Letter to Reader Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“You don’t know how relieved I feel at the prospect of having you back working with me. I’ve missed you...”

Eleri’s heart thumped as she looked down at their clasped hands, knowing she should pull away. “You were used to me, that’s all.”

He reached up to turn her face to his, and their eyes met. “You mean I took you for granted.”

Eleri didn’t trouble to deny it, because his nearness was affecting her so badly she was afraid to trust her voice. With a smothered groan James pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily.

Dear Reader,

Pennington, my favorite location, is my own creation. Having lived near two attractive towns in the heart of England, I combine the best features of both, not least the picturesque buildings from olden times. My fictional town has wide streets, quaint tearooms and public gardens ablaze with flowers; there are irresistible shops with elegant clothes and jewelry, while others are filled with bargains in antique furniture and porcelain. Surrounded by lush countryside, Pennington is full of charm—a place where dreams come true.

Sincerely,

Bargaining With The Boss
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Claudia Lucia Capitanio, with my thanks.

CHAPTER ONE

A BITING east wind blew flurries of snow across rolling uplands where Northwold Breweries blended with such ecological care into its Gloucestershire surroundings. The various specialist buildings and linking walkways were masked by skilfully landscaped banks and trees, and normally the sixty-acre site was a green and pleasant place. But on this particular January morning the stark white view from the managing director’s office resembled a lunar landscape.

Eleri Conti arrived early, as she always did, and went into James Kincaid’s office with her usual glow of anticipation for this first, private part of the day alone with him.

He was standing at the window, tall, loose-limbed, dressed in one of his dark custom-made suits and a flamboyant tie as usual. But when he turned his face wore a grim, haggard look so dauntingly different from usual that Eleri’s smile of greeting died a sudden death. In her favourite black gabardine suit and white shirt, her dark hair caught back with a large ebony clasp, she faced him across the desk as she’d faced him at this hour almost every working day for the past year. But today something was obviously wrong. The atmosphere was bleak enough to rival the day outside.

‘Good morning, Eleri. I think you’d better sit down.’ He waved her to a chair.

‘Good morning, Mr. Kincaid.’

He sat staring down at his desk in brooding silence while Eleri grew colder by the second as all kinds of worrying scenarios crowded her mind, not least the loss of her job as personal assistant to the managing director.

At last James Kincaid squared his formidable shoulders and looked up, his eyes sombre. ‘There’s no way to make this easier. I wish there was. In short, Eleri, I’ve been informed that someone at this branch of Northwold leaked information about the Merlin takeover. As a result someone else made a nice little killing on the market.’

Eleri went white. ‘And you are accusing me of leaking the information?’ she asked in utter disbelief.

‘No!’ James Kincaid shook his head vehemently, raking a hand through his hair. ‘Or at least not accusing. I’m merely asking if you know anything about it.’

‘Which is the same thing.’ Eleri had to exert rigid self-control to remain erect in her chair. She felt physically sick, as though the man opposite had dealt her a body-blow. Which, by doubting her integrity, he had. And worst of all she felt searingly hurt—because the accusation had been made by James Kincaid, for whom she cherished feelings kept strictly hidden. No one, either in Northwold or in her family, had the least idea that she was the victim of that tired old cliché: the secretary in love with her boss.

What, she thought bitterly, did she find so attractive about the man? He was far from classically handsome, with swarthy skin, unruly brown hair, forceful nose and a wide though well-cut mouth. Straight, dark brows above deep-set pewter-grey eyes warned the onlooker that this was no man to suffer fools gladly, and he wore his expensive clothes carelessly, as though from the moment he put them on he never gave them another thought. But, in comparison with James Kincaid, for Eleri all other men suffered. Willpower kept her utterly still in her seat as James took up a pen, rolling it between his fingers. Familiar with every little mannerism of his by heart, it gave Eleri deep satisfaction to see that he was affected—if only a little—by stress.

At last he looked up and began to explain rapidly. ‘Eleri, just before the takeover went public on Tuesday, a trader in a London bank did a swift, profitable bit of dealing—buying Northwold shares at the old price then selling them a short time later when they rose quite sharply once the news was out. It was a relatively modest sum, and the trade only attracted attention because my sister’s husband works for the same merchant bank. Up to that point the takeover was top secret.’ He paused, his reluctance apparent as he added, ‘Of the office staff here, you alone knew about this beforehand. And I know that a friend of yours works at the bank in question.’

Eleri stared at him in bitter disbelief. ‘You really believe I would pass information to someone in a position to make use of it?’ Her eyes flashed coldly. ‘My friend would never do such a thing—even if I had been stupid enough to be so—so—’

‘Indiscreet?’

‘Unprincipled,’ she corrected stonily. ‘I told no one about the takeover, Mr Kincaid. No one. And I deeply resent your suspicions.’ She jumped to her feet, but he waved her back to her seat.

‘Sit down, please.’

The outer door opened and Bruce Gordon, the technical director, came in like a whirlwind. ‘James, I need—’ He stopped suddenly as he looked from James Kincaid to Eleri. ‘Sorry.’

‘Give us a few minutes, Bruce,’ said James tersely, and the other man nodded, backing out hurriedly.

Eleri sat in silence, making no attempt to disguise her hostility as James Kincaid went on with his explanation.

‘My brother-in-law,’ he said heavily, ‘works at Renshaw’s, in the City.’

Eleri stiffened. Renshaw’s was a merchant bank. And her friend, Toby Maynard, worked there on the trading floor. To mask her dismay she took the war into the enemy’s camp. ‘Did you tell your brother-in-law about the takeover, Mr Kincaid?’

His eyes hardened. ‘No, Eleri, I did not. Nor would it have mattered if I had. Sam would never have acted on it unlawfully.’

Knowing indignant protestations were useless, Eleri searched in her memory for some chance remark she might have let fall to Toby. Suddenly her face cleared. The last time she’d seen Toby she hadn’t even known about the takeover! Her personal involvement had been in the final stages only.

‘Until last week,’ she said crisply, ‘I knew nothing about the takeover. As you know very well, since you were the one who informed me one night last week when we were working late together. I’ve spoken to no one at all on the subject. And particularly not to the—the acquaintance in question, because he was in Val d’Isere on a skiing holiday until yesterday. Until last night I hadn’t spoken to him for three weeks. He rang me last night, as soon as he arrived back.’

‘If you mean someone by the name of Maynard, I’m afraid you were misinformed. He arrived back several days ago.’

Eleri’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘You’re wrong! Besides, how could you possibly know Toby’s the one—?’ She stopped, biting her lip.

‘You’ve obviously worked that out for yourself,’ said James wearily after a long, uncomfortable pause. ‘Sam told me. Maynard works for him—though of course he has no idea Sam is related to me, and therefore connected with Northwold, which is more to the point.’

The silence in the office deepened, emphasised by the usual morning sounds outside as the administration block filled up with people arriving to complain about the weather and get on with the business of the day. Eleri was deaf to it all. She sat rigid, her mind going round in circles.

At last she got to her feet, her face bleak below the smooth black hair. ‘Would you excuse me for a few minutes, please, Mr Kincaid? I need to make a phone call.’

