. And she had no idea how rare and precious a thing that was.
Occasionally he looked up to rest his eyes and check in to what was happening around him. Maria was in and out all the time, collecting orders and spooning food into plastic containers, chatting and gossiping about customers — more ready meals, more antipasti.
A young man strolled through the back door of the kitchen carrying wide trays of white and yellow cheeses. Bunty’s laughter echoed around the room as she joked with Maria and this stranger.
He had a nod from a spotty youth in chefs’ check trousers who went away loaded with plastic containers, but apart from that they ignored him. He was invisible.
When was the last time he had sat in a family kitchen and felt so at home? Because that was the bizarre thing. He felt more relaxed sitting in a corner of this busy deli kitchen than in his own serviced apartment in Milan.
Bunty was working at the stove, stirring saucepans of such delicious-smelling food it made his mouth water.
He had been standing only metres away from her when she’d faced up to him outside the restaurant last night and even in the fading light he could see the pain and shock on her face the instant she’d picked up that package and scanned the envelope.
Jerry was right. This girl was a one-woman business who had been crushed and deeply wounded by something or someone in her past.
Well, he knew what that felt like.
But it was more than that. He had trained his instincts to observe body language in the finest casinos in the world, and every one of those finely honed instincts was screaming out to him that there was no way Bunty Brannigan was going to give in and open her present any time soon.
She was as stubborn as he was. And that was something like stubborn.
He needed to catch up with Jerry in person. Time to make a move.
‘Hi, Fabio. Do you want some coffee? Just made some.’
Maria strolled up to Bunty carrying a steaming beaker, and she turned around to see her friend, just as Fabio stepped forward.
His free hand connected with Bunty’s arm to steady her for just long enough for her to step back and look into his face as though she had just that minute realised that he was still there.
His senses reeled in overload.
Her hair smelt of onions and the long joint of beef he had seen her frying earlier. And herbs. He could have smelt her hair all day. And her eyes were not only green but the colour of forest leaves in the spring tinged with copper and gold. The moment expanded, and then closed as she moved away back to her work.
‘Thank you, but no. I have to pop back to the hotel for a meeting, but I shall be back this afternoon, Bunty, and that is a promise.’ He lifted his laptop bag higher onto his shoulder, and with an embarrassed cough strolled away through the deli, well aware that the two women behind him were suspiciously silent.
Um. Maybe he should take to wearing long coats.
‘Right. Of course.’ Bunty rolled her eyes and followed Fabio out into the shop, checking out his spectacular rear as he walked through.
Incredible.
Those jeans could not have been tighter.
Bunty watched Fabio stroll away as the beginnings of a pressure headache started to build behind her eyes.
Luca would be calling soon. Her day was mad and Fabio was turning out to be more of a distraction she could not afford to take.
Bunty had just turned to go back to the counter to talk salami with Maria when a distinctive Italian male voice boomed out from behind her.
‘Bunty! Darling. Looking fabulous. Hope you don’t mind me dropping in but I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer to hear what you thought about my ideas.’
Luca Caruso. And this time he wasn’t alone.
‘Bunty! Come and meet my newest best friend. Irina Usova.’ Luca beamed and wrapped his arm around the shoulders of a very slim, stunningly pretty blonde whose hand hovered over his bottom as though it was used to being there before moving to his waist.
‘Irina is one of the best photographers I have met in a long time and she cannot wait to start work on your deli for our new marketing campaign. Isn’t that exciting?’
Chapter Six
Maria flashed Bunty a lightning glance from behind the counter and bit down on her lower lip but the message had been received and understood.
The lovely Irina might well be a talented photographer but she was clearly more than a new best friend to the very, very married Luca.
Bunty shuddered to think what would happen to Luca if his wife, Sophie, even caught sight of the lovely Irina. Sophie was the kind of woman who had been known to scare even Alex and discreet was clearly not a concept that Luca understood very well.
Irina smiled sweetly and stepped forward to shake her hand and had just started to explain in broken English that she was actually a photography student who had just started her course in London, when Luca grabbed Bunty around the waist and practically propelled her towards the kitchen and as far away as possible from the public area of the deli where they could be seen from the street.
‘Bunty, I have been tossing and turning all night thinking about the new idea for the Caruso Family Kitchen. All night! And seeing you yesterday having your birthday tea with Alex brought it all home to me that the two Caruso cousins are the best possible advert for the loving wholesome family image that I know is going to work.’
Bunty wiggled out of Luca’s grasp and took firm hold of the worktop in her kitchen, which was covered in meals at some stage or another.
‘Wholesome? Luca, are you on medication?’ Bunty asked, putting both hands on her hips. ‘Because there is nothing wholesome at all about your current image and that is not going to change, no matter how many stylists you bring in.’
‘Bunty. Darling.’ Luca grinned and waved one arm in the air. ‘Why do you think I came to you first? What a story. A one-woman entrepreneur driven by her love of fine food inspired by the Caruso family traditions. What. A. Story.’
He fluttered his eyelashes and sighed dramatically. ‘The media are going to go totally mad for you. You’re a natural. The public will love you.’
Then as though suddenly galvanized by talk of the media, Luca started pacing up and down the kitchen, peering into pots and trays and talking to himself in a strange sort of running commentary.
‘This is perfect. Ideal. Magical.’
Then he stopped and held up one hand like a traffic cop and Bunty had to stop herself from laughing out loud.
‘I have had a vision. Irina, sweetie, I need you to write this down while it is still alive.’
He sucked in a breath. ‘Luxury home dining. The Caruso family at home. Restaurant quality food as cooked in the Caruso family home. Yes, that’s it. The Caruso Family Kitchen. I am thinking promotional videos filmed at the house in Biella.’
One of his hands started flapping and his head dropped back a little. ‘I can persuade Sophie and my mother into using their home kitchen for the magazine editors. Bunty can do the actual cooking, chopping and frying and the like, but I can toss wonderful fresh salad if need be while chatting to the camera.’
Luca opened his eyes and grinned at Bunty. ‘I am drooling just thinking about the photo stills. My parents laughing around the table as they eat. Sophie arranging plates and flowers. Lovely Bunty working chocolate and other clever things. We could drive an entire campaign for the cook book and the luxury ready meals using those images. It will be huge. All launched at the same time. A new brand. Fresh and original and so genuine. And that is why I would not dream of going to any other food writer apart from my cousin Bunty.’
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Nina Harrington
Take one estranged Italian family, a celebrity chef cousin, add a secret inheritance, a pinch of family rivalry and a red hot hunk for taste. Mix and simmer until boiling point!Bunty Brannigan knew turning thirty would be tough, but she never expected her life would unravel before the candles on her cake had been blown out… But before Bunty can say Mozzarella, she discovers that she is in line to inherit controlling shares in the Caruso family business and someone has attacked her charming celebrity chef cousin Luca in her deli.Throw in a sizzling hot Italian lawyer and her birthday has turned Bunty’s world upside down!Praise for Nina Harrington'This is an entertaining read full of wonderful, engaging characters. (And lots of authentic yummy sounding food!!) ' - Harlequin Junkie'a lovely little book' - The Book Geek Wears Pajamas'Nina Harrington’s “Recipe for disaster ” is a delightful read. The story is about family, dreams, second chances or even third for some exceptional cases, taking charge of your life when you’ve just turned thirty and It’s never too late.' - Imagicalia
Take one estranged Italian family,
A celebrity chef cousin,
Add a secret inheritance,
A pinch of family rivalry,
And a red-hot hunk for taste.
Mix and simmer until boiling point!
Bunty Brannigan knew turning thirty would be tough, but she never expected her life would unravel before the candles on her cake had been blown out…
But before Bunty can say Mozzarella, she discovers that she is in line to inherit controlling shares in the Caruso family business and someone has attacked her charming celebrity chef cousin Luca in her deli.
Throw in a sizzling hot Italian lawyer and her birthday has turned Bunty’s world upside down!
RECIPE FOR DISASTER
Nina Harrington
Copyright (#ulink_55d1015e-e178-561b-81ff-e9bc4d72ddfb)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013
Copyright © Nina Harrington 2013
Nina Harrington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472017130
Version date: 2018-06-20
Nina Harrington grew up in rural Northumberland, England and decided, aged eleven, that she was going to be a librarian, because then she could read all of the books in the public library whenever she wanted!
Since then she has been a shop assistant, community pharmacist, technical writer, university lecturer, volcano walker, and industrial scientist, before taking a career break to realise her dream of being a fiction writer.
When she is not creating stories that make her readers smile, her hobbies are cooking, eating, enjoying good wine, and talking, for which she has had specialist training.
Contents
Cover (#u7b0ab997-395c-5d61-9224-ce223eb8e525)
Blurb (#u50c0dbd7-1ae3-5958-b1f2-82644fdab4b1)
Title Page (#u22b57ba9-fcf7-5571-876e-2ec338037e8d)
Copyright (#u55cbb737-919d-5818-97bb-4a3f54de48e2)
Author Bio (#u26dec823-2043-507b-b84f-e9e17a8bf274)
Chapter One (#uccc1af60-2514-5ffd-9405-a1d8e886babc)
Chapter Two (#ua50167d3-c727-5c0f-a15b-1aae2477c3ea)
Chapter Three (#uaa096ec3-559f-52d7-95d1-75fc7eff7db8)
Chapter Four (#u1fa56f5d-1ee1-5c88-9f7a-3c54ed17f8fd)
Chapter Five (#u1d03d3f3-2433-5b31-bd45-19c474f69fba)
Chapter Six (#uab8929ed-af41-5732-8270-c3587b47aad1)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Friday
‘Hi, Bunty. Isn’t he the dreamiest?’
Bunty Brannigan whirled around on the narrow London footpath and grinned at her old school friend Pippa, who was sneaking a quick cigarette in the doorway of the bookshop where she worked.
‘I thought you had stopped smoking, Pip.’
‘Hey. Lent is still a few months away and I need something to give up and it is not going to be my latest man crush, that’s for sure.’
Bunty snorted through her nose and dodged the pedestrians to step closer. ‘Who is tickling your fancy this time? The sales rep who slips you all of those free books? Or another hero from those hot erotica novels you keep trying to persuade me to read?’
Pippa shrugged and looked back longingly at the window display before replying with a slow sigh of frustrated lust. ‘They are nothing to me now compared to the lovely Luca.’
Bunty followed her gaze, gasped and stood frozen outside the bookshop. In an instant her shoulders slumped towards the pavement.
‘Oh, mozzarella balls!’
Bunty couldn’t help it. The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.
The downside of ghost writing your cousin’s cookery books was that sometimes you had to see a collection of your precious recipes — the traditional Italian dishes you had slaved late into the night to perfect — with Luca Caruso’s face plastered all over the cover.
And there he was.
Leering at her from behind the hardback copies of what the huge cardboard placard declared to be the eagerly awaited latest cookbook from Italy’s hottest new television chef.
Luca Caruso. Her least favourite cousin from her Italian family.
‘He really is to die for,’ Pippa drooled, gazing up at the life-size colour poster of Luca that dominated the bookshop window. ‘If only we had dreamy Italians like that around here every day.’
Bunty stared up at the poster and dreamy was not the first word that came to mind at that moment.
The stylist had gone overboard this time and the Luca who smirked back at her was just too perfect, too smooth and way too arrogant and oily to be digestible.
Real chefs did not have manicures and dental veneers, and that self-satisfied pout made her want to grab the placard and tear it to shreds.
