“No, she’s … not here.”
“A pity! Although how dare I say that when I am here with the bellissima Signora Carlotta?” He caught Carlotta’s hand and kissed it extravagantly before turning back to Alfie. “But you must forgive me, my memory is not what it was, and for the moment I’ve forgotten your name.”
Alfie was sure he had never known it. “Alfie – Alfie McAlister.”
“And I am Mario. Signora Carlotta, a drink for my good friend Alfie, whatever he wants, brandy, whisky, sambuca …”
“I’ll have a pint of Brew, please, Carlotta.”
“Another Campari and soda for me, and a glass of the finest Champagne for you, Signora.”
Carlotta giggled. “Thank you. Perhaps a small glass of wine.”
“Only the best for the most beautiful lady.”
With a toss of her dark hair, Carlotta said something in Italian and headed down the bar to the beer taps.
Alfie could speak some Italian but hadn’t made it out. “What did she say?” he asked with interest.
Mario waved his hand airily. “Nothing of any importance.”
Alfie wondered why Mario didn’t just tell him. What could she have said that he didn’t want to repeat? But it wasn’t something to be pursued. He would ask a less sensitive question. “What brings you here?”
Mario opened his arms wide, the pastel pink shirt straining across a well-muscled torso. “I have conquered London. I have come to see if the Cotswolds are ready for me.” He leaned forward confidentially. “I think Bunburry is the perfect place for one of Bellini’s Ice Cream Parlours. And if the bellissima signora decides to include my wares on her menu, so much the better. Help me to persuade her, and Mario Bellini will be your friend for life.”
“Delighted to do whatever I can,” said Alfie. When Carlotta returned with the drinks, he announced: “This man is a legend – I’ve never tasted better ice cream, and that includes the ice cream I’ve eaten in Italy. If you have it on your dessert menu, they’ll be queuing up round the block.”
Carlotta was gazing at Mario with a sceptical smile that Alfie realised was intended to conceal her interest. He kept going.
“My friend Oscar has just been raving about the latest creations – the milkshake cocktails, notably the Bellini with fresh peach ice cream.”
Mario shrugged modestly, the tightening of his shirt again displaying his muscles. “A little idea that is proving quite successful.”
Alfie nodded at the packed pub. “Look at all these people, wanting a drink on a warm summer evening. You have to have something for the poor benighted souls who aren’t addicted to Bunburry Brew – and what could be better than a milkshake cocktail?”
Carlotta turned the sceptical smile on Alfie. “How much is he paying you to say this?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Alfie assured her. “Honestly, if you could just taste it –”
Mario sat up straight. “What a great idea. Signora Carlotta, when I get back to London, I’ll send you some samples, bene?”
“Carlotta!” yelled William in exasperation. “Customers.”
She muttered something in Italian and then set off down the bar with a welcoming smile.
“What did she say?” asked Alfie.
Mario shook his head. “Nothing.”
Perhaps it was too impolite to bear repetition.
“Oscar always said he couldn’t send me your ice cream because it didn’t travel well,” said Alfie.
“Signor Oscar doesn’t have my resources,” said Mario. “Give me your address, and I’ll send you a consignment.”
“No, I didn’t mean –” said Alfie in embarrassment but Mario brushed away his protest.
“I owe you. You pled my case with the signora very well. What can I send you?”
“I’m very fond of the Chi-Chi Chia Cheesecake,” Alfie admitted.
“It’s yours! And a litre of my Bellini milk-shake cocktail. Give me your address.”
“If you’re serious –?”
“Certo.”
Alfie fished in his wallet and handed over his card.
“Mario!” Marge was threading her way through the customers towards them.
“Signora Marge!” With a graceful gesture, Mario again got off the bar stool, and kissed Marge’s hand.
She giggled like a teenager. “And this is my friend, Liz.”
Mario greeted Liz equally gallantly. “And what may I get you, ladies? Gin and tonic, Signora Marge?”
“Lovely, thank you, and for Liz too.”
Mario caught the attention of a young barmaid who rushed up to him with a beaming smile. “Ciao bella! Two G&Ts for the ladies.”
“Easy on the tonic,” nodded the barmaid, who was used to their order.
“Another pint for Alfie?”
“I’m fine,” said Alfie. “Not finished this one yet and I’m about to meet some friends.”
Marge looked at her watch. “They’re late. Must be changing for dinner.” She didn’t bother concealing her sarcasm.
“If it’s that London couple, they’ve booked a table,” said the barmaid helpfully. “It’s that one at the back. People keep trying to nick the reserved notice.”
“I’d better go and guard it, then,” said Alfie.
Mario shook his hand warmly. “Thank you again. I should make you my business partner.”
Alfie laughed. “I’m having a break from all that, but I’ll let you know, particularly if you pay me in milkshakes.” He paused. “Liz, is your fudge organic?”
“I’ve never really thought about it, dear,” said Liz. “I get the milk and butter locally, of course.”
“That sounds pretty organic,” said Alfie. “May I introduce the finest fudge maker to the finest ice-cream maker? You might have matters of mutual interest to discuss.”
“Goodness,” said Liz.
