Читать книгу Bargaining With The Boss - CATHERINE GEORGE, Catherine George - Страница 9

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.’