Why did he have to turn up today of all days? Her thirtieth birthday was supposed to be something to celebrate! But the more she looked at the picture, the more depressed she became.
Look at him!
She was precisely one month older than Luca and their lives could not be more different.
Luca was the celebrity chef with the entourage of slick image consultants that made sure he looked totally professional and in control no matter what TV chat show or magazine interview he gave, extolling his business success and how he had personally saved the Caruso food company with his passion for good cooking.
While she was the one who actually came up with all of those recipes.
What did she have to show for all her years of hard work? Bunty sniffed. Her image revolved around aching feet from standing all day and a collection of plain, easy-to-wash work clothes.
He looked fresh and enthusiastic while she was exhausted from running ragged just keeping her shop afloat.
Pippa would probably be stunned by the fact that she was even vaguely related to this cardboard cut-out. But on second thoughts it was probably best not to talk about the Carusos. It would only upset her and she already had enough on her plate for that kind of headache.
‘Mozzarella? Do you think so?’ Pippa tilted her head to one side, slid her black-rimmed spectacles down from the top of her head onto her nose and peered closer to the glass. ‘No. Not my Luca. Did you see him on Hot Chefs Italia last week? Talk about host with the most. Girls in the audience were drooling! Luca Caruso is now, officially, on my hunkalicious hotties list.’
‘Sorry. I missed that one,’ Bunty whispered and pressed her lips tight together. She would rather run down the high street wearing nothing but strategically placed sheets of pasta than waste her time watching her cousin Luca Caruso pretend to know the first thing about cooking. Which he didn’t.
Italy’s hottest chef? Fake, fake, fake, fake, and fake. If the bookshops only knew the truth about who was really writing those recipes they would run Luca out of town!
Luca was the only member of the famous Caruso pasta-making family who could not boil water without burning it. Which was so ridiculous it was not funny.
Shame that she had signed a contract swearing her to secrecy.
‘Are you here for the book signing tonight?’ Pippa asked, and then whispered, ‘Luca will be here. In person. Oh, I can hardly wait. Do you think he would notice me if I swooned?’
Bunty took a deep calming breath before replying in a sweet voice, ‘Sorry. Too busy at the moment. Lots to do before the birthday party tonight.’
‘Oh, what a shame. He could have given you a few tips. You being the Italian food expert around here. Well, don’t wear yourself out. The birthday girl has to be ready to have some fun on a Friday night.’
Luckily Bunty did not have to reply because a customer pushed open the stained-glass door to the bookshop and the doorbell called Pippa back to work. She gave Bunty a quick finger wave. ‘I’ll try and get over once Luca has finished signing all our stock. See you later!’
Give me a few tips? Bunty didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
It was turning out to be one of those days.
First there was the letter from the local authority telling her that the new business rates on the deli were increasing from extortionate to legal robbery. Nice.
As if a one-woman food business could instantly magic up that kind of money. She had expected a price hike, but the amount they wanted made her brain spin.
And then there was the small matter that the second she had pressed the snooze button on her alarm clock that morning, it had struck her like a heavy weight that she was thirty years old.
Thirty! How could that be possible?
With one tick of the clock she had officially stopped being an up-and-coming chef in her twenties and was plunged into the hard reality that she was a thirty-year-old single woman who was still living above the family deli and, from the state of her bank balance, likely to stay there for a long time to come.
What had happened to the girl with the big dreams who had been so confident that she would have her own chain of Brannigans delicatessens specialising in luxury Italian ready meals by the time she was thirty?
The last thing she needed was a reminder the size of a window display that she was being held to ransom by her cousin Luca and her so-called family, who owned one of Italy’s largest food companies. Who apparently were in London for a book signing and had not even bothered to let her know. Typical.
Well, as far as she was concerned Luca and the whole tribe could stay where they belonged. Back in Italy. She didn’t need them and she certainly didn’t want to see them.
A cluster of elegantly dressed twenty-something girls with long glossy hair shuffled up next to Bunty and started giggling at the poster boy. Their expensive perfume drifted in her direction, just as the girl closest to Bunty stepped back a little and waved a hand in front of her as though wafting away a smell.
Bunty lifted her chin and sniffed. Hum. That was a mistake. She hadn’t even had time to change out of the kitchen-smelly work clothes she had been wearing for the past twelve hours.
‘Okay, yes, I have been chopping garlic most of the day.’ Bunty smiled across at her. ‘It’s not contagious.’
The girl smirked and pointed downwards towards Bunty’s ratty old black trainers, forcing their owner to glance down to what lay below her grease-stained, creased kitchen trousers. The fact that they were only inches away from a pair of silky black stockings and high heels only made her clothing look more decrepit than normal.
But then she spotted what was on the sole of her shoe.
Marvellous. She hated city dogs. And she hated their careless owners even more.
Hoisting her bags higher, Bunty could only shuffle off, red-faced, trying not to make it too obvious that she was wiping one trainer on the side of the kerb stone as she went.
She’d bet that never happened to the immaculate Luca!
And then she made the mistake of glancing at her wristwatch.
Brilliant. Now Luca had made her late too.
Although he was not totally responsible.
It had felt as though every customer who walked into the deli that afternoon had some urgent and important question about the provenance of the salami they were buying, or the secret ingredients that made her patisserie and ready meals so special.
She loved every one of the regulars who had been coming to Brannigans week in, week out, for weeks, months or years.
It was such a thrill to join in the busy chatter of the customers who gathered to taste and talk in appreciation of her food and she wouldn’t want it any other way. Busy, busy, busy.
But on the not so plus side, she was working every hour of the day to make the deli a success and it was well after five before she had escaped with her precious cargo.
She’d allowed just enough time to catch the bus before the six o’clock deadline. Okay, yes, it was rather unusual for a chef to deliver catering-sized packs of gnocchi and fresh wild mushroom sauce by public transport, but this was London on a cold wet January evening. She could either walk it, or catch the bus. Taxis were a luxury she could ill afford, and with this rush-hour traffic?
She had missed her bus. And was now officially and undeniably late for her delivery to Patrick at the Dog and Duck.
Patrick served a lot of food between six and seven in the evening and she could still make it before he sent out a search party. It wasn’t her fault that the customers at the hippest gastro pub in town adored her food. Or what they believed was Patrick’s food. He had tripled his order, and she needed that business. Especially now.
Dragging her gaze away from the bookshop window, Bunty dodged and dived along the busy pavements, trying to make up for lost time. The grey January drizzle had turned into sleet and beneath her padded jacket her T-shirt had begun to stick to her skin. She tried not to think about what was happening to her hair.
Had she ever looked like those glossy girls? And where had the last ten years gone?
Apart from the years spent at catering school, training as a restaurant chef, and then looking after her sick mother while running a deli, of course.
Apart from that.
She was still trying to come up with some explanation for her current state of grunginess when a cab cut her off as she tried to cross the street. Both of her hands were occupied with food containers, and the sauce almost ended up on the road as she swerved to avoid splattering the contents.
Luckily for her, Patrick was standing at the door chalking up the menu on a blackboard, and ran forward to take the bags from her. Homemade gnocchi was the first item on the board.
‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, sweetheart. Ten minutes later, and my little Italian treat would have been off the menu.’
‘Ten yards later, and you would have been scraping your treats and me off the front of that taxi.’ She leant forward, stood on tiptoe and kissed her old boyfriend lightly on the cheek and smiled. ‘You know you love me.’
The tall, handsome, stubbly Irishman nodded a couple of times. ‘True, but I’d love you more if you came back to work for me. A couple of nights a week? One night? I need you, babe. And you must have missed me!’ His eyebrows lifted a couple of times above the smile.
‘Tempting. But I think you only want me for my food.’
He swiped his hand across his thigh. ‘Drat. You saw through my evil plan. In that case I need to double up the ravioli and all the antipasti for the lunch crew. I’ll send one of the lads around tomorrow and pick it up.’
‘No problem. And since you love me, you get first look at some new meals I’ve been working on.’
Her mobile phone rang and cut short her stab at optimism. Bunty flipped open the cover. ‘Pronto?’
‘It’s me,’ Alex said. ‘We have a problem.’
‘Really,’ Bunty said, pulling a printed menu from her pocket, telephone lodged between her neck and shoulder. ‘Surely not. I thought you’d be out partying by now. Let me guess, you picked up a hunky date at the airport and have decided to bail on me?’
‘You should be back by now. At this rate you are going to be late for your own birthday party,’ Alex said with a high-pitched laugh and Bunty stopped, taken aback by the tone in her best friend’s voice. Alex McGee was an industrial chemist who travelled the world auditing production plants. She did stress for a living.
Bunty could hear the urgency in her friend’s voice as she turned to pass the menu across to Patrick.
‘I am on my way right now,’ she said into the phone.
‘Something wrong?’ Patrick asked, sounding concerned, from behind her.
‘Not a bit,’ Bunty said to him. ‘Alex is worried that I won’t have time for a serious makeover before my birthday party.’
‘Makeover? Not from what I can see.’ Patrick grinned, looking into her face. ‘Sorry I can’t be there. Mad busy. But I’ll be raising a glass later in your direction.’
‘Thanks, sweetie, but it is going to take more than Alex’s make-up bag to change my life,’ Bunty whispered to herself, ‘but it’s worth a try’ before smiling back at Patrick to reassure him.
Ten minutes later, sweaty and slightly out of breath, she was weaving her way along the busy pavements, filled with young people heading out after work to the collection of wine bars, cafés and bistros that had opened along the narrow pedestrian-only area of the London suburb. Her short cut took her past the new office blocks and apartments where there used to be small shops and businesses just like hers. They were good customers, but she still missed the old community that used to be here.
Head back, shoulders down, she strode out in her black trainers, dodging the cycles and scooters, switching from lane to lane down the backstreets, before turning the corner onto the main parade, with its collection of two-storey stone and brick buildings, where she could see Alex standing under the striped navy-blue and white awning of Brannigans.
Her parents’ deli.
Her deli now.
The thought caught in her throat, and Bunty exhaled slowly as Alex waved back and stepped out to greet her.
Her best friend from convent school was wearing the trouser suit Bunty had helped her choose the previous September. It was summer-weight dark navy worsted, faint pink fine stripes, with a cleverly constructed narrow lapel and trouser cuffs – but fitted in at the waist so that there was no mistake that this lady had curves to be proud of..
With that suit Alex had won the promotion she had been begging for, the two-seater sports car parked outside the shop, and six weeks’ paid holiday a year.
The coral silk shirt was an inspiration for a girl who paid a fortune for caramel highlights in her brown hair, and Alex looked great, even under fluorescent streetlight on a grey January evening.
‘Hey, look at you.’ Bunty grinned and gave her a one-armed hug.
‘More to the point, look at you.’ Alex tutted and stepped back to hold Bunty at arm’s length. ‘Is this the new fashion in kitchen grunge couture that I have been hearing about? Because I have to tell you, it is not working for me.’
Then she gave an over-the-top shudder. ‘Sorry, my girl. It’s time for an intervention. You pop inside and sort through your birthday cards with Fran. I need to skip up the street and ask the two hunks who run the gym if they can run door security for us. Because you are going to look so hot tonight I’ll be beating the boys back with a stick.’
Bunty snorted a reply. ‘Security for whom? I know you, Alexandra Caitlin McGee. Those poor boys wouldn’t stand a chance. I knew that it was a mistake leaving you and Fran to organise my birthday party.’