“My ice cream is full of goodness,” declared Mario, grabbing a table that had just been vacated. “Ladies, shall we?”
Alfie left them to it and headed for the reserved table at the back. As he went, he realised that more than a little female attention was focused on Mario. Presumably having film star good looks gave you the status of a film star.
Alfie provoked a very different reaction. Being a single person at a table for four in a crowded pub didn’t make him popular, even though he allowed one of the seats to be taken away.
William came by, collecting glasses.
“Full house tonight,” said Alfie.
William grunted, then said in an accusing tone: “I saw you talking to that guy.”
“What guy?” Alfie looked at William questioningly.
“The Italian in the fancy clothes.”
“Oh, Mario Bellini? Yes, I met him in London. He’s got a chain of ice cream parlours there, and he’s thinking of expanding to Bunburry.”
“He’d better think again,” muttered William, clanking glasses together.
“Sorry?”
“I’m not having him slobbering over my wife.”
“He’s not doing anything of the sort,” Alfie protested.
“You don’t know. You don’t know what he’s saying to her.”
That was true. And Mario had refused to enlighten him about what Carlotta was saying.
But Alfie couldn’t believe there was anything untoward going on. “It’s just his way. It’s not serious.”
“Easy for you to say – it’s not your wife he’s coming on to,” snapped William.
Alfie remembered how Mario had flirted with Vivian, how Vivian had played up to it, indicating Alfie with a surreptitious nod of her head as she whispered: “But we must be careful!” And Mario, his finger to his lips, pretended to tiptoe away, taking large lumbering steps, and turning to blow kisses to Vivian who returned them enthusiastically.
“He’s Italian,” he told William, not caring that he was stereotyping an entire nation. “That’s what Italians do.”
A look of rage passed across William’s face and for a second, Alfie thought he was going to hurl the glasses to the floor. Then he turned without a word and stalked off.
Sasha and Sebastian were a full half-hour late, but Marge had been wrong – they hadn’t changed their outfits, and the other patrons’ eyes were out on stalks at the sight of Sasha’s draperies and Sebastian’s silk cravat and handkerchief. Anything less suitable for dinner in a country pub was hard to imagine.
Sasha teetered towards him on her designer shoes and air-kissed him all over again.
“So sorry we’re a few minutes late, darling – you know what it’s like in business. Never off duty.”
They had no sooner sat down then Carlotta was at their side, beaming, handing out menus.
“How charming you both look,” she gushed. “So chic, so elegant. I hope your room is comfortable?”
“It’s fine,” said Sasha less than enthusiastically, but Carlotta was too entranced by her guests to notice.
“Perhaps a drink while you look at the menu? An Aperol spritz?”
“Twice,” said Sasha.
“Still got my beer,” said Alfie and Carlotta left to get the drinks.
“She’s too funny,” said Sasha with a high-pitched laugh. “She’s so proud of herself for knowing what an Aperol spritz is. I suppose she’s used to a bunch of old codgers drinking scrumpy.”
“I think that’s a bit west of here,” said Alfie. “Our tipple of choice is Bunburry Brew.” He lifted his glass.
“Darling, I’d no idea you’d been so – assimilated. I dread to think what you’re going to recommend from the menu.” That laugh again.
“The food here is excellent,” said Alfie firmly. “Carlotta is a superb Italian cook and Edith specialises in traditional English.”
“So, it’s fusion cuisine?”
Alfie shook his head. “Never the twain shall meet. You choose one or the other, and you make a mortal enemy of the lady you’ve snubbed.”
He opened a menu and handed it to Sasha. “Whatever you choose will be great.”
She seemed unconvinced. “It all looks a bit calorific. I have to watch my figure, or how can I expect anyone else to watch it?” She shot Alfie an arch look from under her lashes, which he pretended not to notice.
Eventually, she settled for a tuna niçoise salad, and when Sebastian, grinning, pointed at the menu, she ordered braised rabbit pappardelle for him. In the interests of mollifying Edith, Alfie opted for lamb in red wine.
Sasha kept up a stream of inconsequential chatter over the meal but when they reached the coffee stage, she gave Sebastian a surreptitious nod. He turned to retrieve the folder he had left on a nearby ledge but suddenly froze, staring. Alfie followed his gaze: he seemed to be looking at Mario.
Liz and Marge had departed, and Mario was back on his original seat, chatting to Carlotta, who was throwing her head back, laughing.
Sebastian touched Sasha’s shoulder and nodded in the direction of the bar. As though she was searching for something in her handbag, Sasha shifted in her seat and glanced round. She gave a small gasp.
“Everything all right?” asked Alfie, whose position at the table allowed him to look in the same direction without turning his head.
“No, I thought something was missing from my bag, but I’ve just remembered I left it in the room.”
Alfie had absolutely no doubt that she was lying. They were both reacting to the sight of Mario.
But Sebastian had regained his customary grin as he opened the folder and handed a sheaf of papers to Sasha. She leafed through them and passed a few to Alfie.
“There, darling. Tell me if that isn’t the most marvellous opportunity that’s ever come your way.”
Even a cursory glance at the figures told Alfie that this was very far from the case. It was a risky proposition with a wildly over-optimistic valuation.
