Читать книгу British Bachelors: Fabulous and Famous: The Secret Ingredient / How to Get Over Your Ex / Behind the Film Star's Smile - Nikki Logan - Страница 10
ОглавлениеEvery sound in the cake shop seemed to fade into the background as Rob focused on the bitter words that had exploded from the lips of the pretty girl sitting so still across the small table from him.
Of course he remembered Debra.
A shiver of cold regret and bitter disappointment bubbled up.
His rules were simple and easy to remember.
They could have fun. They could have a fling and a great time together and while it lasted he would be the most attentive and faithful boyfriend that a girl could want. Then they would walk away and get on with their lives.
That was how it worked and he made damn sure that any girl he dated was very clear that he was not in the business of negotiating. They were either in or out. Black or white. Their choice.
Debra had lasted longer than most and they had enjoyed a pretty good relationship for a few months. Until the inevitable had happened. She had started pushing for a long-term commitment that he hadn’t been prepared to give. She had kept telling him how much she loved him and how different she was from all of the other girls, so his rules did not apply to her. She was too special and different to be treated like one of the others.
She had not felt so special when he’d packed his bags and had been out of her door an hour later. In fact he recalled crying, screaming, and a humiliating display of begging.
It was weeks later that he’d found out through the gossip channels that Debra had been getting over his breaking up with her with the help of vodka and free hotel wine.
Lottie was the apprentice pastry chef who he fired that night to teach Debra a lesson and try and shock her into taking her life back.
Well, that explained a lot.
‘I remember it well. I ended up taking Debra home to her parents a few days later and finding her the professional help that she needed. It was a great relationship while it lasted and Debra is a remarkable girl. I met up with her and her husband when they were in Los Angeles for a professional chef conference last autumn. They seem like a great couple who have a stunning restaurant together. I am happy for her.’
Rob slowly unfolded his arms and stretched them out across the table.
‘That was a long time ago, Lottie. I made a choice. It was the right decision at the time and I have to stand by that. End of story.’
There was a gasp from across the table and Lottie stared at him, wide-eyed.
‘The right decision at the time? For who? Your squeeze?’
She sat back heavily in the chair and blinked. ‘Is that it? Is that the only apology you have for me? Because I have to tell you that, as excuses go, that is pathetic.’
‘No excuses. It was my job to recruit top talent for the restaurant and Debra is a great pastry chef. I didn’t know about her drinking problems until they impacted her work.’
Rob leant forwards from the waist and pressed the flat of his hand down on the pale wood tabletop.
‘My only regret is that I allowed personal feelings to block my judgement. I should have spotted that Debra was in trouble weeks earlier and done something about it before things got out of hand. Instead I stayed away to give her some distance. The last thing she needed was me standing looking over her shoulder and shouting orders at her. That was my mistake.’
‘What about firing me as some sort of scapegoat? I was incredibly lucky to find another placement the next day after some serious pleading.’
A smile crept over his lips and he tilted his head towards Lottie. ‘Sometimes I’m just too sensitive and caring for my own good.’
‘Really? I had no idea.’ Lottie nodded but every word was dripping with venom. ‘You hide it so very well.’
‘On the contrary.’ Rob shrugged. ‘Take this charity fundraiser you conned me into.’ His hand flipped up into a question before he reached for his coffee. ‘I cannot wait to hear all about it. For a start, I would like to know who’s running the show. Whose idea was it to create scholarship funds for trainee chefs? Because I hope that they know what they’re getting themselves into. That is one hell of a lot of hard work.’
The blonde sitting opposite leant forwards, her forearms on the table until her face was only a few inches away from Rob’s nose, and smiled sweetly. ‘That’s an easy question to answer. It was my idea. I know precisely what I have got myself into and, yes, it is a lot of hard work. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Then she slid back, lifted her chin and smiled before replying. ‘This time I am the one who gets to set the rules and call the shots. And I can’t tell you how liberating that is.’