Bunty pushed the door wide open, reached inside and switched on the main lights so that she could see across the main shop floor, and through into the long refrigerated display area, and marble counter.
‘Spoilsport,’ Alex replied through pursed lips as she followed Bunty into the deli. ‘Bernadette Caruso Brannigan! Best decision you ever made. It’s going to be great. And no, I didn’t invite all of the people I wanted because you said that you wanted it low-key.’
Bunty nodded and dumped her bag on the counter. ‘Only my idea of low-key and your low-key might not be the same thing. Please tell me that Fran was joking about hiring a male stripper. I’m not sure that Elena has a licence for performance art.’
‘What? And spoil the surprise? My lips are sealed.’
‘Hah!’ Bunty tutted out loud, automatically picked up two packs of organic fusilli, and turned back towards the display shelving and their ‘New Arrivals’ section.
At the very same second that Fran leapt out at her from inside the store room waving a flag and screaming, ‘Surprise Party! Surprise! Happy Birthday!’
Bunty screamed out loud, her arms went flailing and the fusilli exploded out of their packets like yellow worms and cascaded like a fountain over the floor.
Happy Birthday. Right.
Fabio Rossi twirled the ice cubes in his crystal tumbler before taking a long slow drink of sparkling tonic water.
He leant one elbow on the brass rail in the cocktail bar of one of the most stylish boutique hotels in London and casually glanced towards the marble and wood-panel hallway as Paolo Caruso strolled past.
From the bar, Fabio could hear Paolo pontificating loudly in very good English with two stylish ladies in smart black business suits as they made their way out to a no doubt luxurious dinner with Paolo and his son Luca.
Pale, overweight, prematurely balding, and so smug in his superiority as head of the Caruso food company, Paolo seemed to have no problem at all pimping his only son and heir to the publishers and literary agents who all wanted a piece of the action that was the latest hot Italian chef—Luca Caruso.
Professional etiquette demanded that Fabio should keep his opinion of Paolo to himself, of course, considering that the Caruso food company was his father’s biggest client.
Rossi and Rossi had taken care of the Caruso family’s legal work for over fifty years and had built a major law firm out of the connections and income that came with it.
Shame that the Caruso family did not deem the youngest of the Rossi lawyers to be worthy of their business, no matter how many times his father and brother had tried to include Fabio in company meetings over the past two years.
Fabio lowered his tumbler onto the leather coaster on the bar and ran his finger around the rim while he took a steadying breath.
He’d thought he had left his past mistakes behind him in California.
Wrong.
Apparently respectable corporations did not want their reputation tainted by association with his kind of contract lawyer.
Oh, no. All Paolo Caruso saw was the lawyer’s son who had been dumped by his sweet, wealthy wife when his poker habit had got out of hand. A rogue. A misfit. A lawyer who could not control his obsession for the thrill of the chase.
Why did they need him? His father knew the Caruso family business inside out. Rossi and Rossi. Father and eldest son. They didn’t want a liability like Fabio Rossi working on their business accounts.
Of course, there was something that Paolo didn’t know…yet.
It was true that Fabio was in London meeting up with a few prospective clients for his new law firm. But that wasn’t the only reason he had packed his bags and driven from Milan with his friend and business partner, Jerry Frobisher, yesterday morning.
His father had given him one last assignment for Rossi and Rossi before he officially left the family business and started out on his own.
A one-off situation, which was going to need his complete attention and dedication until the client’s instructions had been carried out.
He needed to stay engaged and focused and frosty.
Precisely the skills that he had tuned so meticulously in casinos around the world.
And that was exactly what he was going to deliver.
All of the hard work Fabio had done to rebuild some kind of reputation by swallowing his pride and going back to his father’s law firm had come down to this.
His chance to show that his family could depend on him to get the job done.
A chance to demonstrate what he could achieve and put the past behind him once and for all.
Like it or not, his start-up law firm needed the seal of approval that adding major clients like Caruso Foods could bring. This job might open doors that still stayed firmly closed to an ex-gambler with a reputation for being a hothead.
Fabio’s fingers tightened so firmly around the tumbler that for a second he thought the crystal would shatter from the pressure.
His past mistakes had brought him here. There was nothing he could do to change history but he had to look forward. His hard work was going to have to pull his brand-new company back from the edge and give it the professional kudos and future it needed.
The voices from the reception area faded away.
This was it. Rossi and Frobisher were on the case and the sooner he finished this last job for his dad, the sooner he could start work on his own business.
Time to rock and roll.
Fabio finished his drink, slid his designer jeans off the bar stool with a nod to the barman and minutes later strolled down the luxurious carpet outside the second-floor guest bedrooms.
A handsome, slim, fair-haired young man with a dark natural tan was deep in conversation with one of the very pretty uniformed chambermaids, his arm winding its way around her waist as she giggled in reply to a question.
Fabio coughed politely as he came up to the door and signalled to Jerry over the shoulder of the now preoccupied and still-giggling maid.
It only took him a few minutes to open up the wall safe in his bedroom, take out the first padded envelope enclosed in a black cover and slip it into a smart document wallet so he was ready and waiting when Jerry knocked on the door.
‘Right, partner.’ Jerry smiled, casually leaning like a fashion model against the door frame. ‘So tell me again what is so very important that you feel the need to make your way in rush-hour traffic through the centre of London so you can deliver a package? We have an excellent postal system, you know. Perhaps you should try it?’
Fabio took a breath and exhaled very slowly.
Why was he acting as a delivery boy for his father’s law firm? Because he owed his family for giving him a second chance after his life had crashed and burned. Owed them big time.
‘Relax. This is definitely the last assignment for my grandfather’s last private client. This package had to be hand delivered by a Rossi family lawyer between six and eight p.m. today and he knew that I was going to be in London so I agreed to help him out. They needed someone they could trust to put it in the right hands and it saves the family firm the price of the air fare.’
‘Ah. I am beginning to understand. Your father gave you a job when you needed one and now it’s payback time. Am I right?’
Fabio looked at his business partner with pity laced with exasperation. ‘Have you not been paying attention to anything I’ve told you about my family in the last few months? I knew it was dangerous putting you in charge of recruiting office receptionists. Way too many distractions.’
Jerry smiled, displaying a set of stunning even white teeth, which highlighted his tan and pale blue fine cotton shirt. His azure-blue eyes focused on Fabio. ‘Ah. The delights of meeting lovely ladies who are so anxious to demonstrate their database skills. But do try and relax, Fabio, old chap. You’re starting to make me feel quite anxious.’
Fabio had to smile. He had known Jerry three years and in all that time he had never seen his business partner, and one of the smartest men in commercial law, raise a sweat.
‘Well, I would hate for that to happen. Here’s an idea. I have to finish this one last job, but as we have just spent most of the day setting up our new list of prospective clients, I think that might be worth a celebration. Don’t you?’
Jerry raised an eyebrow, then pushed back to full height and tugged down on the cuffs of his made-to-measure shirt. ‘Now you are talking my language. Forget the taxi. The Rossi and Frobisher courier service is on the case. Got the address handy?’
Chapter Two
‘Oh, you should have seen your face,’ Alex managed to get out as she wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘It was priceless.’
‘You,’ Bunty replied, her hand still pressed against her throat as she fought to bring down her heart rate, ‘are a menace. I could have had a heart attack. And think of the bad influence you are having on your baby sister. Shocking example.’
‘Were you really scared?’ Fran asked and flung her arms around Bunty’s neck and shoulders. ‘We thought it would be nice to give you a treat for once seeing as you cook for us nearly every day. I did the balloons and Alex made the hot chocolate just the way you like it.’
Bunty patted Fran’s arm and reassured her. ‘Not scared. Just taken by surprise.’
It was impossible to be annoyed with a girl who thought it was normal to wear a lime-green T-shirt with a scarlet red dragon logo and matching Chinese silk pants while vacuuming up dried pasta shells.
‘My own recipe, of course.’ Alex wafted a steaming beaker of chocolatey loveliness in front of Bunty’s nose and gestured for her to sit at the kitchen table. ‘And before you say it, yes, I know it’s my one and only recipe but not all of us are blessed with your culinary genius.’
‘Then it is a good thing that I adore your hot chocolate.’ Bunty smiled and lifted the beaker with both hands towards her nose. ‘Oh, that cinnamon smells so good.’
‘Don’t forget the vanilla extract and cream! Secret ingredients. Do you like the balloons?’
Bunty grinned up at the bunch of fluorescent-pink gas-filled balloons that Fran had tied to the back of her chair. They bobbed up and down in the air telling the world that she had not turned thirty at all. She was twenty-one with nine years’ added experience.
A feeling of overwhelming emotion bubbled up from the centre of her heart reserved for happy days, which had not seen much use of late.
‘They are the best balloons that I have ever seen in my entire life. Thanks, girls. You are the best. I…I don’t know what I would do without you.’ Suddenly her throat felt quite sore and words were a tad difficult.
‘Oh, Lord, she’s going.’ Alex waved frantically at her sister. ‘Fran. Quick. We need more hazelnut biscotti. Go, go, go.’
The second Fran jogged out into the deli, Alex scooted around the table and leant her head against Bunty’s shoulder.
‘Come on. Tell your aunty Alex. Why are you in the grumps? What’s going on?’
Bunty took a sip of the hot chocolate and waited until the delicious warmth had eased away the tension in her stiff shoulders before replying. ‘Is it that obvious? Well, if you must know I had always imagined that I would have achieved a lot more in my career by the time I reached thirty and the more I think about it, the more I feel like a big fat failure.’
‘Well, that’s crazy. So what would it take to make you feel better? Besides my hot chocolate, of course.’
‘Besides that, funding to open another deli some time in the next six months would be nice. I have the orders and I know that I could make a go of it. But I’m not sure I want to go cap in hand to yet another bank. Not yet anyway.’
‘Why not? You will get the funding you need. I’m sure of it. I mean, look at you.’
Alex waved her arm around. ‘Gorgeous girl. Busy deli and ideas to open more like it. Plenty of pubs and bistros clamouring to serve your grub. There are loads of reasons why a bank would fall over itself to loan you the cash to fund an expansion. And I know you have a brilliant business plan because I helped you write it.’
‘Yes, you did. And it is brilliant. Except for one thing. Security. The last two banks I went to both wanted me to take a mortgage out on the deli as security for the loan. I can’t do it, Alex. Won’t do it. All I have to do is remember how much trouble my mum got into over the years and it scares me witless. I’ve only just stopped paying off all of the loans she took out to try and keep her dreams alive. I can’t take the risk of losing the deli. We sacrificed so much to keep it going. It’s the only thing that nobody can take away from me.’
Alex grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze, then topped up their hot chocolate and nodded. ‘Keep the deli. Righty. Now we know what we need to do. Got it. What about the Brannigans?’
‘They would help if they could but the family are way too busy organising the latest Brannigan wedding for me to bother them with my problems. My uncle Pat sent me a lovely birthday card.’
Bunty narrowed her eyes. ‘And before you go there, I would eat my own feet before I asked the Carusos for a loan.’
Alex coughed and choked on a biscuit crumb and washed it down before answering. ‘Hey. It’s me. I would never say the C word in your presence. I suppose Luca has been begging you to write more cook books for him when your deal ends next week?’
Bunty lifted both of her hands high into the air in a dramatic flourish. ‘Begging and pleading. Emails coming in every week offering me an extension.’
Alex giggled and shuffled in her seat like an overexcited five-year-old high on sugar and artificial colours. ‘Did you make him grovel? Did you? Did you?’