He rose, nodding. ‘By all means. I suggest you drink some coffee and come back in half an hour. We’ll discuss this further.’

Eleri closed the connecting door behind her and sat down at her desk, then picked up her phone, punched out the number of Renshaw’s Bank in the City of London and asked for Toby Maynard. When told he wasn’t available, Eleri asked for Victoria Mantle instead.

‘Vicky, it’s me. Is Toby in today?’

There was a pause before her friend’s reply extinguished Eleri’s last flicker of hope.

‘Eleri,’ said the other girl, sounding miserable, ‘Toby’s gone.’

‘Gone? What do you mean? Gone where?’

‘Gone as in sacked, told to clear his desk and scram. Sorry, love. Toby’s been a total idiot.’

‘I’ve only just heard he came back early from Val d’Isere.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ Vicky swore colourfully. ‘He’s been back for days. Look, he’s probably at home. Ring him. Give him hell. I’ve got to go. See you tonight, love. Bye.’

Eleri waited for a moment, pulled herself together, then rang Toby’s flat and listened, frustrated, to the recorded message. ‘It’s Eleri, Toby. See you later,’ she said swiftly, then put the phone down and stared blankly at the pile of unopened mail in front of her, feeling as though her world were falling apart. At last, with sudden decision, she typed quickly on the keyboard of her computer, waited while the letter was printed, then signed it. She pressed the button on her intercom, asked James Kincaid if she might come in, then went through the communicating door and crossed the large, orderly office.

Without a word Eleri handed over the letter, and waited. James read the few terse lines of resignation then jumped to his feet, glaring at her.

‘I flatly refuse to accept this.’

Her chin lifted. ‘You must see that in the circumstances it’s impossible for me to work here any longer.’

He made a swift gesture of negation. ‘Just give me your word you had nothing to do with the leak and we’ll forget all about it.’

Eleri stared at him, incensed. “‘Forget all about it”?’ she retorted, no longer caring what she said. ‘You accuse me of being a party to insider trading, and then expect me to carry on as if nothing had happened? Always supposing,’ she added bitingly, ‘that I managed to convince you I was blameless, of course.’

He scowled impatiently. ‘Don’t talk rot, Eleri. I assume you’ve tried to contact your friend?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He no longer works for Renshaw’s.’

‘That was inevitable.’ The grey eyes held hers relentlessly. ‘You tell me you haven’t spoken to him on the subject, so Maynard obviously got the information from someone else.’

‘He doesn’t know anyone else at Northwold,’ she said unhappily.

‘Then you must admit I had no choice. I was forced to ask you about it.’

‘Of course. So in the circumstances, Mr Kincaid, I don’t have a choice either. I shall leave immediately. One of the other girls will fill in for you until you can find a replacement.’ She smiled coldly. ‘After all, it would hardly do to keep me on in a position of confidentiality. I’d never thought about leaking information for profit until you gave me the idea. How could I trust myself in future?’

‘Nonsense,’ he snapped, and jumped to his feet. ‘Listen to me, Eleri. Your word is good enough for me. If you say you had nothing to do with it I believe you. And I understand your reaction. It’s only natural you’re angry. But don’t act on impulse. Take time to reconsider.’

For a moment Eleri was tempted. But anger and bitter hurt stiffened her resolve. She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s out of the question.’

James Kincaid moved swiftly around his desk and seized her hand. She recoiled, startled, and he dropped her hand as though it burnt him.

‘I’m not into sexual harassment,’ he assured her coldly.

Eleri flushed. ‘Of course not. I’m—on edge.’

‘I merely meant to assure you that any reference you require is yours for the asking, if you’re adamant about resigning. But I strongly advise you to change your mind. Go off now for the weekend, think things over.’

‘I intend to find out what actually happened, certainly, but I won’t reconsider. Nor will I need a reference,’ she added.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’

‘A job is ready and waiting for me any time I say the word. With people who will never doubt my integrity,’ she added, with a cold little smile.

‘Eleri, I don’t doubt your integrity,’ he said with emphasis. ‘I regret this as much as you do.’

‘I doubt that,’ she said bitterly, and went from the room, closing the communicating door behind her.

Bruce Gordon beckoned her into his office.

‘James told me what happened—in strict confidence, of course,’ he said. ‘Go to that boyfriend of yours, beat the truth out of him, then come back here and get on with the job, my dear.’

‘I’ll certainly do the first bit, but I won’t come back, Mr Gordon.’ Eleri shrugged, her face set. ‘Even if I prove beyond all doubt that I said nothing about the takeover I can’t work here now. But thank you for the vote of confidence,’ she added warmly as James Kincaid came in.

‘Eleri, come into my office before you go, please.’

‘Of course.’

Eleri packed up her belongings, tidied her desk, deposited the morning’s mail with one of the other secretaries, then went in to James Kincaid, who was standing at the window again, looking out on the blizzard conditions outside.

‘You’ve been here for four years, Eleri,’ he said, turning to her. ‘This is a hell of a way to leave.’

‘Yes. It is,’ she agreed.

‘When my predecessor handed over the baton he said he had only one piece of advice to give me. “Make sure you hang on to Eleri. She’s worth her weight in gold.”’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Damn good thing he’s not here at the moment.’

‘Mr Reeder and I got on well together.’

‘Does that mean you’ve found it harder to work with me?’

‘No.’ She looked away. ‘I believed we had a good working relationship too, Mr Kincaid. Until today.’

‘We did. We do. I flatly refuse to look on this as final. Find out what happened,’ he ordered, ‘then come back to work on Monday.’

Eleri almost gave in, then and there. She liked her job. And she cared for James Kincaid even more. But his suspicions had cut like a knife. Yet in one way she had cause to be grateful for them. They had pushed her into the resignation which was the only cure for terminal hankering after a man who thought of her solely as a piece of efficient office equipment. ‘I won’t do that, Mr Kincaid,’ she said at last. ‘The mere fact that an official explanation is necessary makes it impossible for me to stay.’

He shook his head irritable. ‘The explanation is purely for me. I’ve told no one about this, other than Bruce Gordon, and I only told him because he was about to offer me physical violence for upsetting you.’

Eleri smiled wryly. ‘He’s known me a long time.’

‘I’ve known you a fair time myself—long enough to find your involvement in anything shady hard to believe.’ He eyed her moodily. ‘If you hadn’t mentioned a friend at Renshaw’s it would never have crossed my mind.’

She looked at him blankly. ‘But the friend I told you about is a girl—Victoria Mantle. We grew up together.’

He frowned. ‘Then where the hell does Maynard come in to it?’

‘Vicky introduced him to me a few months ago at a party.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘Toby’s just a friend. I wasn’t even aware you knew anything about him.’

‘I didn’t. My sister’s husband, Sam Cartwright, told me Maynard confessed he got the information from someone at the brewery, but wouldn’t disclose the name. I put two and two together—and got five,’ he added, his jaw tightening.

‘I can see why you thought it was me,’ she said bleakly.

‘You say it wasn’t, so I believe you. Nevertheless, I was forced to ask for an explanation, Eleri.’

‘I want one, too,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’m leaving right now for London to get it.’

‘I can’t tell you how much I regret all this, Eleri,’ said James heavily. ‘Do you really have another job waiting for you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, resigned. THE be welcomed with open arms.’