Then she nodded towards the plate she had slid towards him. ‘Take now, for example. No coffee without something to eat. This time it happens to be my speciality pear-and-almond tart. Enjoy.’
Rob stared at the food, and then looked up into a pair of sparkling green eyes.
Only Lottie’s eyes were not simply green. They were forest green. Spring-bud green. The kind of captivating green that knocked the breath out of his lungs.
It was hot outside, but it had suddenly become a lot hotter in this cake shop.
It must be the heat from the ovens.
Her attention was totally focused on him, and her head tilted slightly to one side as she waited patiently for his reply for a few moments.
Just for a second, her gaze faltered and a chink appeared in the façade through which he got a faint glimmer of something unexpected. Suspicion, maybe, but a fierce intelligence and power. It lasted only an instant. But it sent him reeling, before the closed-mouth smile switched back on.
Lottie polished a pristine fork on a clean corner of her apron before placing it next to the pastry on Rob’s plate. ‘You know how hard it is to make a name for yourself in the catering world. I was lucky and so were you. We had money and backup. A full scholarship is the only way most of these young people can afford to go to college and get the training they need to show what they can do. I happen to think that’s worth spending time on. Just because I chose to become a baker does not mean that I tossed my business management degree into the nearest bin on the way into the catering college.’
She gave a small shoulder-shrug. ‘Relax, Rob. The charity has a full-time administrator and a professional team running it. Any questions, talk to Sean. He has been through the details and offered the use of the Beresford for the event.’
Ah. So that was it. This girl thought that he was going to turn a charity auction into a Rob Beresford promotional event.
Was that really how she saw him? As a self-serving egomaniac? Well, this day was just getting better and better.
And with that she extended her free hand towards him, her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was intense. Focused. ‘We made a trade last evening. One personal appearance in exchange for bed and breakfast. I need to know that we still have a deal this morning and you are not going to walk out on us.’
Rob stared at the food, then looked up into those sparkling green eyes, and took her hand.
It was warm, small, and sticky and calloused, with long, strong fingers that clamped around his. This was no limp, girly handshake. This was the hand of a woman who cooked her own food, kneaded her own bread, and washed her own dishes. The sinews and muscles in her wrists and forearms were strong and toned.
He was accustomed to shaking hands with men and women from all sides of the building trade every day of the week in his job, but this was different. A frisson of energy, a connection, sparked through that simple contact of skin on skin.
‘I gave you my word. I’ll be there.’
Her fingers gripped his for a second longer than necessary before releasing him, her eyes darting to his. The crease in her forehead told him that he was not the only one to have felt it. But to her credit Lottie nodded towards his plate. ‘Good. Now that’s cleared up, why don’t you enjoy your tart? You still look as though you need it. Tough morning?’
He paused before replying. ‘Yes, actually, it has been a tiring morning, and I’m sure it’s delicious but I don’t eat cake.’
Lottie sniffed and tilted her head. ‘Well, that’s a shame. Luckily I am confident that with your extensive culinary expertise you will have observed that this is not cake. This is a tart, which I made today, in this kitchen. At some silly time of the morning.’
Lottie gave her ovens a finger wave, and then moved to sit down on the corner of the table, her arms folded. ‘Speciality of the house. And nobody leaves this kitchen without trying my baking. Including you, Rob Beresford.’
Her eyes ratcheted down to the pastry, then slowly, slowly, came back up to his face. ‘I have heard the words and shaken on it, but now I want to see the proof that you want to cooperate with me. The success of the evening all depends on what you do in the next five minutes. So, what’s it going to be, Rob?’
What Lottie had not expected was for Rob to reach out towards her. She forced herself not to back away as Rob picked up her left hand and kissed the backs of her knuckles before releasing it with a grin.
‘We came to an arrangement. And a Beresford man always keeps his promises.’
