by Nina Milne
‘That’s the idea,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make this different—I know some people may hate it but I’m hoping lots of people will love it.’
‘I am definitely in the latter camp. It somehow combines decadent richness with refreshing lightness. How have you done that?’
He smiled and gave a mock bow. ‘I told you. I’m a Zen master, remember?’
Now she laughed. ‘How could I forget? But do you also think it tastes different because of the actual cocoa bean? Because it’s from Jalpura and the others aren’t?’
The question with its mention of Jalpura jolted him, a stark reminder of Jodi and that for the past twenty-four hours he’d barely given his sister a thought. Guilt straightened his lips into a grim line. What the hell was wrong with him? Yes, the ad campaign mattered, but not as much as Jodi. He had to keep his eye on the goal.
‘I think Jalpura is definitely part of it,’ he said firmly. ‘So I think it’s time to go there.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
EMILY SNAPPED HER seat belt on and took a deep breath as she glanced around the aeroplane. The first-class section was relatively empty of passengers so she and Luca were effectively alone, which at least meant that if her panic returned she would be free from observation. For a moment she wondered if he had deliberately orchestrated their privacy, told herself not to be foolish.
‘You OK?’ As he spoke he reached down into his briefcase. ‘I got you this from the airport. Just in case you needed it.’
She accepted the paper bag he handed over and peered inside and a trickle of warmth touched her as she saw the content—a red squishy stress ball. ‘Thank you. That is really thoughtful.’ The kind of thing that would never have occurred to Howard in a million years and for some reason the gesture prickled her eyes with tears. Pulling it out, she squeezed it as the plane took off, held on tight and focused on her breathing, told herself that the sooner she got to Jalpura, the sooner she would get back.
‘I hope your evening was productive?’ he asked.
‘It was, thank you.’ She’d elected to work in her hotel room the previous night; by tacit consent neither of them had wished to spend the evening together, had no wish to risk a repeat of the kiss. ‘I’ve put together some ideas for the ad campaign and then I sorted out my photos of Turin.’ She gave a sudden smile. ‘Could I be any more boring?’
‘That is not boring. What do you do with all the photographs? You must have taken hundreds of images.’
‘I go through, keep the best, in case I need them in the future. If I ever get asked to do a photo shoot in Turin they’ll be helpful.’
‘What made you choose fashion photography? I can see that you are very good at what you do but over the past days you have taken pictures of food and buildings and people, but not once have you shown any interest in actual fashion. Or gone shopping, or even window-shopped in any of the boutiques.’
His perception surprised her; the fact that he had even noticed gave her a jolt. Howard had always been focused on himself; his only concern with Emily had been how she reflected on him. Her mother’s priority was always herself or her current ‘love’. ‘I didn’t really choose it. I kind of fell into it. I’ve always enjoyed photography.’ Her camera had been like a security blanket, a way of making invisibility a positive. She’d grown up constantly being told to ‘not get in the way’, ‘not be noticed’ by her mother. At her annual visits to her father’s she’d had no idea how to fit in, had felt redundant, embarrassed, had wanted to be invisible. Taking photographs gave her something to do and she’d figured out that most people liked having their picture taken. And so she’d taken family photos of her dad and his second wife and their happy brood of children, all the time aware of the irony that, as the photographer, she wasn’t in the snaps. A fitting representation of her role in her father’s life.
‘But becoming a fashion photographer was sheer dumb luck. I was at a party and the host asked if I could take some informal photos. I took one of a model and she loved it; I thought it was the booze talking but next day she called me up, told me she’d used her clout to get me a job. It all went from there. So fashion chose me really.’
‘But you could have changed course if you wished.’
‘It’s not that easy.’ She had wanted to. Had wanted to do more serious photography, the type that documented real life. The sort of work Howard did, that genuinely made a difference, showed the world the ravages of war, the injustices of poverty. That was how she and Howard had first got together. She’d somehow found the courage to approach him at a party, asked for a critique, been in super-fangirl mode. Had been stunned when he’d agreed, hadn’t even cared that he’d said it was the least he could do for the daughter of a photographic icon like Marigold Turner.
‘Why not?’ Luca’s blunt question interrupted her trip down memory lane. ‘Why is it not easy?’
‘It turns out my talents are better suited to the fashion industry.’ Ironic but apparently true, according to Howard, and whilst her ex had many flaws Emily had understood and accepted his original critique as spot on.
‘How do you know that?’
Emily glanced away, could still remember the nervous anticipation before she’d met Howard to discuss his ‘verdict’—that she simply didn’t have what it took, her style was too light and frothy. ‘More serious stuff requires a versatility, a technique, an eye I don’t have.’
Luca frowned. ‘Did someone tell you that?’
‘Yes, but I agree with them.’
Howard had explained it. ‘You are good at what you do, Emily, in the same way an actor who is good at comedy will not be able to play Hamlet. But you should not despair, and I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Let me make it up to you with dinner.’
And so it had begun.