‘And no reference needed.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m curious. You speak Italian, of course. Will the new job use your bilingual talents?’

‘More or less.’ The telephone interrupted them, and Eleri answered it automatically. ‘Mr Kincaid’s office.’

‘Camilla Tennent,’ said a light, feminine voice which had become all too familiar to Eleri over the past year. ‘Is James there?’

Eleri handed the phone over. ‘Miss Tennent,’ she announced, and left the room to collect her belongings, feeling deeply depressed. James Kincaid was a clever, ambitious man, relatively young for the post he held, and with his sights very obviously set on a seat on the Northwold board. He’d been at the Gloucestershire brewery only a year, but already he’d streamlined the plant to an efficiency which surpassed the other Northwold operations. She would have liked to stay, to be part of James Kincaid’s success story. But Toby Maynard had put paid to all that in the space of a few minutes’ trading.

Before leaving, she rang her mother. ‘I’m leaving for London early.’

‘I thought perhaps you wouldn’t go in this weather,’ said the familiar lilting voice. ‘Drive carefully to the station, cariad. When are you coming back?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll ring and let you know.’

‘Don’t forget. You know what your father’s like.’

‘Who better?’ said Eleri dryly. ‘Must dash. See you soon. Bye.’

Then she rang Vicky to give her appalled friend the news. Afterwards she took one last look round her office, said goodbye to her colleagues on her way out of the administration block, then left to drive to the station, thirsting to confront Toby Maynard. She kept mulling over his treachery in the train, cursing the day she’d ever laid eyes on him. Early in life, disaster had taught Eleri to keep to strictly platonic friendships with the relatively few men she knew. Toby was young, fun to be with, and had taken her out sometimes when she spent weekends at Vicky’s London flat, but Eleri had always slept in Vicky’s spare bed afterwards. Her relationship with Toby had been pleasant, but unimportant. Yet, unbelievably, it had cost her the job at Northwold.

When Eleri left the train in London she took a taxi, hoping Toby would at least be able to provide her with some hot coffee. Wine was usually more available than milk in his smart Chelsea flat. Toby preferred to eat out. Even his breakfast cappuccino and toast had been, until recently, bought en route to Renshaw’s to eat at his desk.

Toby was not at home. Eleri ground her teeth in frustration, and was halfway down the street on her way to the Underground, and Vicky’s flat in Ealing, when Toby came loping into view, laden with grocery sacks. He looked tanned and casually elegant in a hooded ski-jacket and thick jogging pants tucked into costly leather boots. Normally he often looked haggard, like most young men in his profession, but his holiday had smoothed away the telltale signs of stress, and even dressed for a snowy day he looked immaculate—as always. He smiled in delight, and tried to kiss her cheek.

‘Eleri, you’re early—hey, what’s the matter?’

She pushed him away, glaring. ‘You’ve actually got the nerve to ask me what’s the matter?’

He thrust flopping, expensively cut fair hair back from his face, looking sulky. ‘Oh, hell. I suppose you rang me at the bank.’

‘Yes, Toby, I did exactly that. You weren’t there, so I spoke to Vicky—’

‘And she gave you all the dirt, I suppose.’ He unlocked his door, eyeing her morosely. ‘She told you I got the push?’

‘Of course she did. Not that it came as a surprise.’

He glared at her indignantly as he ushered her inside. ‘Why not?’

Eleri controlled her temper with effort. ‘Apply the little grey cells, Toby!’

He sighed. ‘I suppose she told you about my little profit-making venture.’

‘Actually, no, she didn’t.’

‘Really?’ He shrugged. ‘All I did was take a chance. I’d been unlucky lately, El, I needed to recoup.’

‘Recoup?’ Eleri stared at him stonily. ‘What for, Toby? A Ferrari instead of your Chelsea Tractor?’

‘You got that stupid name from Vicky, I suppose!’ he snapped. ‘It’s a Range Rover, and I’ve no intention of getting rid of it.’

‘So what did you want the money for? But never mind that. For starters, I heard you came back on Monday, not last night.’ Her dark eyes speared his. ‘It doesn’t matter a toss to me when you came home, Toby. But why on earth lie about it?’

He reddened. ‘I was going to tell you about it today. But—oh, blast, you assumed I’d just got back, so I left it. Why the fuss?’

She advanced on him like a tigress. ‘Don’t worry, Toby,’ she bit out when he recoiled, ‘I’m not going to hurt you, but I am going to make a “fuss”, and you are going to listen.’

‘Can I put this stuff away first?’ he said, backing away in mock alarm.

‘Yes, of course. And I hope you bought milk. I’m dying for some coffee.’

A few minutes later they were seated on opposite sides of the fireplace where Toby put a match to the logs for the blaze he liked—as much for image, Eleri suspected, as to keep warm.

‘So carry on, Eleri,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Make your fuss. Though I could do without it at the moment.’

‘Tell me what happened first.’

He eyed her mutinously, then shrugged. ‘In a nutshell, I gambled and lost.’

‘But gambling’s your job.’

‘My job, sweetheart, is to make money for Renshaw’s. Only recently I began to lose it more than make it. I began to get panicky—bad news for a trader. Another significant loss, and I was in the mire.’ He stared at the crackling flames. ‘Then in Val d’Isere I met a girl.’

Eleri was unsurprised. Although Toby enjoyed himself more with a bunch of men-friends than with women, he liked girls as pretty accessories to take to parties—and to bed. But when Eleri, right from the first, made it plain bed was never an option where she was concerned, Toby, surprisingly, had accepted it without question.

‘Go on,’ she said quietly.

‘Her name’s Arabella Pryce—fabulous skier and great fun. She was actually a chalet girl at the place the gang was staying. Quite a coincidence, really, because I’d met her before when she was a kid—I was in school with her brother Julian. Anyway, Bella and I got on like a house on fire from the start, and—well, you know, one thing led to another—’

‘Spare me the details, Toby,’ said Eleri wearily, looking at her watch. ‘And hurry it up. I’m catching a train soon.’

He stared at her in astonishment. ‘But you’ve only just got here! Dammit, Eleri, surely you’re not dumping me just because I had some fun on holiday?’

‘No,’ she said with perfect truth. ‘But it’s a contributory factor.’

‘It didn’t mean anything,’ he said in consternation. ‘I only brought Bella’s name in to it to explain getting fired—’

‘How did a holiday fling get you fired, for heaven’s sake?’

‘I’ll tell you if you’ll let me finish!’ He shook his hair back. ‘To cut a long story short, I boasted a bit about juggling with millions in my job, and Bella said what a shame I was on holiday, because she had a hot tip to give me. About the Merlin takeover the following Tuesday. Her family own Merlin Ales. Or did.’

‘So you leapt from her bed and caught the next plane home!’

‘I didn’t do anything of the kind! I merely flew back on Monday instead of yesterday,’ he said, injured. ‘It seemed the perfect way to recoup my losses—I wasn’t even out for personal profit.’

‘How very high-minded of you. But aren’t you leaving something out, Toby?’ she asked.

He frowned. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘It was Northwold who took Merlin over, not the other way round,’ she said angrily. ‘And just in case it slipped your mind, I work for Northwold. Or did until today. Your little escapade cost me my job.’