‘Of course. Then I declined his offer in a polite and totally professional manner. It was a glorious moment. There are five more days left on my contract with Luca. Count them. Five. Then I shall finally be free. No more writing cook books for Luca. No more working for a pittance. Free to do what I want with my genius.’
Alex lifted her beaker in a toast. ‘Now that is something worth celebrating. Busy or not, it’s your thirtieth birthday. You are coming out to party this evening and enjoy yourself even if I have to drag you out. You know you want to. I can see you weakening.’
‘You are so bossy.’ Bunty paused, then lifted her chin and blinked a few times, then nodded. ‘And I hate it when you are so blindingly right. I should celebrate. These past few months have been tough but I survived the first Christmas without Mum. This is it, Alex. Tomorrow morning the new Bernadette will be in charge. No more messing about on the side lines. No more saying no to opportunities when they come along. This time next year I will be running, not one, but two Brannigans delis and my life will be back in control. No matter what. Deal?’
‘Deal. That’s why you love me.’ Alex looked up at the sound of rustling from the deli. ‘Now where is my lovely sister with the biscotti and…? Oh, my!’ Then her eyes widened with just enough of a sharp intake of breath to make Bunty swing around in her chair to see what all of the fuss was about.
‘Bunty.’ Fran giggled and pressed her fingers to her mouth. ‘You have a…visitor.’
Fran was right. She did have a visitor.
Because strolling into her kitchen was the same man she had just been looking at in a bookshop window.
Luca Caruso.
In the flesh.
Right down to the silk and cashmere midnight-blue suit and gleaming white shirt and a natural tan that told her more than she wanted to know about where he had spent the winter.
Luca was holding a bouquet of yellow rose buds in one hand and in the other one of the pastry cream cannoli from her chiller cabinet. He was calmly nibbling at it as though he walked into his cousin’s deli every day of the week.
The whole scene was so surreal Bunty blinked several times to make sure that she was not imagining it. He had stolen one of her cannoli and was eating it. In front of her! In her kitchen!
What the…?
‘Hi, Bunty. I hope you don’t mind me popping in unannounced.’ Luca smiled between bites of the cannoli, revealing his excellent dental work. ‘But I was in this part of town for a book signing and I thought it would be mightily rude not to say hello.’ He stepped forwards and presented her with the roses. ‘These are for you, by the way. Happy birthday. I see that you are having a lovely tea party.’
Then his gaze shifted along the table and just for a second Bunty was so stunned that all she could think about was that the Botox injections he was having were totally amazing. His eyebrows lifted but his brow was rigid.
‘Is that Alex McGee? Wow. This is turning out to be my lucky day. Looking good, Alex!’
Alex replied with a snort through her nose. ‘What! Looking good? Don’t you tell me that I am looking good, mister. You stink. Do you really think you can turn up after all these years and make yourself at home as though you own the place?’
Luca leant against the edge of the table with his legs crossed and finished off his cannoli. ‘Such sweetness and light. It’s good to know that some things stay the same, Alex. Whereas Bunty here has made some serious changes to this place.’ His gaze scanned the kitchen and Bunty could almost feel those blue eyes rest on the immaculate stainless-steel pans and work surfaces.
‘Impressive. Very impressive. Congratulations, Bunty.’
By pressing her fingernails deep into her palm Bunty managed to both keep a faint smile on her face and not throw the hot-chocolate dregs at Luca’s smug and condescending and so very handsome, perfect face. It would almost be worth it to see the chocolate drip down his pristine shirt.
But that was what he expected her to do. And she was better than that. A lot better.
So instead she made a fuss of smelling the roses and taking a moment before she lifted her chin and replied in as calm a voice as she could manage. ‘Thank you, Luca. How very kind of you to pop in. It has been such a long time since you last graced us with your presence. Is this a social call?’
He tipped two fingers to his perfectly cut dark hair in salute. He pushed out his lower lip and bowed slightly from the waist in her direction. ‘The only reason that I am signing books today is because of the great work that you have been doing to make those books so successful over the years. You’ve been fantastic. So, I thought that I would deliver your end-of-contract bonus in person.’
Luca carefully brushed the pastry crumbs from his fingers before reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulling out a folded piece of paper with two fingers.
It took him all of two strides with his long slim legs to cover the floor between them, and then Luca stretched out his hand and presented the cheque to Bunty with a small flourish. ‘Thanks for all of your help, Bunty. I mean that.’
She took the paper, unfolded it in silence, and then looked at the number handwritten on the cheque. Then looked again. ‘Are you sure this is right? I wasn’t expecting this much.’
And was instantly thumped hard in the arm by Alex, who peered at the cheque and sniffed. ‘Ah! Not nearly enough to cover all of the aggro you have had to put up with over the years.’
Luca narrowed his eyes and pointed two fingers towards Alex. ‘You are quite right. I have added a little extra as my personal thanks, which I hope you will accept. In exchange for some of your time.’
‘My time?’ Bunty coughed out loud as Alex gasped in disbelief, but Luca held up both hands in surrender and laughed. ‘Relax. Let me finish and then I shall head off to the book signing and leave you in peace. Okay?’
His shoulders seemed to drop into a relaxed pose and for the first time since he came into the room Bunty saw what looked like a real light in Luca’s eyes. Something close to being genuine, so when he spoke the words still took a while to sink in.
‘I am thinking of changing the company slogan.’ He smiled, then traced some letters in the air. ‘The Caruso Family Kitchen. What do you think of that crazy notion?’
Then he folded his arms and leant back before speaking. ‘Traditional recipes that have been handed down from generation to generation. And…’ He paused and licked his lower lip, and the breath caught in Bunty’s throat.
Here it comes. This is the pitch. This is really what he came here to say.
‘We are going to need a new cook book of family recipes to come out at the same time as the TV campaign. New branding on the supermarket ranges. The lot. I’m actually quite excited about it. Ah yes, I can see you are surprised. I know. It would be a completely different direction from the modern Mediterranean food people are used to seeing, but I think it will work. Especially if both the Caruso cousins are involved.’
He nodded. Twice. With his lips pressed firmly together. ‘That’s right. Your name would be on the cover and photo on the back page with all of your contact details. I owe you, Bunty. You can be damned sure that I will sing your praises to the rooftops – I can promise you that. Joint TV interviews. Radio. Full press coverage. We will even film the promo adverts right here in the deli. Plus half the advance and any of the royalties we pick up. Fifty/fifty all the way down the line.’
Luca must have seen the expression on Bunty’s face because he half reared back. ‘Now don’t give me that look as though you are going to say no. Will you at least think about it? Take your time. No pressure. But if it is something you would like to do… I will make it happen. The advance is going to be at least six figures or I’m sacking my agent. Call you tomorrow.’
Then without asking permission or seeking forgiveness, Luca picked up Bunty’s hand, kissed the back of her knuckles and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. With a quick wink at Fran and a kissy kissy mwah mwah sound towards Alex, he flicked one hand in the air and then bowed to all three of them.
‘Ladies. It has been a delight but now I must leave you and meet my adoring fans. Don’t get up. I shall see myself out. Ciao, bellas.’
And with a quick wave over one shoulder he strode out of her kitchen and a second later the doorbell chimed as the door closed behind him.
Bunty sat in silence looking at the space where he had been standing, then glanced back at Alex, who was doing her famous gaping-fish-mouth impersonation, and finally at Fran, who was smiling and shaking her head.
‘Look at the state of you two.’ Fran chuckled. ‘You would think that you had never seen a handsome Italian before. What a performance that was. That boy should have been an actor. Although…’ she took a second to nod ‘…that new recipe book is not a bad idea, Bunty. You could use that kind of publicity and the food sounds great. The money would come in handy too.’
Bunty sat back in her chair, picked up her drink and swallowed it down in silence, her brain reeling, her head thumping and her legs suddenly feeling like jelly.
‘Did I just imagine it?’ Alex muttered. ‘Or did Luca Caruso just walk in here as though he owned the place and try to bribe you to work for him again?’
‘Oh, that was Luca, all right,’ Bunty whispered. ‘No doubt about it.’
‘Amazing.’ Alex blinked. ‘I mean. I hate to give the creep any credit, but it takes a serious amount of ego to pull off that trick!’
‘Is it a trick?’
Alex opened her mouth to reply, closed it again with a snap and whirled around in her chair with her arms folded.
‘Please don’t tell me that you are even thinking about taking his offer. This is Luca! Faker extraordinaire. He will make sure that he rips you off one way or another to line his own pockets.’
Bunty focused her gaze on the cup that she was cradling in her hands. ‘What have I just been saying about seizing every opportunity I can get? I need the money. I need the publicity. And it is exactly the kind of traditional Italian food that I supply across London. So, yes, I am thinking about it. I am thinking about it a lot.’
‘Oh, Bunty. I thought you wanted to be free of the Carusos.’
‘I do, Alex. I do. But I am thirty and my dream of running a chain of Brannigans delis seems to be as far away as ever. This way I am working with Luca – not for him. Fifty/fifty. That was what he said and I will hold him to that. Equal partners. Promotional videos filmed right here. That’s new. Perhaps… Perhaps we can work together on those terms? I might be okay with that. A new opportunity, remember?’
Alex exhaled slowly and shook her head before rubbing the back of Bunty’s neck.
‘Make it sixty/forty. If that boy needs your help so badly that he would lower himself to turn up in person and turn on the charm, then he can afford to give you a decent percentage of the loot. Of course we shall have to find a bulldog lawyer to tie him down on the numbers and make sure that your names are the same size on the cover. And if he wants to use those recipes of yours in this new supermarket range? That is going to cost him a helluva lot extra. Think about that!’
Bunty replied by slumping forwards in her chair and pressing her fingertips into her forehead. ‘Just when I thought things were finally getting clearer. What a mess.’
Alex snorted back and waved her fingers in Bunty’s direction. ‘You think this is a mess, try Gatwick airport on a Friday afternoon! Although there were some advantages.’
She leant towards Bunty and smiled grimly through half-closed eyes. ‘I had no idea that airport shops carried such a wide selection of non-black clothing. Especially plum chiffon cocktail dresses. And shoes, and bags, and other fripperies! For once, you can have something made by another pair of hands to wear at your own birthday party.’
Bunty could not help but smile back. ‘That was very thoughtful. Thanks. But plum? Not so sure about that one with my hair, but, yes, you are right. As usual.’ She hesitated before going on. ‘Alex, after what happened just now with Luca, I need to get my head around what I need to do next. Don’t say anything just yet. It might be too early to celebrate.’
A trim French-manicured and moisturised hand was flung up in front of her face – palms forward. ‘Understood. My lips are sealed and shall only be opened by copious glasses of fine wine. And yes, I know that Luca has always been the golden princeling of the Caruso family, but tonight is your night and nobody is going to spoil your birthday party.’
Then she jumped up and stretched out both hands. ‘Righty. Let’s get you ready. Cinders shall go to the ball!’
Chapter Three
Fabio peered out of the side window of Jerry’s 4 x 4 luxury car and tried to read the street names on the white plaques pinned high on the walls around him.
They had been on the road for almost an hour and had probably travelled not more than a couple of miles. Most of it either stuck in traffic or going around in circles in the one-way road system.
‘Come on, Jerry. This is your city. Surely you can find one deli? Please. I would like to get there before midnight if that is okay with you.’
‘Hey,’ Jerry chuckled and rapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you know every street in Milan? No. I didn’t think so.’
