by Daisy James
But there was no denying the out-of-control kaleidoscope of emotions Ed had stirred within her just by being in close proximity. Her skin prickled in anticipation of his hand brushing her arm. She was finding it hard to concentrate on exactly where their conversation was going. And he smelled delicious too, not to mention the curls of mahogany hairs rippling the full length of his tanned forearms. Where else would she find those curls?
She loved the way he curled his tongue around her name when he spoke. Wasn’t French supposed to be the language of love, not Italian? Love? What was she thinking! Heat radiated over her chest and flashed up her body into her hairline. This was crazy! She wasn’t attracted to Ed Cartolli!
Yet when she thought back to the time she had first met Alex, she couldn’t recall experiencing such a tumult of emotions. When she’d been with him she had felt calm, protected, comfortable, and that was what she had loved about him. After witnessing her parents’, and then her sister’s, marriage disintegrate she’d been relieved to find someone so composed and in control of his emotions. With Alex she felt safe and she’d liked that.
She chanced a quick peek through her eyelashes at Ed and could almost feel the red-hot danger signals radiating from his pores. A sizzle of energy ran down her spine and she almost laughed out loud. To cover her confusion she launched into a potted family bio.
‘Mum has always been passionate about food, did a bit of teaching on the subject’ – she left out the words ‘to the whole viewing nation’ – ‘in the late eighties, early nineties. It’s from Mum, and Gran, that Jess and I inherited our infatuation with cooking.’
‘Do your parents live in London too?’
‘No, actually, like yours they live in different countries. They split when Jess and I were young. Dad lives in Athens with a new partner and Mum emigrated to Andalucía just before Christmas. She loves the sun and the year-round availability of fresh produce, not to mention the freely available local wine and olive oil, and it seems she’s taken the local ex-pat cookery club by storm,’ she laughed.
‘Fancy another bottle?’
‘Yes, please.’
The incongruity of what was happening suddenly slapped her in the face. If Steph or Hollie had told her, as she’d sat sobbing at their coffee table at the beginning of March, that in six weeks’ time she would be relaxing in her sister’s local pub, sharing a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio with Edmundo Cartolli, she would have been straight on the phone booking an appointment with the local psychologist. But here he was taking a genuine interest in her life, weaving an irresistible spell on the waft of his designer cologne.
Who would have thought they’d connect on such an intimate level? Not her! But she could sit all night and chat to him about any cuisine she chose to discuss and he’d be able to produce an anecdote or personal insight, or even a recipe suggestion. They seemed to swap the conversational baton with considerable ease. The longer they stayed talking, the more she realised that the extent of his knowledge of food and its preparation, gleaned not just from academic study but from practical application, far exceeded her own. However, try as she might to dig under the fascinating, charismatic façade Ed projected, his life before his arrival in England was a closed subject.
‘So will you go back to Sicily?’ She tried again to draw him on his personal life, but perhaps it was wise not to venture into the thorny sphere of past relationships. ‘Will you return to one of your family’s restaurants? Why did you say you left last year?’
‘I didn’t.’ Ed tossed back the dregs of his glass. ‘It’s late. I’ll walk you home.’
‘Oh, it’s okay. It’s stumbling distance, as Jess would say.’
She could do with the walk to cool her rampant hormones down. She smiled but she had the strangest sensation that she was being dismissed. The conversation had flowed seamlessly all evening; no awkward silences, no gaps to be filled by reckless faux pas. Only when she threatened to meander into his private life did Ed clam up. She had decided she liked him, despite their rocky start, and she hoped he liked her too, but he was standing in front of her, zipping up his leather jacket and waiting impatiently for her to finish the last inch of her wine. Clearly he hadn’t been enjoying her company as much as she’d thought.
She got to her feet a little unsteadily before stumbling forward into the table. Ed reached out his hand to catch her arm and she noticed with a stab of surprise that three of the fingers on his right hand were missing. She whipped her eyes up to his, opening her mouth to say something, but the look of warning on his face stopped her from verbalising her shock.