Toby stared at her in horror. ‘What? How the hell could it do that?’

‘They think your inside information came from me.’

He swore colourfully and at some length. ‘What can I say, darling? I never thought about you.’

‘Which is glaringly obvious! You know someone called Sam Cartwright at Renshaw’s, I believe?’ she demanded.

‘Damn right I do. He’s the chief executive—the swine who told me to clear my desk,’ said Toby bitterly.

‘And although you gallantly shielded Miss Pryce by withholding her name, you did say the information came from the brewery. But you forgot to say which one.’ Eleri glared at him in fury. ‘Sam Cartwright happens to be the brother-in-law of James Kincaid—the man who was my boss until this morning. The boss who concluded I was your source!’

‘The man fired you because of me?’ Toby flung himself on his knees in front of her and caught her hands. ‘Eleri, I’m so sorry.’

‘He didn’t fire me. I resigned.’ Eleri freed herself and sat up straight. ‘Cut the drama, Toby. Penitence doesn’t suit you.’

He jumped up and stood over her, the picture of misery. ‘What a mess. I wish I’d never set eyes on Bella.’

‘Toby, don’t try to shift the blame.’ Eleri eyed him with distaste. ‘The lady was indiscreet, maybe, but you were the one who acted on the information.’

‘Don’t rub it in!’

‘What will you do about a job now?’

‘I’ve got contacts—in fact I’m seeing someone on Monday.’ He grinned sheepishly. ‘Old school chum.’

Eleri shook her head. ‘Someone may strangle you with that old school tie of yours one day.’

‘Is there anything at all I can do to put things right for you?’ he said, sobering.

‘No fear. You’ve done enough already.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Right. Ring for a cab for me, please, Toby. If I leave in a few minutes I’ll make the next train home.’

‘What’s the point of going home?’ he demanded, looking so crestfallen she almost laughed. ‘I thought you were staying with Vicky as usual. We could go out to dinner, then see that new Branagh film if you like, and tomorrow I’ll get tickets for the theatre—’

‘You do that, by all means. But not with me.’ Eleri shrugged into her coat, then handed him his key. ‘Our platonic little arrangement—pleasant and diverting though it was—is terminated as of today.’

‘You don’t mean that!’

‘Oh, but I do.’ She smiled up into his sulky, good-looking face. ‘You’re a clever lad in a lot of ways, Toby—Cambridge first in Maths included. But the key word there is “lad”. You need to grow up a bit.’

He coloured angrily. ‘I’m not that much younger than you!’

‘Not in age, maybe. Otherwise you’re still a baby,’ she assured him acidly. ‘By the way, Toby, isn’t there something you should be asking me?’

He stiffened, eyeing her apprehensively. ‘Er—what, exactly?’

Eleri laughed in his face. ‘What did you think I meant? Wouldn’t it be good manners to enquire about my own plans now I’ve lost my job?’

‘Oh, hell—you make me feel like such a worm,’ he muttered, reddening. ‘But someone with your experience shouldn’t find it hard to get another job.’ His blue eyes widened. ‘This Kincaid chap you work for wouldn’t withhold a reference, would he?’

‘I’m afraid he might,’ she sighed, wanting him to fry a little. Her smile was as wistful as she could make it. ‘But don’t worry about me, Toby. I’ll get by. Somehow.’

CHAPTER TWO

ELERI locked the door to the street, switched on the lights and the coffee-machine, then moved round the pretty, bright café to check the tables, making sure all the menus and condiments were in place. Satisfied all was ready for the next day, she pulled down the blinds and went back behind the counter. Next door in the restaurant she could hear the waiters talking as they performed similar tasks to hers, except for them work was only just beginning, and customers would soon come in to choose from a three-page menu of dishes from various regions of Italy, plus a list of British favourites to suit less adventurous tastes.

Eleri’s domain was the coffee-shop, where customers came in from early morning onwards to drink capuccino and eat teacakes and pastries and the cinnamon toast which was Conti’s speciality. At lunchtime the café served pizzas, or huge flat buns filled to order with salad and seafood or thin Italian ham, and in summer tables were set outside under umbrellas in the cobbled square in front of St Mark’s church—like a small piece of Italy set down in the Englishness of the shire town of Pennington.

It was a mere two weeks since Eleri had resigned her job at Northwold to return to the fold, and already she felt as if she’d been back in the family business forever. Her father had come to Britain from Italy thirty years earlier to work in his uncle’s restaurant, where he met Catrin Hughes, a black-haired Welsh beauty on the same catering course. As soon as they finished their training the pair got married, and with their combined skills formed an unbeatable team. They took over the running of the restaurant, revamped the menu and the decor, and rapidly attracted a much larger clientele. When Mario’s uncle died he left the business to them both, whereupon the ambitious young Contis took over the premises next door to add the kind of coffee-shop the holidaying British public had learned to appreciate on trips to Italy and ‘France.

In the first years of their marriage Mario and Catrin Conti were blessed with two daughters, Eleri and Claudia. Then, after a long interval, Niccolo Conti opened large blue eyes on the world and Mario Conti finally gained a male heir to his small, but profitable empire.

These days Mario left the actual cooking to four skilled chefs and confined himself to the financial side of the business, but he put in an appearance at the restaurant most nights. Until her marriage Claudia had run the coffee-shop, but Eleri, from the first, had never wanted to work in the family restaurant in any capacity. After gaining a degree in English, she followed it with a business course with her friend, Victoria Mantle, who made straight for a career in London afterwards. But Eleri had always worked within travelling distance of Pennington and lived at home, her annual holidays and occasional weekends in London with Vicky her only breaks from her close-knit Italianate family background.

Now Claudia was married, and Eleri’s resignation from her job had been greeted with passionate enthusiasm by her family. She’d decided to make the best of it and began to run the coffee-shop with the efficiency previously brought to her job at Northwold. Within days she’d taken over the ordering for the entire business, which prided itself on using the freshest of produce from local suppliers wherever possible. Each day she ordered meat, fish and vegetables from the local market and bread from a nearby bakery, while the ice-cream for which Conti’s was renowned came from an Italian supplier based in the Welsh valleys.

At six o’clock, as she did every evening, Eleri locked up, popped her head round the door of the restaurant and had a chat with Marco, the head waiter, then took herself off to the family home tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac behind the trattoria.

‘You look tired,’ said her mother, giving her a kiss. ‘Finding it hard, cariad?’

‘My feet find it hard, but the rest of it’s easy enough.’ Eleri sank into a kitchen chair, watching as her mother stirred sauce in a pan. ‘The trouble is Mamma mia, that although I like dealing with the general public, especially the regulars, and I quite enjoy the ordering and haggling with the suppliers and so on—’

‘You miss your work at Northwold.’

‘Exactly.’ Eleri smiled. ‘Clever old thing.’

‘Not so much of the old,’ said her mother, then looked up with a smile as her husband came in. ‘Good timing, Mario, your dinner’s ready. Eat it now so you can digest it before you go over to the restaurant. Eleri, you can have a bath before you eat, if you like.’

‘I do like, Ma. My feet are killing me.’ Eleri yawned widely.