Then he gestured with his head towards the sat-nav display. ‘We can’t be more than five minutes from the address but it looks like a pedestrian-only area to me. Which means I need to find a parking space and stay with the motor while you make the drop. The traffic wardens around here are ruthless.’
‘I’ll take your word for that.’ Fabio sighed and shrugged into his suit jacket as he scanned the street. ‘This is not what I was expecting. No big businesses. No factory units. Which makes me curious. What has the Caruso family got to do with someone who lives around here?’
‘Your dad didn’t tell you anything at all?’ Jerry replied, his attention on the traffic lights.
Fabio shook his head once. ‘My grandfather Salvatore only kept a few personal clients after he retired and Mrs Caruso was the last. There are bundles of sealed paperwork waiting to be opened but the ball only starts rolling once I make the delivery and the client opens the box and takes the prize.’
‘Didn’t you look inside? I would have.’
‘Look inside? Hell no,’ Fabio choked. ‘My grandfather would come back and haunt me. It could be anything inside that package. And frankly I am not so sure I want to find out. The Carusos are not labelled the smiling assassins for nothing. You won’t find tougher business people. The sooner we can get back to our new business, the better, as far as I am concerned.’
‘Amen to that,’ Jerry replied. ‘Here we go. Lights are on red. If you want to go, go now. I’m parking in that supermarket just around the corner. Be waiting for you there. Best of luck.’
Bunty sat back in her hard wooden chair and swayed a little from side to side as her whole crew of pals and teachers from the convent school and catering college joined in a very loud and very out-of-tune version of ‘Mambo Italiano’ that Elena was playing at full volume in her honour.
Normally the background music would have been Greek bouzouki music or Elena’s favourite classical opera CD, so this really was a special treat. Just for her.
There were wine spillages and salad-dressing smears and breadcrumbs all over the tablecloths, and probably over the new plum-coloured wrap dress Alex had squeezed her into. At some point she had lost her shoe under the table.
Then Fran had presented her with a crown she had made from gold paper and wire and insisted that she wear it as a party princess — at a jaunty angle, of course.
Worse, her make-up was probably a wreck after a brief but intense crying jag after Sister Teresa had made the sweetest speech about how proud her mother would have been of her and what she had achieved, which had everyone in the room reaching for the tissues. There was not a dry eye in the house. Even Alex the strong ‘accidentally’ dropped her napkin on the floor and had to drop out of sight for a couple of minutes to find it.
Bunty glanced up across the tables spread out around the room. It didn’t matter that she looked a mess. Not to her friends and family who had come out on a cold January evening to help her celebrate her birthday.
She grinned across at Maria who was carrying out yet more plates of lamb and roast potatoes. Her friend replied with a jaunty wink as one of the catering students patted her bottom the second the plate hit the table and Maria pretended to squeal, and then sat down heavily on his lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
These were her real friends. Her real family. Girls from the local convent school she had known all of her life and their husbands and boyfriends, pals from the local shops, students she taught at the catering college. All loud, boisterous and having fun. And that was precisely how she liked it. No false pretences here. Real people who shared her life each and every day.
She was so lucky to have them.
A warm glow of happiness and contentment spread from deep inside her like a furnace that pumped the heat from her heart to the very ends of her fingertips. She had never felt so safe and secure. Protected. And cared for and part of a very special community of friends who looked out for one another.
Maybe turning thirty was not so bad after all when she had friends like these in her life. So what if she didn’t have a mega TV career like her cousin Luca? She had something much better.
Bunty leant sideways and rested her head on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Have I said thank you yet for pulling this all together? It’s amazing and I love it.’
Alex laughed out loud and gave her a one-armed hug. ‘Several times. It’s the wine, you know, causes short-term memory loss in older women. I have built up resistance over the years so it takes a lot longer to kick in.’
Then Alex started rubbing her hands together and humming the last verse under her breath. ‘Now. Back to the important stuff. What totally outrageous thing have you decided to do before the end of the day? Remember the rules – it has to be spontaneous, the opposite of what you would normally do, and fun! Points will be awarded for the most ingenious solution!’
‘Dance on the table?’ Bunty suggested, then shook her head and waved her arms around. ‘No. Forget that one. The table legs wouldn’t cope with my current body weight and this food is too good to waste. Something outrageous. Um…’
Then she looked over Alex’s shoulder back towards the entrance to the restaurant and her breath caught in her throat.
Standing not three feet away from her was one of the best-looking men that she had seen in her life. She was five feet nine inches so he had to be at least six feet two inches in his very shiny, slim, smart black shoes. Her gaze tracked up his body before the sensible part of her brain clicked in to stop it.
Slim hips. Broad shoulders. A handmade cashmere and silk business suit in a shade of midnight blue, which was so perfect it made her drool. A tailored white shirt open at the neck. Dark chestnut-brown hair that curled into neat waves, which simply begged to be touched.
‘Hello,’ he said in a rich deep male voice that crossed the air space that separated them and reverberated inside her head. ‘I’m looking for a Bernadette Caruso Brannigan. There was a note stuck to the door at Brannigans deli telling me that the party was at Elena’s. Have I come to the right place?’
He was Italian mixed with a delicious topping of American English. And he had come looking for her.
Bunty whipped around in her seat before Alex caught her open-mouthed staring at the top three buttons on his shirt, which were unfastened, revealing a hint of tanned skin with dark chest hair. Taunting her.
If he dressed like this in January, August would be interesting.
For some reason her breathing had become irregular and she suddenly felt remarkably warm.
‘Oh, Alex,’ she breathed in a low hiss of appreciation. ‘I owe you big time.’
‘This is so true, but what particular thing have I done now?’ Alex replied between mouthfuls of garlic bread.
‘You said there wouldn’t be a male stripper.’
‘Who? What?’ Alex looked up and whirled her head around like a meerkat before it froze in the same direction Bunty was focusing on.
‘Oh. I see what you mean.’ She coughed. ‘Girl, I don’t know who he is, but I think you have just found your challenge. What are you waiting for? He is all yours. Go get him.’
It took Bunty a second to find her shoe and stagger to her feet a little unsteadily but in three strides she slipped behind the other diners. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that her friends were either too busy enjoying themselves to notice, or nudging one another and nodding towards the door.
Little wonder.
Alex or Fran had excelled themselves.
Her Italian treat became more spectacular with each step.
She could almost taste the testosterone he was breathing out in her direction. It was the kind of allure that had worked with cavemen and was still working just fine right now. Which was quite amazing considering it had been quite a while since anyone had fired up her inner cavewoman.
It also made speech a little tricky so she licked her lips and flicked her hair out before hitting him with her best smile.
‘Did I hear you say that you are looking for Bernadette Brannigan?’ she asked in a low voice. ‘Because you have definitely come to the right place.’
His head lifted so that when she was within touching distance she had to look up into a pair of gorgeous caramel-brown eyes. ‘That’s me,’ she said and flicked up one hand coquettishly. ‘But my friends call me Bunty.’ Then she blinked and smiled. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Miss Brannigan,’ he replied, and stretched out his hand to close his fingers around hers. It was only a momentary handshake but long enough for her to recognise soft office-boy skin above a sinewy muscular grip that made all of her girly brain cells go ping. ‘I am sorry to interrupt your meal. Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?’
Outside? Well, this was different. Bunty shot a glance back towards Alex, who was grinning like a loon and waving both hands from the wrist telling her to go.
‘Yes, of course,’ Bunty simpered and waited until he had opened the door before stepping out onto the pavement and waiting for him to follow her.
She whirled around too soon and had the pleasure of feeling the gentlest of touches on her arm.
And he had stunning hands. She had always liked hands. Especially clever, clean, nimble hands. Even if these hands were at that moment drawing a wallet from a very professional-looking black briefcase.
‘Miss Brannigan, my name is Fabio Rossi of the law firm Rossi and Rossi of Milan. I have been instructed by my client to deliver this package to you in person.’
Bunty stared at the black sealed wallet her hunk was holding out towards her, glanced up at the serious expression on his face and then back to the wallet.
And just like that the effects of two hours of wine drinking and general merriment popped like an overstretched balloon and what was left of the rational part of her brain kicked right back in.
Not a male stripper.
Not a birthday present in the shape of a hunky Italian.
He was a lawyer. From Milan.
Nightmare!
‘You’re delivering paperwork? At this time of night? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’
Bunty gestured with the flat of her hand back towards the noisy party that was still in full swing inside the restaurant. ‘As you can see this is my birthday party. And I am rather occupied at present.’
‘The instructions from our client were very clear. A Rossi lawyer was to deliver this package to Bernadette Caruso Brannigan by the end of the day.’
‘Your client?’ She blinked. ‘What client are you talking about? Please explain before my head explodes.’
‘Rossi and Rossi are the company lawyers for the Caruso family.’
Bunty closed her eyes and pinched the top of her nose. Just when she thought this day could not get any worse.
Luca. It had to be Luca.
Nobody else in the Caruso family gave a damn about her birthday.
He knew that she would be interested in the offer he had made earlier and was only too ready to wave a new contract in front of her nose before she had a chance to change her mind.
Clever boy! But not when she was in the middle of her party.
He held the wallet out towards her and she glared at it in disbelief for a full two seconds before snatching it out of his hand. She had embarrassed herself enough for one night. Time to end this debacle.
‘Right. Job done. You can go now. I can’t deal with you and any contract paperwork tonight. Thank you. Goodbye. Goodnight. Have a nice life.’
He stepped forward so that he was totally inside her personal body space.
‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Miss Brannigan. I have to verify that you have both received and opened the package and read the contents before I can leave.’
‘You have to see me open the package before you go?’ Bunty snorted through her nose. ‘Are you joking me?’
His brown eyes locked onto hers and held them like a rock. ‘Not at all. Those are my instructions. I’m not going anywhere.’
At this distance all she could focus on were the thin pale tan lines radiating out from the corners of his dark caramel eyes and the no doubt designer amount of dark stubble above that full, sensuous upper lip. Dark brown stylishly cut short hair curled around his ears but his eyebrows were naturally thick and manly.
A long, thin, tanned face, dominated by a strong narrow nose, classic cleft chin, fantastic cheekbones. So overall a full score on the male-model-businessman-lawyer look. Fabio was probably a big hit with the lady clients at the law firm he worked for.
Inhaling was a mistake. He smelt of expensive male grooming products, which right at that moment were worth every penny. Her sensitive nose picked up citrus and musky notes above a tang of something that was very much Fabio Rossi.
Then the right side of his mouth turned up into what was probably meant to be a reassuring smile.
And every sensory switch inside her body turned on. Just like that. Completely out of the blue and totally, totally not what she wanted to happen.
Especially not now.
Speech was impossible and for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only seconds, they both stood there in silence. Breathing in air that positively crackled with electricity. Neither of them willing to shift an inch.
It was almost a relief when someone’s mobile phone started ringing.
‘I think it’s yours.’ Fabio blinked, breaking the connection, stepped back and folded his arms.
Bunty turned away, reeling, sucked in some air because apparently she had stopped breathing, bent down, reached into her tiny wrist bag that came with the dress and found the phone in the inside pocket. She flipped open the tiny silver high-tech unit and pressed the receive button as a familiar voice hissed down the line.
‘Sorry to interrupt but are you coming back in?’ Alex whispered. ‘Maria is just about to bring in the birthday cake and we are frightened of the fire risk. You can bring the hunk with you if you like to help you blow out all of the candles.’