He spun on his Italian leather loafers and stomped towards the door. ‘Goodnight, then.’ And he was gone, striding towards his silver Alfa Romeo and roaring away into the night.
Chapter Fifteen
‘So, you had a date with the sexy Signor Cartolli? I can’t believe it!’
‘It wasn’t a date, Hollie. It was a drink at the local pub.’
‘Are you going to see him again?’
‘Hollie, didn’t you hear what I said? It wasn’t a date. I doubt I will hear from him unless he decides to review my questionable cookery skills again – and I sincerely hope he doesn’t. I’m enjoying the challenge of running my little Travelling Cupcake Company. He was just at a loose end while visiting his sister and needed someone to keep him company at the pub.’
‘But you said you talked for ages, that you have loads in common. He sounds like ideal dating material to me.’ Hollie tossed the sides of her freshly highlighted magenta locks behind her ears and held out her fingers. ‘One: he adores food, and so do you. Two: he’s clearly got issues in his past, and so do you. Three: his family live in Richmond, and so do yours. All he needs is a famous parent and you’re staring down the aisle of the local church.’
‘Hollie!’
‘Just saying.’
‘Anyway, he doesn’t have a famous parent, so that’s your theory up the creek! Most of his family live in Sicily. He doesn’t live in Richmond either. He lives in North London. His sister lives in Richmond and Paolo, his brother-in-law, is home now so I doubt he’ll be visiting his sister again until she has her baby.’
‘London is one big village, Lucie, or hadn’t you noticed? I know you’re loving this mobile cupcake thing, traipsing around leafy suburbia in a cute little ice-cream van, but you can’t seriously be thinking of doing that permanently? Aren’t you just biding your time until you can stage you triumphant return as a supplier of all things confectionery to the likes of Fortnum & Mason and Harrods – remember, your dream since you left Le Cordon Bleu? The reason you gave up your social life to train in that luxurious Paris hotel, sweated your heart out in that taverna in Crete and took the job with Gino? Anyway, me and Steph miss you.’
‘Hollie, I adore running the Travelling Cupcake Company more than I ever thought I would. I only have myself and my customers to answer to so I can experiment to my heart’s content – I’ve made every single one of those cocktail-inspired cupcakes we talked about. Wait until you taste the espresso-flavoured ones with Bailey’s buttercream topped with roasted coffee beans! And I love doing the children’s birthday parties; they’re great fun. But I miss you too. Look, it’s the bank holiday weekend. Why don’t you both come down to Richmond. I’m sure Jess won’t mind you couch-surfing for a couple of nights.’
‘Actually, I’ve got some news.’
‘What news?’
‘A few of us from the salon have arranged a trip to Champneys. It was just going to be the girls, but guess what? Elliott and Karl and Cam are tagging alone too. Oh, Lucie, I’m so excited. This could be the chance for me and Elliott to really connect on a personal level, outside work. What do you think?’
‘I think if Elliott doesn’t notice what a kind, beautiful person he has right under his nose then he doesn’t deserve you, Hols. Have a fabulous time. Oh, I wish I was coming with you. I don’t think I’ve painted my nails since February, let alone had my hair styled. It doesn’t matter as
I have to wear it up every day, but just occasionally I crave the feeling of being pampered. I want all the details, every tiny piece of gossip when you get back, okay?’
‘Of course, but I bet you get a call from Ed asking you out on a proper date. Then we can swap juicy gossip.’
‘Hollie…’
‘I mean it, Lucie. Yes, he’s gorgeous in a dark, brooding, dangerous kind of way – and almost as handsome as Elliott – but it’s not that. I think the two of you could be a great match. Which restaurant did you say he trained in after you both left Le Cordon Bleu?’
‘A restaurant in Palermo in Sicily. He’s not very forthcoming with personal information…’
Lucie was about to mention the shock she had felt when she’d seen Ed’s hand but decided against it. It wasn’t any of her business, especially as she knew he had no intention of contacting her and therefore she would never see him again. But questions continued to swirl around her head – did the loss of his fingers have something to do with why he was now a food critic instead of a practising chef? If so, how had it happened? A kitchen accident was the most likely explanation. It was a dangerous place, and commercial kitchen knives – as she was continually driving into her sous chefs – were exceptionally sharp – lethal weapons really.