Mario Conti was an elegant, olive-skinned man with a head of thick, greying blond hair and heavy-lidded blue eyes. He kissed his wife lovingly, then turned to his daughter. ‘So, cara. How was your day?’

‘The same as usual. Quite busy, in fact. The takings were well up on yesterday.’

Mario Conti looked at his daughter’s tired face, frowning. ‘I was asking how you were, not the takings.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Eleri, heaving herself out of her chair. ‘And I’ll be even better after dunking my poor aching feet in a hot bath! Nico’s at football practice, I assume?’

‘Where else?’ said Mario dryly.

Eleri laughed, and went upstairs, knowing perfectly well her parents would be deep in discussion over their elder daughter the moment she was through the door. In the bathroom she shared with Nico, Eleri let herself down into hot, scented water with a sigh of relief, grateful that her mother appreciated her need for time to herself. She loved her family, but, unlike Claudia, who’d been perfectly happy to live at home and work in the family business, Eleri had enough of her independent Welsh mother in her to need her own space from time to time. She missed her work at Northwold—and James—so badly that sometimes it was a struggle to disguise the fact from her parents, who knew nothing of her fight to forget James Kincaid. Eleri’s sloe-black eyes kindled at the memory of his suspicions. Forget him she might. In time. But forgiving him was something else entirely.

At least she was lucky to get the bathroom to herself tonight, she thought with a grin. Nico wanted to be a football star, not a restaurateur. But whether he achieved his ambition or not the security of the trattoria would always be waiting for him. Just as the coffee-shop had lain inexorably in wait for herself.

Eleri sighed, got out of the bath, and pulled on jeans and thick yellow sweater. She dried her hair, anchored the front strands behind her ears, then thrust her throbbing feet into soft boots bought on a visit to her grandparents in the Veneto the previous spring. She stared into the mirror moodily. She was the odd one out in the family in more ways than one; the only one with the Welsh name Catrin had insisted on for her first child. Claudia had fair curling hair and blue eyes, like their father, but Eleri’s straight black hair and wide-set dark eyes came from her Welsh mother. It was a family joke that Eleri looked more Italian than any of the family—even Nico, whose mane of wild black hair and brilliant blue eyes played havoc with the girls in school.

When Eleri was clearing up after her solitary, peaceful supper the phone rang.

‘Cara,’ said her father. ‘Marco told me a man was asking for you in the restaurant earlier.’

‘Who, Pop?’

‘Like an idiot Marco forgot to ask—it is busy in there tonight.’

Eleri was curious as she put the phone down. Surely Toby hadn’t been misguided enough to come looking for her at the trattoria? She’d been forced to tell her parents why she’d resigned from Northwold, and her father had needed much spirited argument from his womenfolk to prevent him rushing up to London to confront the young man he’d never approved of for his daughter, however casual the relationship. Not that Mario approved of any man for his daughters. Fortunately Claudia had married a solid, dependable young man with a steady job in an accounting firm. But secretly Eleri knew very well she was Mario’s darling, partly because she was the one who argued with him most and stood up to him, but mainly because she was the image of her mother at the same age. And because of it he was harder on her than on his other children. A man would have to be something very special indeed before Mario Conti approved of him for his elder daughter.

Not, thought Eleri morosely, that her father had need to worry on that score at the moment, if ever. After confronting Toby in London she’d refused to speak to him on the phone, and after the first few days he’d given up. Nowadays she worked a six-day week, which ruled out weekends in London with Vicky. She did her best to put on a good face, but sometimes she felt claustrophobic, even caged, and missed James Kincaid far more than she missed Toby. The day James arrived at the Gloucestershire plant of Northwold Eleri had taken one look at him and known that she would stay with him all her working life if he wanted her to. But in a few short minutes of trading Toby Maynard had put an end to her time at Northwold, and changed her life for ever.

The coffee-shop was very busy next day. Saturday always brought more shoppers into town and a gratifyingly large number of them came into Conti’s for hot drinks to keep out the biting January cold. Just before midday, when Eleri was taking a few minutes in the little room at the back, glad of some coffee and a breather before the lunchtime rush resumed in earnest, one of her assistants popped round the door.

‘Sorry to interrupt—a customer’s asking for you.’

‘Who is it, Luisa?’ said Eleri, getting up. ‘Anything wrong with her meal?’

‘No.’ The girl grinned. ‘It’s a him, not a her, and he hasn’t had a meal yet. Gianni’s just making a sandwich for him. I thought you might prefer to serve it to this particular customer—table ten.’

The table was against the window in the far comer of the café, and seated at it, reading a newspaper, was James Kincaid. Eleri’s heart turned a somersault under her dark red sweater, but her hand was steady as she set a beautifully garnished sandwich in front of him. He put the paper down and jumped to his feet, smiling in a way which did nothing to slow her heartbeat.

‘Eleri—thank you. I hoped you’d spare me a minute. Won’t you join me?’

She smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid not. This is our busy time. Do sit down again.’

‘I can’t if you don’t.’

Eleri cast a swift glance towards the counter, where her two assistants were trying to hide their curiosity while they worked. For the moment the café was only half full, and it was obvious they could cope.

‘Mr Kincaid—’ she began, seating herself.

‘Now we’re on your territory couldn’t you make it James?’ He bit into the sandwich with appreciation. ‘Mmm, this is good. Where do you get the salmon?’

‘From the market. We buy all our produce there.’ She sat, composed, waiting for him to explain his presence. He looked very different in sweater and heavy tweed trousers, a waxed jacket slung over the back of his chair. The mere sight of him gave Eleri a sharp pang of longing for Northwold, her job—and James.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, knowing she sounded cold in her effort to hide her pleasure at the sight of him.

‘It took some detective work to find out where you were. This, I take it, was the job waiting for you whenever you said the word?’

Eleri nodded. ‘My parents were shocked by my resignation from Northwold, of course, but otherwise they were delighted to welcome the prodigal back to the fold.’

‘Which brings me to my reason for coming here,’ he said, leaning forward.

‘Excuse me, Eleri,’ interrupted a diffident voice. ‘The bakery’s on the phone.’

‘Right, Gianni.’ Eleri got up, smiling at James in rueful apology.

‘Excuse me.’

The phone call was lengthy, involving confirmation of extra supplies for the wedding party they were catering for next day. By the time Eleri was free every table in the café was full, and James Kincaid was on his feet, dressed ready for the street as he handed her the bill and money for his lunch.

‘I won’t hold you up any longer,’ he said as she gave him his change.

‘Sorry. We’re always busy on Saturdays.’

‘I called in last night, but you’d already gone.’ He paused. ‘Do you work in the evenings?’

She shook her head. ‘Only in emergencies—like tomorrow, when there’s a wedding party. Otherwise I work an eight-hour day, six days a week.’

‘No sinecure then—longer hours than Northwold,’ he commented, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Which brings me once more to the reason for my visit. I’d like a talk with you. It’s short notice, I know, but would you have dinner with me tonight?’

Eleri stared at him in astonishment, and only managed to control instant, rapturous consent by turning. away to deal with a customer waiting to pay for lunch. She made the transaction, exchanging a few pleasantries, glad of the respite to gather her wits together, very conscious of the tall man studying the family photographs on the wall in the little foyer between the coffee-shop and the restaurant. When she was free he turned back to her.