Lottie uncrossed her arms and wrapped her fingers around the coffee cup as Rob glared at her for a second before picking up his fork and breaking off a piece of warm, fragrant tart.
Lottie Rosemount had no intention of letting the scholarship students down when it came to the simple matter of organising a fundraising event.
The last thing she needed was a celebrity chef turning up and questioning her abilities.
Even if that chef smelt of warm spice and looked as if he had stepped down from a photo shoot for a fashion magazine. She had never met anyone who could totally rock designer denim jeans and a white shirt.
Her eyes could not move from his wide, full lips wrapping around the cake fork.
She had to see his reaction when he tasted the combination of sweet almonds and warm spice with the aromatic juicy fruit of the ripe pear, which she had poached gently in spiced pear juice syrup until it was almost falling apart.
It had taken six trial batches before she was happy with the variety of pear and the cooking time.
Ah. There it was.
Rob’s eyes fluttered closed for just a fraction of a second and then he chewed a little faster so that he could break off a huge piece of tart with his fork and pick it up with his fingers.
Oh, yes. He had got it. He liked it!
He was staring into her eyes now, the corners of his mouth turned up with a flicker of something that could have been amusement, interest, or more likely frustration that she had forced him into agreeing to come to the fundraiser.
A slight twinge of guilt flickered through her mind. She had been quite shameless. One overnight stay for a distressed artist in exchange for an hour shaking hands and supporting the charity. That was not too terrible. Was it?
‘Mmm,’ he murmured and drained the last of his coffee. ‘Not bad. In fact, seriously good. Where did you say you trained?’
‘Here and there. I finished my apprenticeship with Valencia Cagoni when you fired me. You can check the rest on my website later.’
The creases in the corners of his eyes deepened as Lottie inhaled a powerful aroma of spicy masculine sweat, which was sweet even against the perfume of the fruit and nuts in her food.
His gaze hovered over her ring finger, then flicked back to her face, eyebrows high.
‘Not married? Or are you too rebellious to wear a ring?’
Lottie almost choked on a piece of pastry from her tart and quickly swallowed down a slurp of coffee before wheezing out a reply.
‘Not married, engaged, dating, or anything else. Where would I find the time for that?’
‘If you wanted it enough you would find the time.’ His eyes flashed a challenge that was definitely hot enough to warm the coolest of breezes.
Wanted it? Oh, she wanted it. But it had to be the right man who wanted the same things. And so far they were thin on the ground.
‘Not very high on my priority list at the moment,’ she lied, but not very convincingly because that smile on Rob’s face lifted into a knowing smirk of deep self-satisfaction.
Damn. She had fallen straight into his trap.
‘So it’s all work and no play for the lovely Miss Rosemount. That doesn’t sound like much fun.’
‘And your life is one great circus of constant amusement because your business runs itself. Is that right?’
Damn him for making her snappy.
‘I never said that,’ he replied with a twist of his head towards the door where a young couple was staggering in with a baby buggy and shopping bags.
She couldn’t move. There was something electric in the few inches of air between them, as though powerful magnets were pulling them together.
At this distance, she could feel that frisson of energy and strength of the man whose whole professional life had been spent under the glare of public scrutiny—by choice.
This was the kind of bloke who was accustomed to walking into a cocktail bar or restaurant and having head waiters fawn over themselves to find him the best table.
Well, not this time, handsome!
She could stick this out longer than he could.
It was Gloria who saved him. Her friend came galloping down the stairs from the bedroom and third-floor studio and instantly twisted her mouth into a smile.
‘Well, hello! You have to be Rob. You mum has been telling me all about you, scamp. I’m Gloria.’
With a laugh she turned to Lottie. ‘Adele decided to take her breakfast to the studio with Ian. They’re having a great time up there so I thought I would leave them to it.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from across the table. ‘Ian?’
‘My friend Ian Walker,’ Lottie said. ‘You must have met him last night. He was the photographer who worked with your mum on the exhibition catalogue for the gallery. Tall, thin, about forty. And a great fan of your mum’s work.’