‘Photography isn’t only about the type of camera or the lighting or the lens, it’s about an instinct, an eye and a God-given talent. You can practise and practise and practise, but those things give you the edge. It’s probably the same in the world of chocolate—not everyone can come up with the types of recipes you can. However hard they practise.’
‘I get that. There are some chocolatiers born with an ability to taste and mix and judge that you can’t learn. But that doesn’t mean everyone will love their chocolate, because it’s a matter of taste. And each person is unique—photography is not like a game of tennis where someone has to win. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t be able to use your talent for any type of photography. Your photographs show emotion and convey mood.’
For a second she was carried away by the force of his words, remembered vaguely that once she’d thought the same. Had held out hope that Howard might have been wrong, a hope that had eroded during the course of her marriage, under the onslaught of Howard’s continued critiques, that had worsened when she’d given up her own job to be his assistant.
Until she’d accepted the truth—Howard had been right from the start—she didn’t have what it took.
She shook her head. ‘There is no point raising unrealistic expectations, trying to dream your dreams into reality. It’s important to be realistic. I am happy with the talent I have. And I’d like to use that talent to do a good job for you.’ She injected finality into her tone; she’d made her decision and she would stick to it. All her life she’d been surrounded by people of immense talent, top of their field; it had been hard to accept that she wouldn’t do the same. But she had come to terms with it—decided the fact she had any talent for photography was amazing in itself; there was no need to aspire to be of Howard’s calibre. ‘Speaking of which, what is the plan in Jalpura?’
His gaze flicked away from her for an instant. ‘I’ve arranged to visit the cocoa-bean farm, so you can have a tour, and we’ll need to scout some locations.’
Emily studied his face, sensed a certain flatness to his voice and wondered where his usual enthusiasm had go
ne. ‘I’ve already done some research into locations. There’s a place where the sunsets are spectacular, and also some incredibly lush gardens and, of course, the palace. I was wondering about introducing a hint of royalty into the campaign seeing as Jalpura has a royal family.’
‘That sounds great—and as though you are completely on top of it all.’
Yet again the words lacked depth, a genuine interest, and she wondered why. This project was Luca’s idea, yet he looked as if his mind was focused elsewhere. Not her business. ‘Speaking of which,’ she said brightly, ‘I’ll get on with a bit more research.’
* * *
The rest of the flight was uneventful and Luca was grateful that Emily seemed content to crack on with some work, hoped she didn’t notice his distraction as they approached Jalpura. Where he hoped to find answers. As they landed, went through customs and climbed into a taxi his determination grew. He would discover what had happened to Jodi.
Once they arrived at the resort, Luca looked around. He’d chosen the place because of its proximity to Jodi’s last known location, a youth hostel she’d told him she’d stayed at. Though this was a far cry from a hostel. Instead of a conventional hotel a selection of thatched cottages, all side by side, surrounded an opaque turquoise swimming pool, fringed with palm trees. The air was scented with flowers and the whole place emanated an atmosphere of tranquillity.
‘This is amazing.’ Emily let out a small sigh of appreciation.
‘I’m glad you like it. Let’s settle in and meet for dinner in about an hour.’
She glanced at him, presumably surprised at the terseness of his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Somehow in the past few days he’d been sidetracked from the true purpose of this trip. Had got caught up in Emily, in her company, her conversation and, of course, the fateful kiss itself. He had seen some of her vulnerabilities even if he didn’t understand them and in so doing he’d lost sight of his goal to find his sister. Not good. His family meant everything to him. More than that, he would not break the promise he’d made himself after Lydia and the pain and humiliation of her rejection—never again would he get involved in any depth at all, never again would he put his feelings on the line.
‘Dinner sounds good,’ she said.
He nodded; it would give him time to contact Samar, the cocoa-farm owner, and ask him again about Jodi. See if he had remembered anything else about how she had been, whether she had mentioned anything about friends or acquaintances or plans. He would also need to request that Samar didn’t mention Jodi to Emily. At this stage there was no point—after all, he might be able to discover what he needed without involving Emily at all.
Once in his cottage he pulled his phone out. ‘Samar. It’s Luca...’
Preliminaries over, Luca segued into what he really wanted to talk about, ‘I was wondering about Jodi’s visit to Jalpura. She mentioned a friend’s name and I wanted to look them up, but I’ve lost the message Jodi sent me and I can’t get hold of her at the moment. Did she mention anyone to you?’
There was a pause as Samar clearly gave the matter some thought. ‘She spoke a lot about the film festival and her job there and I believe she did mention meeting the royal princess. I got the impression it was more than a meeting, more of a friendship, but I am sure you wouldn’t forget that. Plus it wouldn’t be that easy to just look up royalty.’ A laugh travelled down the line. ‘I am sorry, Luca. I cannot remember anyone else.’
‘Don’t worry. It isn’t that important.’ Royalty? Luca’s brain whirred. Jodi certainly hadn’t mentioned meeting royalty.
‘Perhaps you could ask Jodi for an introduction,’ Samar continued. ‘Get royal endorsement for your chocolate.’
‘I’ll do that. Thank you. And, could I ask a favour? Please do not mention Jodi in front of Emily tomorrow. There is a slightly complicated situation going on and...’