‘I suppose it was too much to hope for on a Saturday night.’

That wasn’t the point, she thought, knowing perfectly well she ought to refuse. She was doing her utmost to get over James Kincaid. A dinner date was hardly the way to go about it. ‘It’s very kind of you—’ she began.

‘Not in the least,’ he interrupted. ‘You’d be doing me a kindness if you would.’

Why? she wondered. Perhaps he was at a loose end because Camilla Tennent was skiing in Gstaad or sunning in the Bahamas or wherever. ‘I’m afraid—’

‘Don’t say no,’ he said swiftly. ‘Look on it as a business appointment.’

Aware that Luisa and Gianni were in a frenzy, trying to cope with the lunchtime rush, Eleri gave in. To James and herself. ‘Oh, very well—’ She broke off to smile at a customer. ‘Just one moment, sir, I’ll be with you directly.’

‘What time shall I pick you up?’ asked James, and handed her a banknote. ‘Give this to your staff.’

‘How kind, thank you. But don’t come for me. I’ll meet you somewhere.’

‘The Mitre about eight?’

‘Yes. Right. Now I really must go.’ She turned away and plunged back into the business of heating pizzas and pouring coffees, and anything else necessary to relieve the beleaguered young pair who worked so willingly for her.

‘You’re going out?’ said her mother in surprise when a very weary Eleri went home later that evening.

‘Yes. Not that I feel like it. I’m done in.’

‘They why go?’

‘Curiosity, I suppose.’

Catrin Conti eyed her daughter warily. ‘It’s not with that Toby, I hope.’

‘What would you do if I said yes?’

‘Worry my head off.’

Eleri relented, giving her mother a hug. ‘Don’t, it’s not Toby. Though you’ll never guess who. I can’t believe it myself. The person asking for me last night was James Kincaid.’

‘Your boss at Northwold?’ said her mother, astonished. ‘Never!’

‘He came to the coffee-shop lunchtime, but I was too busy to talk to him much, so he asked me out for a meal tonight. Said it was business.’ Eleri thrust her hands through her hair, then looked at her watch. ‘Heavens, it’s later than I thought—better get my skates on.’

‘Business, is it! Where’s he taking you?’

‘The Mitre.’

Catrin sniffed. ‘You’d eat better here.’

‘Very possibly. But not with the same privacy, Mamma mia,’ said her daughter mockingly. ‘Where’s Nico?’

‘Gone to the pictures with the usual gang.’ Catrin smiled. ‘He’s helping out with the wedding party tomorrow night, by the way, to earn extra pocket money.’

‘New football boots, I suppose.’ Eleri laughed and went upstairs for a bath, more excited than she cared to admit, even to herself, about the forthcoming evening with James Kincaid.

She took enormous care with her hair and face, then went downstairs to find her father still at home.

‘Pops, my car sounds a bit funny. I think I’d better take a taxi.’

Her father’s eagle eye took in her wool tunic and long, clinging skirt, the soft kid boots and heavy gold earrings.

‘Lady in black—bellissima,’ he said, eyes narrowed. ‘All this for the man who fired you from Northwold?’

Ouch, thought Eleri. ‘He didn’t fire me. I resigned. I’m curious to know what he wants, that’s all. He said it was business.’

‘A man takes out a woman who looks like you, he does not think only of business,’ declared her father wryly. ‘Not if he has blood in his veins.’

‘Don’t judge all men by yourself, Pa!’ she said.

He laughed, and kissed her. ‘I’ll ask Luigi to look at the car in the morning.’

‘Come on, Mario,’ said Catrin. ‘We’re needed in the restaurant. Enjoy yourself, Eleri!’ She kissed her daughter’s smooth olive cheek. ‘You look gorgeous, love.’

Eleri waved them off, knowing she looked her best. The tiredness of the day had vanished after her leisurely bath. She’d left her hair loose to skim her shoulders, added a touch more emphasis to her eyes than usual and, best tonic of all, she was spending the evening with James Kincaid. She grinned at her reflection in the hall mirror. ‘You’ll do, Conti. Ring for a taxi.’

When Eleri arrived at the Mitre James was waiting for her in the courtyard, and had paid off her driver before she had time to ask the fare.

‘Eleri, hello,’ he said, smiling, as they went inside the inn. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘I said I would.’

‘I thought you might have had second thoughts.’

‘If I had I’d have rung to let you know,’ she assured him.

James managed to secure a small table in a corner of the crowded bar for a lengthy perusal of the menu over the drinks he ordered.

‘I’m told the restaurant here is rather good, but with you it’s a bit like taking coals to Newcastle. I hope it comes up to your standards,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘As long as it’s not pasta in any shape or form I don’t mind,’ she assured him, smiling. ‘No one does pasta dishes like our chefs. Though my father’s the master,’ she added, ‘when he’s in the mood to cook.’

‘Does your mother cook, too?’

‘Brilliantly. But only at home. She cooks dinner about four times a week, and the other nights we fend for ourselves, or they send something over from the restaurant. Nico eats like a horse.’

‘Nico?’

Eleri smiled, her eyes soft. ‘He’s fifteen, clever, and pretty gorgeous, actually.’

‘And his big sister obviously dotes on him!’

She flushed. ‘I suppose I do. Nico dreams of playing soccer for Inter Milan—though he might just deign to sign for a top English club if begged, of course.’

‘Big of him!’ James grinned. ‘Though I can sympathise. I always wanted to play international rugby—wear the white shirt for England and all that.’

‘Then you’re the enemy! I cheer for the Welsh.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Really? Italy I could understand, but why Wales?’

‘Because my mother’s Welsh. Hence my name,’ she explained.

His eyes gleamed ruefully. ‘Is Eleri Welsh? I thought it was something obscurely Italian. I went on calling you Miss Conti at first because I wasn’t sure I was pronouncing it properly.’

‘I remember. You addressed all the other girls by their surnames, too!’

‘I had to,’ he confessed, ‘once I started it with you.’

Eleri chuckled. ‘How funny. We all thought you were too high and mighty to descend to first names with the hired help.’

‘Did you think that?’ he said, startled.

‘Of course I did.’

‘Your name was to blame.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I heard Bruce and the others using it, but I always thought they were wrong. It doesn’t sound the way it’s spelt.’

‘To rhyme with fairy—or contrary, according to my father. We lock horns sometimes.’

‘Would it be rude to ask why?’

‘Not in the least. My protective Italian father likes to keep his girls close under his eye. But my mother supported my determination to go to college, because she did. And because my father would do anything in the world for her he agreed.’ Eleri smiled into his intent face. ‘But surely you didn’t ask me here tonight to hear my life story?’

‘It’s fascinating. The combination of Celt and Latin sounds explosive!’

‘It is, on occasion. But any disagreements are short-lived. My parents’ relationship is a very special one.’

‘It’s the same with my parents. Both pairs are to be congratulated. Long-running successful marriages are thin on the ground these days.’ James looked up as a waiter appeared to take their orders. ‘Right then—Eleri. What would you like to eat?’