‘Hey, thank God you’re still here! I’m desperate for a drink.’ Steph ordered a fresh bottle of Prosecco rosé from the bartender, who looked like he’d just stepped off his yacht.
‘Still slaving late at the coalface of matrimonial disharmony?’ asked Lucie.
‘Got a three-week contested ancillary relief application starting tomorrow and the photocopier decided to go out on strike. I would join it on the picket line if I could. I’m exhausted. But Harry mentioned the possibility of putting me forward for a partnership last week so the struggle continues.’ She watched the bartender pour her drink into an oversized wine glass, pressing on his wrist to ensure he filled it to the brim before taking a long draught. ‘Ah, did I need that.’
‘Oh, congratulations, Steph. No one deserves the recognition of a partnership more than you. And erm… while we’re on the subject of partnerships, do you happen to know whether Alex got his?’
‘Actually, I bumped into him at court this morning. Well, bumped isn’t quite the right word. I cornered him and interrogated him. But yes, he was confirmed as an equity partner at the board meeting at the end of April, as expected. He seemed very pleased with himself.’
‘Did he… did he ask after me?’
‘He did as a matter of fact. I told him you had moved on from your dull and boring life as a potential corporate spouse and were revelling in the freedom and excitement of being an entrepreneur.’
‘Steph…’
‘It’s true. Name me one thing you and Alex did as a couple? Saturdays were always allocated to his crazy pursuit of all things Chelsea, then he would play golf with clients most Sundays. Bearing in mind he used to work late at the office most nights during the week, what did you have in common? He never showed any interest in your career whatsoever. I don’t think you would ever have started the Travelling Cupcake Company if you were still with Alex. So, tell me about this date you went on with Ed Cartolli! I couldn’t believe it when Hollie texted me.’
Lucie sighed. ‘It wasn’t a date, it was just a drink.’
‘One thing can lead to another, and I can tell from your eyes that you fancy him.’
‘I don’t!’
‘Methinks our friend doth protest too much!’ declared Steph, and Hollie joined her in a bout of restorative giggles.
‘Listen to your Auntie Steph,’ urged Hollie between guffaws. ‘Launch your lasso and rein in your Italian stallion!’
As she said goodbye to Hollie and Steph to make her journey back to Richmond, Lucie’s mind was firmly fixed on Ed. The image of his injured hand floated across her thoughts. She wondered if his accident had perhaps been the result of a confrontation, a fight, a feud. Had he published a review of a fellow chef’s restaurant in Sicily and been attacked? Weren’t Italians known for their fiery tempers? Within the hour she had blown the whole scenario up into a full-scale Mafia thriller with a budget-busting roster of fast cars and a cast of gun-toting gangsters.
Hollie was right – Ed Cartolli oozed testosterone. But if she were honest with herself, she had always known that. It was just that she’d felt invisible whenever she was in the kitchen with him, surrounded by a chattering melee of female admirers eager to be paired with him, not only over the preparation of a bowl of crème pâtissière but later, when the students congregated at the local bistro to mull over the recipes they had learned that day.
And anyway, shouldn’t her thoughts be lingering on Alex and his victory of being made a partner at a prestigious City law firm before the age of thirty? A man whom she had loved so much she had wanted to propose they spend the rest of their lives together only a couple of months earlier? Should she ring to congratulate him?
Chapter Sixteen
‘How were Hollie and Steph?’ asked Jess as she lugged baskets toppling over with sprinkles, edible glitter and bags filled with ready-made icing into the ice-cream van. She set the heavy load down on the counter in the back and, as she descended from the passenger seat to collect the trays of cupcakes for their next party, couldn’t resist pressing the silver button. The familiar, tinny symphony of ‘Greensleeves’ rippled through the air.