‘Be right there,’ she replied and closed down the phone.
Sucking in a long breath of the cold night air, Bunty lifted her head and stared into the face of one of the best-looking men she had ever met in her life.
Hell. Who was she kidding? He was gorgeous. Shame that he was the lawyer working for Luca.
The cold air helped to clear her head so that when she spoke the words came out in some vague order and almost in control.
‘I will try and find the time to look at the paperwork tomorrow. You know where to reach me. Brannigans deli. Just down the street. Goodnight, Mr Rossi.’
And before he had a chance to reply, she clutched hold of the paperwork in one hand and pushed open the door with the other, propelling herself into the room and a loud chorus of cheering.
Leaving Fabio Rossi standing on the pavement outside with a curious smile on his face.
Chapter Four
Saturday
Things to do:
Make enough wild mushroom ravioli and sauce for the special offer over the next few days;
Luca’s offer. Twelve months. Sixty/forty to me. What else do I want? Start a list so I am ready when he calls, but don’t be pushed into reading that contract paperwork — make him wait for once. This is the new Bunty – hear her roar!
Be civil to the Rossi lawyer – he was only doing his job;
Pretend to enjoy being thirty. Yay. Sob;
Remember — denial is good.
Bunty rolled her heavy pestle against the fragrant lightly toasted green fennel seeds inside the mortar, pushing down with all of the strength she could muster, crushing the seeds and releasing their wonderful aroma.
It helped if she imagined it was Luca’s leering face at the bottom of the mortar.
This was all his fault!
Her brain had been spinning most of the night, working through the options, over and over again, weighing up the pros and cons and, the more she thought about it, the more obvious the answer had become.
She had to accept Luca’s offer. She didn’t have any choice.
And not just for the extra publicity and cash. This was her chance to show the Caruso family that she was just as capable of running her own successful business as they were.
Working as Luca’s partner would be exactly the boost that she needed to make her dream come true and prove her uncle wrong at the same time!
Twelve months. That was all she needed. One year. Just long enough to get her catering business up and running, train the staff and build the orders so that she was ready to go when she found the perfect location for the second deli.
To do that she was almost willing to put up with being in close proximity to the Caruso family – as long as they did not try and interfere with her work.
But there was something else that kept whirling around inside her head every time she punched her feather pillow to try and find a comfy spot.
Luca had come running to her to ask for help.
Surely that had to give her some bargaining power?
Bunty stomped extra hard on what was left of the seeds. Now all she had to do was pluck up enough courage to insist on it the next time she saw Luca.
He had tried to jump the gun by sending that contract paperwork with Fabio Rossi last night. Forcing her to make a decision. Well, that could wait. In fact it was going to have to wait; a very long time if she had her way.
This was her decision. This time she was going to be the one setting the terms of the contract. And she was going to make him wait.
Her hands stilled and a giggle bubbled up from inside her chest and emerged as a short cough.
It was finally going to happen!
She was actually taking that first step closer to her dream. After all these years of planning and talking and more planning she could almost see the labels on her food going out to restaurants and pubs and bistros all over London from not one but two delis.
And maybe, just maybe, she might be able to afford a third deli. And then another until she had her own chain of Brannigans delis across the city. One day.
Now that…that was worth celebrating.
With a quick shake of her head, Bunty tipped the coarse fennel powder into the large metal tray already packed with sliced mushrooms, chopped parsley, garlic and shallots and spooned the herby warm olive oil over the part-roast vegetables. She had just popped the tray into the oven when the comforting sound of warm laughter echoed out from the deli.
Alex and Fran had stopped to chat to Maria, who was working the counter, before they strolled through into the kitchen.
‘Morning, lovely ladies.’ Bunty smiled. ‘Be with you in a minute.’
‘Happy Saturday, sweetie. So,’ Alex said as Bunty wiped down the chopping boards. ‘You are looking remarkably perky for a thirty-year-old lady who partied late into the night. So. Are you going to tell us what happened with Fa-a-abio last night? Elena has already been around the street telling everybody that you’ve got a hot new squeeze. Come on, we’re dying to know what happened when you two stepped outside for your romantic interlude.’
‘Happy morning after your birthday from me too,’ Fran said as she slid past Alex. ‘I only saw Fabio for a few minutes yesterday but he looked nice. And this is lovely — I love the flowers!’
Bunty had set the staff dining table next to the patio doors leading to her walled garden with colourful china in Mediterranean blue and yellow, on a pristine white linen tablecloth embroidered with flowers and yellow swallowtail butterflies. A huge crystal vase stuffed with a display of expensive flower-shop lilies, orchids and roses towered over the jams and marmalades, butter and fresh juice.
Alex sat down heavily at the table, and then gestured towards the impressive display already present. ‘Those, my darling sister, are what are known in the trade as “apology and get me out of trouble” flowers. They cost a fortune, look good on the day, but they don’t smell of anything and they don’t mean anything. Florists all over the world are taking millions from blokes who are seriously desperate and don’t know what to do about it. Am I right?’
Bunty nodded. ‘Fabio Rossi. The hotel ordered them. What’s in the bag?’
‘Yesterday’s brioche from Strasbourg, which needs toasting, and a bag of fresh Danish, from two doors away, which doesn’t. And you don’t get away that easily. Come on. Explain. A hunky Italian gate-crashed your party and you let him get away with it. This is not normal Bunty behaviour.’
Bunty grabbed the bag from Alex and emptied the pastries onto a plate.
‘Actually you may well be right,’ Bunty replied with a smug grin. ‘Because the new improved version of Bernadette Brannigan has decided to make some changes in her life and it all kicks off today.’
Fran looked at Alex and then back to Bunty. ‘Changes?’
Bunty nodded very slowly. ‘Changes. Big changes.’ Then she shot a glance at Alex. ‘Starting with my least favourite cousin. You know that Fabio came here to deliver a package from the lawyers in Italy last night? Well, I think that it’s the new contract that Luca wants me to sign. And I have decided not to even look at it.’
She winked at Alex, who was sitting with her mouth dropped open, and then refilled their glasses. ‘Luca is trying to make me jump through hoops again and muscle in and take over, which means one thing. He is desperate for my help. And guess what? I am not playing that game anymore. That contract is going to stay right where it is. Sealed up. Waiting until I decide to open it and not a minute before. Luca is going to have to agree to all of the extra conditions that I have come up with or he can take the paperwork home with him back to Milan unsigned.’
Bunty grinned and picked up a pastry and tore into it in the stunned silence.
Then Alex reached down and pulled something out of her other bag. ‘This was meant for later, but after that little announcement a celebration is called for.’
It was a round cake-like object. Covered in thick dark chocolate icing and white chocolate curls.
Bunty sat up, leant towards it, and sniffed. ‘Is that coconut?’ she asked, smiling at Alex, then Fran, who was grinning away.
‘Al made it herself. This morning! But it’s okay, I watched her like a hawk. It’s got all of the right stuff in it. I made the curls,’ Fran said, picking up a bread knife.
Bunty’s face relaxed into a broad grin as she looked, open-mouthed, at her best friend. ‘You baked? For me? I am impressed, young lady. And you are forgiven.’
Alex frowned at her in mock exasperation. ‘You only turn thirty once in your life and I didn’t have time yesterday with organising the party. And don’t sound so surprised. I am a trained chemist, you know. I can follow a recipe.’
‘As long as it doesn’t taste like hand cream. Oh.’ Bunty licked her lips around the forkful Fran had speared on her plate. ‘Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact…’ she tasted a big piece, eyes closed ‘…this is an historic moment. Miss Alexandra McGee has cooked something so delicious that it tastes better than my own recipe. Congratulations.’
Bunty raised her glass of juice and clinked it against the other two.
‘To the new version of Bunty Brannigan,’ Alex said with a smile. ‘I’ve a feeling that there are going to be a lot of changes around here by the time your next birthday comes around.’
By the time Fabio got to the breakfast room in the hotel that Saturday morning, a faint January sun was shining in from the garden courtyard, the other guests were wandering out to do touristy things and Jerry had already loaded up their table with pastries, toast and everything that went with it. Fabio dropped his laptop bag onto the tablecloth and pulled up his chair as their waiter served coffee and took his order for bacon and scrambled eggs.
‘Well, how did it go last night? Any progress?’ Fabio asked, leaning across to try and distract Jerry from his broadsheet newspaper.
‘Do you want the good news or the less bad news? Okay. I took the time to do a little background check on the lovely Miss Brannigan after we got back last night,’ Jerry answered between chewing.
He quickly glanced around the now empty dining room before going on. ‘And what do you know? It turns out that her grandmother, Fiore Caruso, was not too happy when her only daughter Talia married an Irish grocer and started a new life here in London as Mrs Talia Brannigan. Bunty’s mother did not inherit a thing when her mother died. Now isn’t that interesting?’
Fabio stopped with his Danish pastry halfway to his mouth. ‘Her own mother cut her off? I should have known this wasn’t a simple delivery job.’
‘Looks that way. Come on, pal, you saw the set-up last night.’ Jerry folded up his paper, reached across and grabbed more toast. ‘The lovely Miss Brannigan runs a one-woman deli in a small shopping area in London. She might be Paolo Caruso’s niece but unless she is very good at hiding her hidden wealth the Caruso clan sent her mother out into the wilderness with only the clothes on her back. A simple tale of a warm and sharing Italian family life.’
‘Careful! The Caruso business paid for my university education. What’s the less bad news?’ Fabio asked.
‘Bernadette Brannigan has every reason in the world to tell her Caruso family precisely what they can do with their unwanted birthday delivery and tell them in great anatomically correct detail. If I were hot-headed and Irish I might even be tempted to have a sacrificial burning ceremony. And in the meantime, I suggest that we take the weekend off. What do you say?’
‘Ah,’ Fabio said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’m beginning to understand. You have a date tonight, don’t you? Yet another poor innocent girl has fallen prey to your charms. Am I right?’ Suddenly he slid forwards and rested his elbows on the tablecloth. ‘Well, forget it, partner. We are going back to the deli this morning to impress on the lovely lady that my job is to make sure that she has ripped open that package and read whatever the client wanted her to see and, the sooner she does that, then the sooner we can both get back to our lives.’
Jerry hesitated, and then tried to look sympathetic. ‘Why am I getting the feeling that your usual charm crashed and burned in flames last night? All you have to do is tell your father that you have delivered the letter in accordance with his client’s instructions and we can move on. This was supposed to be a simple courier job. What happened?’
Fabio shrugged. ‘Lack of background. I turned up when her birthday party was already in full swing at a great Greek restaurant. I’ve sent flowers to apologise for interrupting her, so she’ll either thank me politely, or throw them back at me when we get there. So much for my sensitivity and charm.’
‘Much overrated in my opinion,’ Jerry said, shaking his head.
‘Research, research, research. This is exactly what happens when you don’t have a proper brief,’ Fabio replied, leaning closer towards Jerry to make sure that the waiter clearing the tables would not be able to overhear their conversation. ‘My grandfather looked after Fiore Caruso’s personal business and not even my father knows what’s in that letter. He is on standby to deliver separate sealed envelopes to Paolo Caruso and various other family members when he gets my call. But not until then.’
Fabio reached for the marmalade. ‘You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Fiore Caruso set some bombshell up before she died. That could make life very interesting for the rest of the family.’
‘Um. Define interesting. But here is a piece of trivia for you. Did you know that Luca’s wife Sophie Caruso went to the same catholic school with Bunty, just down the road from the shop? The two of them were pretty close as teenagers.’ Jerry sniffed. ‘I wonder if there are photographs? Those girls in convent school uniforms? I would pay good money to see those.’