Realising that whatever the reason James Kincaid had for asking her here tonight she was unlikely to learn what it was until they’d eaten, she asked how things were at Northwold, a subject which lasted until they were called in to dinner in the adjoining restaurant.

‘Who took my place?’ she asked curiously, as she started on the warm goat’s cheese salad she’d chosen to begin.

‘Head office sent down a temporary replacement while I look round for a successor of your calibre,’ said James, and changed the subject, asking if she’d seen the play currently running at the repertory theatre.

‘No,’ she confessed. ‘My feet hurt so much I tend to loll about with a book or watch television in the evenings.’

James laid down his fork, and looked at her in the direct, searching way she knew so well. ‘No trips to London?’

‘None.’ She returned the look steadily.

‘Your relationship with Maynard is over?’

Eleri’s eyes flashed. ‘Very much so—though I doubt one could describe what we had as a relationship, exactly. I met Toby through my friend, Vicky Mantle—the one who still works in Renshaw’s. I go up to London for the weekend to stay with her fairly regularly, and she introduced me to Toby. He used to take me to the cinema, or clubbing now and again. But I always slept in Vicky’s spare bed afterwards,’ she added. And cursed herself silently for blurting out something so private.

James’s eyes narrowed in surprise for a moment, but he introduced another subject deftly, and Eleri began to wonder when, if ever, he intended giving her the reason for their meeting. They were drinking coffee in a corner of one of the quieter bars after dinner, when he turned towards her on the padded bench seat and smiled wryly.

‘You’ve been very patient, Eleri.’

‘I have,’ she agreed.

James nodded. ‘All right. I won’t beat about the bush. Head office has sent me a temporary assistant. Mrs Willis is a terrifying lady, about to retire, who is doing this as a great favour and never lets me forget the fact.’

‘Oh?’ Eleri eyed James warily. ‘Have you done any interviews yet?’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

Eleri looked long and hard into the light eyes which returned her scrutiny steadily, giving no clue to the thought processes behind them.

‘Why not?’ she asked at last.

‘Because I’m determined to persuade you to come back to Northwold,’ he informed her.

‘I can’t do that,’ she said quietly, and refilled their cups with a steady hand.

‘You’re not even surprised I asked.’

‘What other reason would you have for asking me out to dinner?’

He frowned. ‘The same reason any man asks you out, I imagine—for the pleasure of your company.’

Eleri’s heart skipped a beat. ‘But in our case it’s rather different.’

‘Not really. You were a large part of my life for over twelve months, Eleri, and I’ve missed you like hell. Not just because you’re so good at your job, either. Until the advent of Mrs Willis, who never wears anything other than a navy blue twin set and matching shapeless skirt, I never appreciated your faultless taste in clothes.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, surprised to discover James had ever noticed her appearance. ‘I certainly never wear navy blue.’

‘I thought not.’ James subjected her to a comprehensive scrutiny. ‘Tonight you look positively dazzling—more exotic and Italian, I suppose, with your hair loose.’

Eleri looked at him in astonishment, her heart suddenly hammering. To cover her shock she laughed a little, and drank down her coffee. ‘You’re misled by my colouring. My looks come from my Welsh mother. My father’s fair.’

‘Northern Italian?’

She nodded. ‘The Veneto.’

James folded his arms across his chest, his eyes intent on her face. ‘Eleri, are you refusing to come back because you don’t want to, or because your pride won’t allow it?’

Unlike her heart, Eleri’s memory was in perfect working order. Her eyes gleamed coldly. ‘I left under a cloud, if you remember. How could you possibly expect me to come back in the circumstances?’

‘No one knows about your connection with Maynard other than my brother-in-law and myself.’ He looked away across the bar. ‘Sam told me Maynard obtained the information from someone at Merlin Ales. You’re completely exonerated.’

‘I want to be trusted, not exonerated,’ she retorted.

‘I do trust you. I told you that the day you walked out on me.’ James paused, smiling crookedly. ‘I didn’t tell anyone you’d resigned, except for Bruce Gordon. The rest of the staff think you’re taking some leave because your family needed you for a while.’

‘They need me full stop,’ she said flatly. ‘So even if I wanted to come back I can’t.’

‘Ah, but you’d like to,’ he said swiftly.

‘All right. I would,’ she admitted. ‘I enjoyed my job. But I care too much for my family to take off again and leave them in the lurch.’ Nor did she intend running back to Northwold just because James Kincaid crooked his finger and whistled. Much as she wanted to. She stood up. ‘If you’d ask the waiter for my coat and call me a taxi it’s time I went home. Busy day tomorrow.’

James signalled to a waiter. ‘I’ll drive you.’

‘There’s no need to go so far out of your way.’

‘I literally pass your door.’

‘You’ve moved from Compton Priors?’

‘Yes. I never meant the cottage to be more than a stop-gap while I looked for something permanent. It actually belongs to my parents, so from now on I’ll just use it as a weekend retreat now and again. I moved into a flat in town last week.’ He helped her into her heavy gold wool jacket. ‘Let’s dash; it’s started to snow again.’ They went outside into a white, whirling night, and James rushed her over to his Land Rover Discovery and tossed her up into it, flakes of snow frosting his hair when he ran round to get in beside her. ‘Brrr!’ he complained, shivering. ‘Weather like this spurred me into finding a flat. This winter I’ve had a couple of dicey journeys out to the cottage.’

The snow was coming down so thick and fast by the time they arrived in the town, Eleri told James to drop her at the end of the cul-de-sac.

‘The house is at the end, so don’t try and drive down—it’s difficult to turn round,’ she instructed, and James killed the engine.

‘I shan’t give up, Eleri. When you change your mind you know where to contact me.’ He turned in his seat to look at her.

Eleri kept her eyes on the seat belt she was unfastening. ‘I doubt that I will. But thanks for the meal. I’m afraid it was rather a wasted evening for you.’

‘How could any time spent with you be wasted, Eleri?’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said politely. ‘I’m only sorry I had to disappoint you.’

‘So am I.’ He got out of the car and went round to help her out, then took her by surprise by clasping both her hands in his. ‘Goodnight—but definitely not goodbye.’

CHAPTER THREE

NEXT day, over lunch, Eleri’s family were full of curiosity about her evening—her mother, particularly, inquisitive about James Kincaid’s motive for asking her out.

‘If it was any other man, cariad, the reason would be obvious, but in the circumstances, you must admit it’s a bit odd.’

‘Perhaps he just fancies her,’ said Nico, wolfing down large quantities of roast lamb. ‘What’s in this stuffing, Ma? It’s different.’

‘Laverbread, cariad,’ said Catrin, and smiled at her mystified husband. ‘Seaweed, of a sort, Mario. They’ve begun to get it in the market occasionally—sent up from Swansea.’

‘Seaweed?’ he said with professional interest. ‘This is some Welsh recipe, no?’

‘My mother used to do it this way,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’d forgotten about it until I read it in a magazine the other day. It’s mixed with onion and bread-crumbs and a dash of orange juice. Do you like it?’

‘It’s magnificent!’ said Mario with relish. ‘We shall serve it in the restaurant.’

They were sitting round the oval table in the dining room for the midday meal always eaten together on Sundays, at Catrin’s insistence, since sometimes it was the only time in the week she could gather all her family together. Claudia and her husband Paul often came too, but today the weather was bad and the Contis were reduced to four, which centred squarely on Eleri’s evening with James Kincaid.