Suddenly Rob was standing ramrod-straight next to her, his back braced, and looking horribly tall, as though he feared the worst.
‘Then I think it’s time I caught up with them, don’t you?’ he said. ‘So you have a studio?’ he went on. ‘That is different. I have been to plenty of artists’ studios in my time but above a bakery? My mum and her pals would spend more time scoffing the goods than working.’
Her mouth opened and then closed before she answered him with a smirk. ‘Ah. So this is going to be a first. And who said anything about artists? Prepare to be disappointed. Follow me.’ Then she caught his smile and her eyes narrowed. ‘On second thoughts, you can go first. Straight through that door. Then at the top of the stairs take a sharp left and carry on up to the third floor. You can’t miss it.’
Rob took the stairs two at a time then slowed down to take the narrow second steps, conscious that Lottie was by his side the whole time.
His mother was alone with a man who he had never met; he certainly did not recognise the name. In his book, that meant trouble. Lots of trouble.
Especially when they stopped outside what looked like a bedroom door.
Lottie stepped forwards and gently turned the brass handle, casually swung open the wooden door and stepped through.
The walls and ceiling were painted in brilliant white.
Light flooded in from the plain glass windows, illuminating one single picture hanging over what must have been the original chimney breast.
Staring back at him was a life-size formal portrait of Lottie Rosemount—the impact of seeing her captured knocked Rob physically backwards.
He was so stunned that it took a few seconds for him to notice that Lottie had moved forwards and was chatting to a tall, thin, older man, who he vaguely recognised, standing next to a long table covered with a pristine white cloth.
His quick brain struggled to take in what he was looking at.
It was the complete opposite of what he had been expecting.
Instead of the chaotic blend of noise and bakery odours and general chaos he had walked into in the cake shop, the third-floor space was a haven of quiet sunlight and calm.
It was a separate world. An oasis. And totally stunning.
The studio had clearly been a loft and the ceiling was angled away into one corner, but half of the roof was made from glass panels, which created a flood of light into the centre of the room. The outside wall had two wide panels of floor-to-ceiling double patio doors. And sitting outside on a tiny patio chair, cradling a large white cup, was his mother.
She was wearing a silk kimono, her hair was already styled, and there was a china plate stacked high with pain au chocolat and Danish pastries, which he knew that she adored. Next to an open box of tissues.
‘Darling. There you are! What a lovely morning. Do come and look at this wonderful view. Isn’t it divine?’
Rob rolled back his shoulders and, with a nod to Lottie and Ian, who were totally engrossed in looking at some images on a laptop computer, walked out onto the narrow roof terrace.
He pressed his lips to his mother’s hair and wrapped his arm loosely across the back of the chair as she blew her nose.
‘How are you this morning, Mum? Cold any better?’
‘Much. I have it down to sniffles. And I slept for hours! Hopefully I shall stay awake at the gallery today when the great British public arrive. It was such a shame that I did not last much of the evening.’
He rested his chin on her shoulder so that they were both looking out at the same panoramic view across the London skyline towards the river Thames.
‘Now, tell me what you have been up to this morning.’
Perhaps it would be better not to mention last night after all.
His breath caught in his throat.
All of the Beresford hotels in the city had views over London, but this? Somehow being on this tiny terrace reminded him so much of the house where he had grown up with his dad. The window box full of red geraniums. The wrought iron railings. The tiled clay roofs that spread out with the old chimney pots. Church spires. And the faint sound of the busy London street just below where they were standing. Red buses, black cabs. The whole package.
He had missed this. He missed the real London.
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he whispered. ‘This is special.’
‘It’s wonderful. How clever of you to persuade your friend to allow me to stay here. Because I have to tell you, darling, your hotel is charming and so efficient but this place is divine and Gloria and Lottie have been perfect hosts. And the studio...’