“It looks interesting,” he said politely, “but I’m really not looking to invest at the moment.”
“Darling, you’d be crazy to pass this up. Look at the potential returns.”
It was the potential returns that were crazy.
“How much were you suggesting I should invest?”
“Oh … I don’t know, two hundred?”
Sebastian fished a pen out of his pocket and scribbled on a paper napkin, which he then pushed across to Alfie.
Alfie stared at the figures on the napkin and then stared at Sebastian.
“You’re suggesting I invest quarter of a million pounds?”
“Oh, darling, that’s just a drop in the ocean for you with your squillions,” said Sasha. It sounded as though she was almost pleading.
“I’m not sure this is right for me.”
“Alfie darling, you know you have to speculate to accumulate.”
Sebastian grinned in agreement, then got up and headed towards the gents. Alfie wondered whether Sebastian was leaving to allow Sasha to work her feminine wiles on him. Fortunately, he was completely impervious to them.
“Alfie darling –”
Sasha was interrupted by Edith who had just delivered meals to a neighbouring table. “That’s your girlfriend in.” She nodded towards the bar. Betty, in jeans and a long shirt, was ordering a drink. Alfie noticed that Mario was no longer at the bar.
“Oh, Alfie, how lovely that you’ve got a new girlfriend already.” cried Sasha.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Alfie. “It’s just Edith’s little joke.”
“Darling, you don’t need to play coy with me. I’m not judging you. I’m sure Vivian wouldn’t grudge you another chance of happiness.”
To Alfie’s horror, Sasha waved her arm in the air to attract Betty’s attention and then pointed at Alfie before gesturing to Betty to join them.
Betty approached with her half pint of Brew, and Alfie locked eyes with her, trying to signal that Sasha was a dangerous lunatic and the safest thing to do was to humour her.
“Hello! We’re old friends of Alfie’s from London – I’m so happy for you,” Sasha enthused, moving to embrace her. “And I know Vivian would thoroughly approve.”
Betty side-stepped to avoid her drink being spilled and sat down in Sebastian’s vacant seat.
“Hi,” she said cautiously.
“How rude of me, I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Sasha.”
“Betty Thorndike.” The American accent was as strong as ever despite the years she had spent in England.
Sasha stared at her for a moment before giving a little squeal. “You’re not… Are you related to Elisabeth Thorndike?”
Betty gave a tight smile. “My mom.”
“Wow.” Sasha sat back in her seat and fanned herself with her hand. “I can’t believe I’m sitting next to Elisabeth Thorndike’s daughter.”
“Believe it.”
“So, are you down here on a shoot?”
“Scarcely,” said Betty. “I don’t approve of shooting things.”
Sasha trilled her laugh. “No, I mean a photo shoot, of course.”
“I live here.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Alfie sensed the two women weren’t going to become best friends any time soon.
“I suppose they send a car for you,” said Sasha. “Or a private plane?”
“I’m not in the same business as my mom,” said Betty.
“Oh? What do you do?”
Betty’s smile was long gone. “This and that.”
Alfie had gradually discovered that Betty’s this-and-that was a lot more important than s
he made out. He wondered what on earth Elisabeth Thorndike did to cause such excitement.
Sebastian ambled back.
“Oh, sorry,” said Betty, “have I stolen your chair? It’s all right, I’m just leaving.”
“No,” squealed Sasha, “you must stay. Sebastian, grab that chair over there.”
When he returned, she clutched his arm and said: “This is too exciting. Look at her. Who does she remind you of?”
Betty’s face was so set that Alfie wondered if she would ever smile again.
“Isn’t it obvious? She’s Elisabeth Thorndike’s daughter.”
Sebastian’s vague grin disappeared as his mouth fell open.
“Sebastian,” he said curtly, putting out his hand.
“Betty,” she said, equally curtly, shaking it.
As Sebastian sat down, Alfie noticed him nudge Sasha.
“We’ve just been trying to interest Alfie in a marvellous investment opportunity, but he’s playing very hard to get,” said Sasha. “You should try to persuade him, and he might buy you a little present.”
“Might he indeed?” said Betty, looking at Alfie with raised eyebrows. “That’s certainly an incentive.”
“In fact,” said Sasha, gathering up the papers she had shown Alfie, and preparing to present them to Betty, “you might be interested yourself.”
Betty waved them away with a languid hand. “Oh, my lord, no, I don’t bother with that sort of thing. My people take care of all the money business.”
Alfie was mildly surprised that Sasha didn’t ask for contact details for Betty’s people. He would have been interested to hear the answer, since as far as he could see, Betty not only didn’t have people, she didn’t have spare cash.
“It’s all down to Alfie, then,” said Sasha, turning to him with a dazzling smile.
“Let me sleep on it,” said Alfie. “I’ll study the information properly at home. But I’m not promising anything. I really don’t think this is for me.”
“I just know you’ll be convinced. Take your time, we’ll still be here,” said Sasha, putting some papers in the folder and handing it to him. “But not for too long, darling – these offers don’t last forever.”
Bunburry--Death of a Ladies' Man Page 3