So would I, Fabio thought.
There was silence around the table for the few seconds it took for that precious visual to sink in, and for Fabio’s breakfast to arrive.
‘That’s not the point.’ He coughed. ‘We need to go straight back to work. And fast. One way or the other we need to have something to tell my father by the end of today. Got it, Jerry?’
‘Got it. Now, talk to me about that Greek restaurant you went to last night. I want to know everything.’
Chapter Five
‘So Rossi and Rossi are the Caruso company lawyers. Is that right?’ Bunty asked.
‘For over fifty years. Best in the business,’ Fabio replied with a small shoulder shrug and followed Bunty through the deli, which was already busy with customers, and into the kitchen.
‘No doubt.’ She flashed a half-smile at the handsome Italian who seemed to fill the space between the front door and the counter and block out the light.
Rossi. Of course.
She knew that she remembered that name from somewhere. Rossi and Rossi were the lawyers who wrote the contract that locked her and her mother into slave labour working for Luca for pennies when her father died. The Carusos only swam with the big sharks. And legal sharks did not come any bigger than Rossi and Rossi of Milan.
Shame. Fabio was even more gorgeous in daylight. Designer jeans that cupped his bottom beautifully and a simple white shirt. Carefully chosen to highlight his golden tan and the flash of gold in his wristwatch.
It was sinful to be that attractive and a lawyer.
But this flash hotshot Italian lawyer was not going to faze her. Oh, no.
She was the new Bunty now.
In control. Calm and organised. Open and honest.
‘Should I feel honoured that Rossi and Rossi sent a Rossi man to deliver my birthday card last night? Because I have to be honest and tell you that I am not feeling the love. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had no idea that the Caruso side of my family would send me anything, hence my surprise when you gate-crashed my party last night.’
‘Understandable,’ he replied and crossed the floor in a couple of long-legged strides to come and stand next to Bunty. They stood in silence for a few seconds as she rearranged the contents of her bakery shelf, his hands plunged deep into his pockets of his slim-fit denims, his gaze locked onto the floor.
‘Actually I was surprised that none of the Caruso family was there in person to help you celebrate last night. Or did I miss them?’
She snorted through her nose. ‘At my party? That would be no. We are not exactly what you would call a close family. The only connection I have with my family in Italy is through some work I do for my cousin Luca. Have you heard of him? Yes? Luca came to chat with me yesterday about working with him on his next cook book but that was it. He seemed to think that his overwhelming personal charm and a much better deal would persuade me to give some of my time to a joint project.’
‘Did his plan work?’ Fabio asked, glancing in her direction.
Bunty breathed in deeply through her nose, lifted her chin and chuckled as she walked away from him. ‘Yes. It did work. Against the odds. I am actually thinking of taking him up on the new idea. Which, believe me, is totally amazing. That boy is no fool. He knew that I wouldn’t be able to turn down the chance of having my name on a book cover next to his. I need that publicity and I need the extra cash to support my business plans. It is as simple as that. So he flattered me just enough to stop me telling him exactly into which body orifice he could insert any offer he had to make for a new contract. And left with a smile on his face.’
Fabio straightened his back and his eyebrows went skywards. ‘As bad as that?’
‘Oh, yes. Until his offer I could not think of anything that would persuade me to work for the Caruso family again.’
He turned around and his gaze locked onto her face.
‘I am sorry to hear that.’ He spread his fingertips out on the counter and bent close enough for her to almost touch the fine stubble on his chin as it contrasted with his perfect-toned, smoothly tanned cheeks.
Those deep brown eyes scanned her face for a fraction of a second, his gaze locked, laser sharp, on hers.
Suddenly Bunty felt the need to make sure that the labels on the tins and packages of amoretti biscuits were perfectly aligned.
Anything to avoid looking at the man standing so close who was working for the family responsible for her pain, and totally oblivious to all of the reasons she had promised herself that she would never work for them again.
No more birthday and Christmas cards that were never returned.
No more reminders of the bitter disappointment on her mother’s face as she was rejected time and time again when she tried to make arrangements to visit Italy for a few days’ holiday in the huge house on the lake where she had grown up. There was always some excuse why it was not convenient.
And it had broken her heart and, in the end, her spirit.
All the more reason why Bunty was more determined than ever before to create her own dynasty and food business and make her mother proud.
She was going to show them that she was just as capable as they were. Better, in fact!
Her way.
Bunty picked up an escaped piece of fusilli that Fran had missed, stood back and peered at her display from various angles. In four days she had the chance to wave goodbye to her current contract and focus on her own business plans.
But if Luca could help her to do what she wanted? Fine. If not, she would get along fine on her own.
This time she was prepared to use him just as much as he had used her skills.
Even if it meant working for Luca for another year.
Bunty swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Take control. Take control.
She turned and took one step closer to Fabio so that she was totally inside his body space before looking into those amazing caramel eyes.
A small smile creased her lips and when she spoke her voice was light and soft and totally focused on Fabio.
‘Of course, Luca might have popped back for some quick cannoli. He simply cannot resist my special recipe.’
The right-hand corner of Fabio’s mouth turned up and his lower lip twitched into the faintest smile. Oh. Perhaps he did have a sense of humour after all.
‘They must be good. Your cannoli.’
‘Very,’ she answered in a low calm voice. And blinked. Twice.
‘Perhaps I should try one?’ Fabio whispered in a voice as smooth as hot chocolate sauce poured over fresh cream profiteroles.
‘Maybe another time. Right now I need to get back to work. And no doubt you do too. Both busy people. Do we understand one another? Mr Rossi?’
‘Perfectly, Miss Brannigan.’ Then he blinked and returned her smile with a quick flick of his head over one shoulder. ‘Shall we get down to business?’
She smiled and waved her right hand with a wide flourish. ‘After you.’ She sniffed. ‘Saturday is a busy day.’
Fabio pushed open the door and followed Bunty into the kitchen. And froze. Trying to take in what he was looking at.
In contrast to the kaleidoscope jumble of textures and colours from the bright packaging in the shop area, the kitchen walls had been painted in a pale cream, which seemed to absorb the overhead light and reflect it back onto the long sealed-top worktable that ran the length of the room.
From the hard tile floor to the false ceiling panels and stainless-steel cookware, it was the kind of spotless clean space that made Fabio want to whisper. Painted cupboards lined one complete wall. Floor to ceiling. The overall effect was stunning. And professional. This was a kitchen that would not look out of place in a top city restaurant.
‘Was this a working kitchen when you bought the place?’ Fabio asked as Bunty strode down the hard floor towards a dining area at the very back of the room.
‘A gentleman’s tailor. When the house and workshop came on the market, my parents made the old maestro an offer he couldn’t refuse. The skylights and patio windows were his idea, and they still work. I prefer to work in natural light whenever possible.’
‘What do you use the table for?’ Fabio asked, glancing at the huge long, smooth surface stretching away from him towards a set of tall patio doors that seemed to lead onto an outdoor space. Various shapes and sizes of complicated-looking machinery were clustered in the centre.
Bunty reached forward to pick up a plastic container and his gaze was drawn to her long slender fingers, which had clearly never seen a manicure. No rings.
This girl had working hands. Deft and able. He admired talent – always had — and there was something about Bunty that screamed that she knew exactly what she was doing.
He had made a mistake at the restaurant the previous evening when he thought she was attractive. Even in this light she was stunning. She had changed into a smart white chef’s jacket and wide-leg navy blue and white trousers, which contrasted with her porcelain skin. And that hair! Dark auburn brown, tied into a loose knot at the base of her neck. Low black training shoes. She was sexier than she had a right to be.
Years of professional gambling had given him the ability to judge people very quickly.
He was rarely wrong. But of course there could always be a first time, and Bunty Brannigan was certainly hiding something.
Suddenly conscious that he had been ogling her hands for far too long, he looked up into her hazel-green eyes. Intelligent and something else. Wary. And why not?
Perhaps he had better get back to that.
‘So you make all of the food yourself?’ Fabio asked.
‘Please don’t sound quite so surprised, Mr Rossi. I am a trained chef, and this is my work. And my pleasure. I change raw ingredients into delicious finished meals. I also use the kitchen for my catering students from the local college.’
A teacher, then? Smart girl. He liked smart.
‘Does anyone in your family cook from scratch?’ Bunty asked. ‘It’s quite a tradition in mine.’
Fabio laughed out loud at that one, and shook his head at the thought of his mother or sister making an elaborate meal. ‘That would be no. They like to shop. Buy things other people have cooked or follow a few simple recipes when the occasion demands.’ He paused for a few seconds as Bunty rearranged the packets into a neater design. ‘I don’t think a creative gene runs in the Rossi line. Not so far anyway.’
Her lips were full, warm and when she smiled the difference on her face was startling.
‘I am sure you understand how families work, Mr Rossi. Well, this is Caruso family business and I would rather not discuss it.’
‘Well,’ he replied. ‘In that case, we’ll just talk about you instead.’
Bunty turned her head and blinked at Fabio a couple of times, eyebrows high. She found herself drawn to his brown eyes. Only they weren’t brown, more of a soft truffle golden brown like the caramel topping on the finest crème brûlée dessert. His thick, wavy, gelled-back hair was only a little darker than the slight stubble above his lush upper lip and each side of the chiselled chin.
And every pore was oozing sex appeal.
The kind of sex appeal that could encourage a girl to let her guard down and say more about the Caruso family than was necessary or good for family relationships. Especially to a man who worked for her family and was probably being paid to report back everything that she told him.
She glanced at the wall clock and exhaled slowly. She had a couple of hours at most to get her act together before Luca called. She had to come up with a master plan. And there was only one way she knew how to do that – by cooking, and thinking, then cooking some more.
She didn’t have any more time to waste on lawyers. Even if they were only doing their job.
Bunty rolled her shoulders back and inhaled.
She could do this. This was her life. And she was damned if she was going to let anyone tell her how to live it.
Bunty turned around, rubbed her hands together and her eyes instantly locked on Fabio, who looked up at that moment as though prompted by some unseen signal.
Their gazes locked across the few feet of warm kitchen air that separated them. And stayed locked.
The weird thing was, the longer she stared at him, the slower her breathing became, and her fists unclenched one finger at a time until she could rest a hand on each hip.
‘Nice flowers,’ Fabio said in a cool, calm and totally matter-of-fact voice after what seemed like a geological time period of intense quiet. It was a rich, warm voice. And it came from deep within his chest so that it reverberated between the walls before finding a home between her ears.
‘They are. Thank you.’
‘You are most welcome.’ His head tilted about ten degrees to the side. ‘Do you want to talk about last night?’
‘You mean, when you gate-crashed my party?’ she replied.
‘Doing my job. Our client laid down some very specific instructions. Step one was to deliver the package on a specific date to a specific person.’
He nodded in her direction. ‘But there is more. I meant what I said last night. One of the Rossi legal team has to personally see you open that package and work through the contents. And until that is done I am not allowed to leave your side. Have you, by any chance, found the time to…? No?’
Bunty inhaled slowly and did the squinty-eyed thing at him. ‘No. As you can see I have a business to run and your emergency is not my problem. But if you give me your number I’ll let you know when I am good and ready. So feel free to go back to Milan or wherever your office is.’