‘If you must know,’ she said, resigned, ‘Mr Kincaid took me out to dinner to try to persuade me to go back to my job at Northwold. It’s my office skills he lusts after, not me.’

Her father gave her a startled, searching look. ‘What did you say, cara?’

‘I refused, of course.’ She stood up to take their plates. ‘I’ll fetch the pudding.’

Her mother followed her out into the kitchen with the vegetable dishes. ‘But you wanted to accept, love, didn’t you?’

Eleri nodded. ‘Yes. But don’t worry. I wouldn’t let you down like that. And it may be cutting my nose off to spite my face, but I’ve no intention of running back to Northwold at the drop of a hat. I do have my pride, Mother.’

‘But you weren’t really sacked.’

‘No. But my integrity was questioned.’ Eleri took a bowl of zabaglione from the fridge. ‘Though I’m completely exonerated, James informed me.’

‘James? On first-name terms now, then?’

‘His idea, not mine.’ Eleri smiled cajolingly at her mother. ‘Shall I take the apple tart in, too? Zabaglione won’t be enough for Nico.’

Later that night, Eleri was glad when the wedding supper had been served and she could escape from the restaurant to enjoy some time to herself at home. Sometimes she longed to join Vicky in London as her friend wanted. Until James Kincaid’s arrival she’d tended to look on the Northwold post as a stepping-stone to some future high-powered job in the capital. But James’s advent had put her ambitions on a back-burner, and now she was farther from realising them than ever before, involved in the family business after all, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.

The following week, to Eleri’s intense irritation, she found herself looking up in anticipation every time a tall, dark man came into the coffee-shop. How could it be James during the week? she asked herself scornfully. Or any time at all. He’d done his persuading. He wouldn’t ask again now she’d turned him down. She’d been foolish to accept his invitation to dinner. Her efforts at getting over him had been going rather well up to that point. Now, damn the man, she was back to square one.

One of the other duties Eleri had volunteered for, once she was working in the business, was to deliver meals ordered by customers wanting a full-scale dinner in the comfort of their own home. At first her father had demurred, saying it was better left with Luigi, the waiter who normally drove the small van and even served the meal if required. Luigi, however, had broken his ankle on an icy pavement during the unusually bitter cold spell, and Eleri was given reluctant permission to take over for him as a temporary measure.

‘Anything to relieve the monotony, isn’t it?’ her mother had said, helping, her load the van the first time. ‘I thought you’d be glad to stay in on an evening after being on your feet all day.’

‘It makes a change,’ said Eleri cheerfully. ‘Do they want me to serve this?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Catrin firmly. ‘I don’t mind you delivering a meal, but I’m not having my daughter stay to serve it.’

‘I serve people all day in the coffee-shop,’ Eleri pointed out.

‘That’s different,’ said her mother, firmly illogical.

Eleri enjoyed taking over the delivery service. The meals were expensive, but none of the clients had complained to date, since the food was perfectly prepared and arrived ready to serve, other than for a little reheating of certain dishes.

A dinner for two had been ordered that night for an address in Chester Gardens.

‘It is a very simple meal, cara,’ said her father. ‘But it is best you take the ingredients for the insalata caprese and make it up for the customer after you arrive. The main course is just pasta with meat sauce, so put it in a low oven while you make the salad, then come home. Deo volente, Luigi will be able to drive again soon.’

‘But I like doing it, Pa,’ she protested.

‘I know.’ He patted her cheek, then kissed it. ‘Because you are bored, no?’

She grinned at him, put the containers in the car and slid behind the wheel, not troubling to contradict what was, her father knew well, the simple truth. She was bored. It was time she begged a Saturday off to spend a weekend with Vicky.

To Eleri’s relief the address was a ground-floor apartment in one of the austerely beautiful Regency houses in Chester Gardens. Where a lift was involved the delivery was more complicated. She rang the bell, and after a short wait the panelled door swung open to reveal a tall, all too familiar figure.

James Kincaid stood transfixed at the sight of her. ‘Eleri?’

‘Who is it?’ called a voice in the background.

‘The dinner you ordered,’ he called back, looking embarrassed as he took one of the insulated containers from Eleri. ‘The kitchen’s along here.’ He hurried a shell-shocked Eleri along the hall and into a high-ceilinged room with a black and white tiled floor and state-of-the-art equipment. He shut the door behind them and thrust a hand through his hair, his discomfiture so obvious Eleri forgot her own in her amusement.

‘I apologise for this,’ he said gruffly. ‘Believe me. I had no idea.’

‘Neither did I. Look, could I put the oven on for the main course, please?’ she said, deliberately businesslike. ‘Or you can put it in the microwave. I’m afraid I have to assemble the first course, but it won’t take long. It’s only a salad.’

‘Please don’t bother—I’m sure we can manage,’ he said curtly. He went over to a large convector oven and switched it on. ‘I’d better use this, I suppose. What temperature do I need?’

‘Medium. But don’t leave the dish in too long. Could I have a big round serving plate, please?’

James hunted in a cupboard and gave her a plate, then watched uneasily while Eleri sliced beef tomatoes and rounds of buffalo mozzarella cheese with the knife she’d brought with her. She arranged them in concentric circles on the plate, drizzled virgin olive oil over them, tore up a handful of fresh basil leaves and sprinkled them over the finished dish.

‘There,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Insalata caprese . Would you put it in the fridge, please? I’ll leave you to slice the focaccia when you’re ready to eat.’ She unwrapped a flat loaf coated with onions and rosemary, then put the dish of pasta in the oven.

‘Eleri—’ began James.

‘Please,’ she said swiftly, ‘just let me get away as quickly as possible.’ She bit her lip, her face suddenly hot. ‘Though I’m afraid you have to pay me first.’

James fished his wallet out from a back pocket and handed over the not inconsiderable sum required for his evening meal. Eleri took the money and gave him change, all in a silence so tangible it fairly simmered in the air.

‘Normally one of our staff does this,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘He’s broken his ankle, so I’m filling in. If you order anything in future it’s customary to give Luigi a tip.’

‘For pity’s sake, Eleri, I thought you’d black my eye if I offered you a tip!’ He smiled ironically. ‘It seems a totally inadequate and irrelevant thing to say, but thank you.’

‘My pleasure,’ fibbed Eleri dryly. ‘Nice kitchen,’ she added, then stiffened as the door opened and in came a tall, slender blonde in a dress Eleri had coveted in a glossy magazine.

‘Dinner? How splendid. Wasn’t I clever, James, to think of getting it sent in?’ She smiled radiantly at Eleri and spoke loudly and very distinctly. ‘Thank you so much. Do you speak English?’

Eleri was suddenly possessed by a demon. ‘A leetle, signorina,’ she said, avoiding James’s stare. ‘I ’ave prepare the insalata, and the pasta ees hotting in the oven.’

‘Perfect. Have you paid her, James?’

‘Yes,’ he said, fixing Eleri with a cold, glittering stare. ‘But I forgot to give her a tip.’ He held out a five-pound note. ‘Please accept this for your trouble, Signorina Conti.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.