Lucie smiled at her sister. While she had loved her life training as a chef in Paris, a city she had grown to adore as she explored the cobbled streets and indulged in the ubiquitous crêpes, she also loved the suburb of London where they had grown up. The house in which her mother had chosen to raise her daughters after her divorce nestled in a pretty garden surrounded by undulating privet hedges and presided over by pink blossoming cherry trees. But what Lucie liked most about Richmond was the community, and the fact that many of the local activities revolved around the river, which was where they were headed that afternoon.
And she felt surprisingly content running the Travelling Cupcake Company with Jess’s support. That didn’t mean she wasn’t missing her old life in the hustle and bustle of central London – she was; but there was something to be said for being your own boss, for moulding a business in the way you wanted and either reaping the benefits or ruing the results. However, she knew she couldn’t continue to take advantage of her sister’s hospitality indefinitely and that she would have to make some decisions about her future accommodation arrangements soon.
But that could wait. Today was Richmond’s May Day celebrations and she and Jess had been booked to offer their cupcakes to the hungry residents and day trippers at a pitch next to the river alongside stalls of local produce from cheese-making to home-brewed elderberry wine, canvasses and framed prints from local artists and photographers, as well as the pies and home-made jams and chutneys from the WI.
The banks of the river were dressed up in their finery. Polka-dot bunting and streamers floated on the breeze and the tinkle of music wafted from an amplifier plugged into a generator outside one of the pubs. With swirls of anxiety tickling at her abdomen, Lucie parked the ice-cream van in the designated spot. This was to be the Travelling Cupcake Company’s first foray into direct contact with passing trade and she was unsure what to expect. It was a totally different scenario to running children’s birthday parties from the security of a village hall or someone’s sunny conservatory. She tested the six buttercream dispensers one last time and they were ready to sell some cupcakes.
With help from Lewis and Jack, they had spent the previous day baking and had added a huge carrot cake and a triple-layered chocolate cake to the menu. Lucie had also discussed with Jess the possibility of experimenting with cupcake recipes that used beetroot – to produce a sort of red-velvet version – and sweet potato as well as the usual carrot-infused cupcakes. There were also china milk jugs and tea cups displaying a selection of spring flower-themed cake pops and the boys had spent hours the previous day gluing
mini triangles of paper bunting onto ribbons, which they had strung between two bamboo skewers, and making colourful flags, which they’d stuck into florists’ foam covered with tin foil.
The May Day celebrations were a huge success. Children, especially, enjoyed the novelty of selecting their preferred flavour of cupcake, then adding their favourite buttercream swirl and finally crowning their masterpiece with sprinkles, edible glitter, nuts or rice paper printed with butterflies and ladybirds. Whenever someone told them they were celebrating their birthday or an anniversary they would press the silver button and the most recognisable English folk tune of them all jingled across the riverbank adding a certain authenticity to the typical village fayre that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Midsomer Murders episode. Lucie only hoped there wouldn’t be a death – especially not by poisoning. What would Ed Cartolli make of that!
‘Hey, Lucie! The van’s looking great. I love the signage you’ve added, and the polka-dot bunting really adds to the vintage look,’ called Matt who had been helping out on the home-made wine and beer stall on behalf of the local Women’s Institute. ‘I wish I’d taken a photo of her when she arrived on the garage forecourt on the back of a trailer. You’ve taken upcycling to a whole new level. I’ll take four of your toffee and pecan cupcakes, please. No, they’re not all for me.’
Matt threw a look over his shoulder to where a gang of his rugby-club friends were taste-testing an array of the home-brewed beverages, some of them in a more advanced stage of appreciation than others. ‘I think we need some sweet treats to soak up all the alcohol. Who would have thought the WI could rustle up such a selection of lethal potions!’
‘Here, take these too.’ Lucie handed Matt a carton of mini carrot cakes with cream cheese topping sprinkled with orange-flavoured popping candy. ‘Just a small token of my appreciation for finding my quirky wheels. We love her, don’t we, boys? Let me know what you think of the cakes.’