‘You do not need to explain, my friend. Women are complicated.’
Goodbyes said, Luca disconnected and began to pace as he tried to figure out what to do with this new information, wished that Samar had recalled it when he’d spoken to him weeks before to question him. It was a slim lead that might lead nowhere but it was better than nothing and he would definitely follow it up.
A glance at his watch and he headed to the door, exited his cottage and headed for Emily’s. He’d keep dinner quick and get back to do some research into the Jalpuran royal family.
He knocked on Emily’s door, braced himself for the impact. She truly did stun him anew every time he saw her and he wished she didn’t. Didn’t understand the visceral punch and it unsettled him that he couldn’t seem to douse or control it.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Ready.’ Dressed in black smart trousers and a tunic top, she looked perfectly presentable in her usual understated way. He sensed it was deliberate, that she dressed to eschew attention, to deflect notice.
She picked up a small evening bag from the table by the door and stepped outside into the balmy scented evening, pulled the door shut behind her.
He led the way to the outdoor terrace where tables dotted the mosaic tiles and it was only now, as a waiter materialised, pulled out their chairs, lit candles and provided menus, that he really took in the setting and its implications. The scent of frangipani rode gently on the air, the flicker of candles added to the twinkle of the fairy lights that artfully bedecked the surroundings. The tables were placed discreet distances apart and as he glanced around he saw the place was full of couples. And for a crazy moment he imagined that he and Emily were here together as a couple, that he had the right to lean across the table and brush his lips against hers, to hold her hand as they chose their meals, to play footsie under the table.
Resolutely he turned his attention to the menu just as the waiter approached, held out a basket filled with garlands of flowers. ‘Would you like to choose one for your beautiful lady?’ he asked.
He saw Emily open her mouth to deny the need but all of a sudden Luca wanted to choose some flowers, wanted her to put them in her hair or round her neck. To jazz up the plainness of her outfit and show off her beauty. ‘Of course,’ he said and studied the different choices, settled on a white jasmine, took it out and leaned across the small intimate table and carefully tucked it into her hair, felt his fingers tremble at the feel of her silken strands, heard her breath catch too.
Leaning back, he surveyed his handiwork. ‘Beautiful,’ he said. The waiter beamed at them both and moved away.
‘You didn’t need to say that. I mean, you’re right, it’s probably easier to let them think we’re a couple like everyone else here. But there’s no need to overdo it.’
‘I wasn’t. I was simply stating a fact. You do look beautiful.’
He’d swear she shifted slightly on her seat, looked more than a touch uncomfortable. ‘Thank you. I guess.’
‘It’s not an insult.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why has it made you so uncomfortable?’
‘I told you, I don’t think looks are relevant.’
‘So, if we were a couple you wouldn’t want me to say you look beautiful?’
‘I...’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s a moot point. Because we aren’t a couple.’ That was true enough, so what was he doing? Yet she was beautiful and for some reason he wanted her to know that. But Emily continued to speak. ‘Unlike everyone else here. It’s like Romance Central, Cupid’s arrows darting everywhere.’ Her voice held more than a hint of disparagement and he decided to go with the opportune change in subject.
‘Perhaps those arrows are missing their mark. Or these people could be here desperately trying to spice up a dead marriage, or this is what they do every year and they are utterly bored, or they could be plotting a divorce or a murder...’
‘OK, Mr Cynic. I’m guessing romance isn’t your thing.’
‘No.’ His gaze rested
on the flower he’d just put in her hair. ‘It’s not.’ The words almost over-emphasised, a reminder to himself.
She raised her glass of water. ‘Good call.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘So this isn’t the sort of place you’d bring a partner on holiday.’
‘I wouldn’t bring a partner anywhere on holiday. That’s not the way my arrangements work.’
‘Arrangements?’ Her nose wrinkled as she looked at him questioningly, tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, the movement fluid and familiar, and for some reason it tugged at something in his chest. His gaze lingered on the flower in her hair, the contrast of colour, the delicate shape of the petals against the silky softness. And a memory of their shared kiss suddenly blasted his brain. Perhaps this would be a good time to remind himself of his relationship rules, demonstrate exactly how far out of bounds Emily was.
‘Basically I date women who fit a certain criteria, who are looking for the same things that I am. A relationship where we enjoy each other’s company every so often but without clinginess or neediness on either side. No expectations other than an entertaining dinner companion, a bed partner, someone to take to social functions. The occasional night away but definitely not a holiday.’
‘But how do you keep it like that—surely if its long-term you get to know each other better over time, start to like each other more?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m talking about meeting up once, maybe twice a month. Not keeping toothbrushes at each other’s place. The essence is that it’s low-key, not intense. Fun and easy. Nothing heavy.’ It was a system he had perfected after his break-up with Lydia. A system devised to ensure no investment in deep emotion, dependency or love. That way there was zero risk of hurting or being hurt. One thing was certain: Luca Petrovelli would never open himself up to the risk of abandonment again. He could spot a pattern when he saw one: first a father he had loved and then a girlfriend he’d adored. ‘That way no one gets hurt.’