The corner of Fabio’s mouth twitched just a little. ‘I wish I could, Miss Brannigan. But the client was very clear. And since my client paid in advance, it would be wrong of me to shirk my duty.’
‘How noble. And I really don’t want to appear rude, but things are going to get quite busy around here and you are going to be in my way.’
‘I won’t be in your way.’ He smiled, and turned sideways and slowly started to unpack his laptop computer on her kitchen table. ‘This will be just fine.’
‘Take a gold star for persistence, but you can’t be serious. You actually have to stay here until I open the package you brought all the way from Milan? Was that a nod?’ Bunty crossed her arms and shook her head in disbelief. ‘Unbelievable,’ she snapped. ‘This is blackmail. Pure and simple.’
With a shrug of her shoulders, Bunty broke eye contact, turned and went back to work, focusing on the oil and herbs in the roasting tray. ‘Well, find someone else to use that trick on, Mr Rossi, because I am not playing. Anyone who puts pressure on me to do something is going to find that it does not work.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘let’s set out a few game rules. As far as I am concerned, Mr Rossi is my father, chairman of Rossi and Rossi, Milan. I’m Fabio. Will you call me that, Bunty?’
She whirled around to tell him what he could do with setting rules in her kitchen, and froze. His eyes were locked onto her face with an intensity that had the power to blast any sensible thought from her mind.
The air between them was so heavy with electricity that Bunty was terrified to say anything in case one word would cause a spark.
Maria walked through, waving a thin piece of paper. ‘Hi, Bunty. Frank’s been on the phone. He wants double quantity ricotta today. That okay?’
Bunty almost recoiled as though a spring had been released that had been holding her to Fabio, and, judging from the expression on his face, she had not been the only one caught up in the moment.
She paused a second to wipe her fingers on a damp cloth and to remember how to breathe again before flicking through a bundle of order sheets hanging from a metal clipboard, then changing the quantity on one.
‘No problem. That’s sixty ricotta, thirty peppers and thirty porcini. And can you tell him that the organic salami is on offer this week? Thanks. Oh – and, Maria? This is Fabio Rossi. Better get used to seeing him around. He could be here for quite some time.’
As Fabio flicked his eyes up from the press release he was working on with Jerry for the launch of his new firm, Bunty took a bowl out of the fridge, and started flouring a huge board.
What looked to him like lumps of dough appeared from nowhere and she started to thump them with the very solid rolling pin. Hard. Her hands moved swiftly, transforming the dough into a thin oblong.
When he risked looking up again, thin strips were being passed one after another through a roller clamped to the table. One after another, fast, a production line; she twiddled with something on the roller machine then started feeding the pasta through again.
He couldn’t look away. Fascinated. Entranced. Six, seven pieces of dough become transparent strips of golden pasta. Brushes. Milk. Knives.
Bunty was focused totally on the food, oblivious to his presence. Tiny squares of filled pasta shapes appeared on a metal tray on the table between them as she worked. Ravioli. It had to be ravioli.
Fabio loved ravioli.
This woman was a magician. Transforming flour and bowls into the most amazing food. A conjuror. A specialist.
There had been very few times in Fabio’s life when he’d felt inadequate. Work and study had always come easily to him, no effort required. No challenge.
This was one of those times.
All he could do was smile and get back to work, silently loading and downloading what he needed, his fingers and eyes working through a well-established sequence. This was his world. And it had nothing to do with the microcosm that whirled around him as he sat there.
Bunty might be a genius in the kitchen but this was what he excelled at. Seeing patterns. It did not matter whether it was card tricks or book-signing dates and places and people.
Especially people.
Fabio watched as Bunty moved around, chopping and adding what smelt like herbs to pans, and wondered at the woman who dominated the space.
For the last ten years of his life he had worked in an industry built on suspicion, where every employee was a possible security risk. Every contract designed to build in get-out clauses for the clients for when things went wrong.
Then there was the poker. Casinos where he had worn sunglasses during the day, indoors, to prevent other players around the table from guessing his next move. You could hide body language with practice, you could even create a poker face, but you couldn’t hide the truth in your eyes.
Bunty Brannigan showed everything to everyone.
She was completely open. Almost raw. She had never learned the art of concealment. It had been years since he had met someone so comfortable with revealing themselves to others. So happy in their own skin. And she had no idea how rare and precious a thing that was.
Occasionally he looked up to rest his eyes and check in to what was happening around him. Maria was in and out all the time, collecting orders and spooning food into plastic containers, chatting and gossiping about customers — more ready meals, more antipasti.
A young man strolled through the back door of the kitchen carrying wide trays of white and yellow cheeses. Bunty’s laughter echoed around the room as she joked with Maria and this stranger.
He had a nod from a spotty youth in chefs’ check trousers who went away loaded with plastic containers, but apart from that they ignored him. He was invisible.
When was the last time he had sat in a family kitchen and felt so at home? Because that was the bizarre thing. He felt more relaxed sitting in a corner of this busy deli kitchen than in his own serviced apartment in Milan.
Bunty was working at the stove, stirring saucepans of such delicious-smelling food it made his mouth water.
He had been standing only metres away from her when she’d faced up to him outside the restaurant last night and even in the fading light he could see the pain and shock on her face the instant she’d picked up that package and scanned the envelope.
Jerry was right. This girl was a one-woman business who had been crushed and deeply wounded by something or someone in her past.
Well, he knew what that felt like.
But it was more than that. He had trained his instincts to observe body language in the finest casinos in the world, and every one of those finely honed instincts was screaming out to him that there was no way Bunty Brannigan was going to give in and open her present any time soon.
She was as stubborn as he was. And that was something like stubborn.
He needed to catch up with Jerry in person. Time to make a move.
‘Hi, Fabio. Do you want some coffee? Just made some.’
Maria strolled up to Bunty carrying a steaming beaker, and she turned around to see her friend, just as Fabio stepped forward.
His free hand connected with Bunty’s arm to steady her for just long enough for her to step back and look into his face as though she had just that minute realised that he was still there.
His senses reeled in overload.
Her hair smelt of onions and the long joint of beef he had seen her frying earlier. And herbs. He could have smelt her hair all day. And her eyes were not only green but the colour of forest leaves in the spring tinged with copper and gold. The moment expanded, and then closed as she moved away back to her work.
‘Thank you, but no. I have to pop back to the hotel for a meeting, but I shall be back this afternoon, Bunty, and that is a promise.’ He lifted his laptop bag higher onto his shoulder, and with an embarrassed cough strolled away through the deli, well aware that the two women behind him were suspiciously silent.
Um. Maybe he should take to wearing long coats.
‘Right. Of course.’ Bunty rolled her eyes and followed Fabio out into the shop, checking out his spectacular rear as he walked through.
Incredible.
Those jeans could not have been tighter.
Bunty watched Fabio stroll away as the beginnings of a pressure headache started to build behind her eyes.
Luca would be calling soon. Her day was mad and Fabio was turning out to be more of a distraction she could not afford to take.
Bunty had just turned to go back to the counter to talk salami with Maria when a distinctive Italian male voice boomed out from behind her.
‘Bunty! Darling. Looking fabulous. Hope you don’t mind me dropping in but I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer to hear what you thought about my ideas.’
Luca Caruso. And this time he wasn’t alone.
‘Bunty! Come and meet my newest best friend. Irina Usova.’ Luca beamed and wrapped his arm around the shoulders of a very slim, stunningly pretty blonde whose hand hovered over his bottom as though it was used to being there before moving to his waist.
‘Irina is one of the best photographers I have met in a long time and she cannot wait to start work on your deli for our new marketing campaign. Isn’t that exciting?’
Chapter Six
Maria flashed Bunty a lightning glance from behind the counter and bit down on her lower lip but the message had been received and understood.
The lovely Irina might well be a talented photographer but she was clearly more than a new best friend to the very, very married Luca.
Bunty shuddered to think what would happen to Luca if his wife, Sophie, even caught sight of the lovely Irina. Sophie was the kind of woman who had been known to scare even Alex and discreet was clearly not a concept that Luca understood very well.
Irina smiled sweetly and stepped forward to shake her hand and had just started to explain in broken English that she was actually a photography student who had just started her course in London, when Luca grabbed Bunty around the waist and practically propelled her towards the kitchen and as far away as possible from the public area of the deli where they could be seen from the street.
‘Bunty, I have been tossing and turning all night thinking about the new idea for the Caruso Family Kitchen. All night! And seeing you yesterday having your birthday tea with Alex brought it all home to me that the two Caruso cousins are the best possible advert for the loving wholesome family image that I know is going to work.’
Bunty wiggled out of Luca’s grasp and took firm hold of the worktop in her kitchen, which was covered in meals at some stage or another.
‘Wholesome? Luca, are you on medication?’ Bunty asked, putting both hands on her hips. ‘Because there is nothing wholesome at all about your current image and that is not going to change, no matter how many stylists you bring in.’
‘Bunty. Darling.’ Luca grinned and waved one arm in the air. ‘Why do you think I came to you first? What a story. A one-woman entrepreneur driven by her love of fine food inspired by the Caruso family traditions. What. A. Story.’
He fluttered his eyelashes and sighed dramatically. ‘The media are going to go totally mad for you. You’re a natural. The public will love you.’
Then as though suddenly galvanized by talk of the media, Luca started pacing up and down the kitchen, peering into pots and trays and talking to himself in a strange sort of running commentary.
‘This is perfect. Ideal. Magical.’
Then he stopped and held up one hand like a traffic cop and Bunty had to stop herself from laughing out loud.
‘I have had a vision. Irina, sweetie, I need you to write this down while it is still alive.’
He sucked in a breath. ‘Luxury home dining. The Caruso family at home. Restaurant quality food as cooked in the Caruso family home. Yes, that’s it. The Caruso Family Kitchen. I am thinking promotional videos filmed at the house in Biella.’
One of his hands started flapping and his head dropped back a little. ‘I can persuade Sophie and my mother into using their home kitchen for the magazine editors. Bunty can do the actual cooking, chopping and frying and the like, but I can toss wonderful fresh salad if need be while chatting to the camera.’
Luca opened his eyes and grinned at Bunty. ‘I am drooling just thinking about the photo stills. My parents laughing around the table as they eat. Sophie arranging plates and flowers. Lovely Bunty working chocolate and other clever things. We could drive an entire campaign for the cook book and the luxury ready meals using those images. It will be huge. All launched at the same time. A new brand. Fresh and original and so genuine. And that is why I would not dream of going to any other food writer apart from my cousin Bunty.’
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Nina Harrington
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 19.09.2024
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О книге: Take one estranged Italian family, a celebrity chef cousin, add a secret inheritance, a pinch of family rivalry and a red hot hunk for taste. Mix and simmer until boiling point!Bunty Brannigan knew turning thirty would be tough, but she never expected her life would unravel before the candles on her cake had been blown out… But before Bunty can say Mozzarella, she discovers that she is in line to inherit controlling shares in the Caruso family business and someone has attacked her charming celebrity chef cousin Luca in her deli.Throw in a sizzling hot Italian lawyer and her birthday has turned Bunty’s world upside down!Praise for Nina Harrington′This is an entertaining read full of wonderful, engaging characters. (And lots of authentic yummy sounding food!!) ′ – Harlequin Junkie′a lovely little book′ – The Book Geek Wears Pajamas′Nina Harrington’s “Recipe for disaster ” is a delightful read. The story is about family, dreams, second chances or even third for some exceptional cases, taking charge of your life when you’ve just turned thirty and It’s never too late.′ – Imagicalia