Adele pressed one hand gently to the front of the kimono and Rob was shocked to see the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes.
‘When I first came to London your father tried so hard to find me somewhere to work and the closest I came was somewhere just like this. A third floor of an old stone house that had belonged to one of the Impressionists. I loved it, for a while.’
Then she waved one hand. ‘It was not to be, but that is past history and there is no point living with regret. Strange, I had almost forgotten how special this city is.’
‘London? I thought that you hated it here.’
‘Hated it?’ his mother replied and turned around to face him. ‘Oh, no, darling. I could never do that. I was so young and I simply couldn’t find my balance.’
Then she looked out across the rooftops. ‘We’ve both come a long way since then, kiddo. A hell of a long way.’
A killer grin lightened her face. ‘This is wonderful and I intend to enjoy every minute of it before heading back to the gallery. So scoot. Go and talk to Ian. That man worked miracles with my catalogue and Lottie needs your help. Call me before you go. But in the meantime, I am simply splendid.’
And with that she snuggled back in the chair and picked up a flaky pastry and bit into it with moans of delight.
It was the happiest that he had seen her for weeks.
Well. So much for all of his concerns about finding his mother a wreck!
Perhaps he had to thank Lottie Rosemount for a lot more than he’d first thought.
* * *
He loved his mother very much.
Lottie exhaled slowly as the thought crept into her mind that she had made a horrible mistake.
She darted a quick glance towards the terrace where Adele was quite happily enjoying the June sunshine with Rob chatting so sweetly by her side, his arm draped so protectively close, and swallowed down a moment of deep humiliation.
She had been wrong.
Last night had not been about Rob trying to save his credibility and reputation at all.
It had all been about protecting his mother. Not himself.
That was why he had been so concerned about going to the hotel.
He had been terrified that his mother would embarrass herself and the press would be full of photographs of Adele staggering about looking half drunk and falling out of a limo onto the street in front of the cameras.
How could she have been so stupid?
When Rob Beresford had walked into that art gallery all she had been able to see was the man who had treated her so unfairly.
But what about the rest? It was gossip. Tittle-tattle scandal about Rob’s many conquests and how he had ditched Debra without a moment’s notice.
A low icy shudder ran across her shoulders.
She was a fool. No, worse than that. She had allowed her memory of what had happened when they had last met to cloud her judgement.
This was not just unfair, it was wrong.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She had made a total fool of herself by doing the very thing she’d promised she would not do again: judge people based on what they had done in the past.
And if she was guilty of that she was woman enough to put it right.
Right now.
‘Rob.’ Lottie smiled and strolled over to the terrace. ‘Can I drag you away from Adele for a moment? You’re an expert on recipe books and this is my first. Do you remember Ian? This lovely man has bravely taken on a very different kind of challenge: making my novelty birthday cakes look good enough to eat. Welcome to my budget photo shoot!’
* * *
On a white cake stand on a pedestal in the middle of a long table covered in a white cloth was a cake.
It had been shaped into a racing car Rob vaguely recalled seeing on movie posters for a children’s cartoon film some months ago.
The long low body was covered with bright red fondant icing with a white stripe running down both sides. The wheels were white discs and the whole design looked so realistic it might have been mistaken for a toy. Except that Lottie had just finished icing liquorice round sweets in place of the headlights and steering wheel.
All in all a perfect cake for a car-mad little boy.
It was brilliant.
Rob stepped closer and nodded to Ian, who stopped work adjusting a light stand and an elaborate studio camera system on a tripod to come forward and shake his hand. ‘Good to meet you, Rob. Adele has told me a lot about you.’
‘Really?’ Rob answered and glanced towards his mother, who was now chatting happily to Lottie and eating croissants. Because she has not said a word about you. ‘Congratulations on the exhibition catalogue. Everyone I spoke to last evening loved the layout.’
‘It was my pleasure.’ Ian shook his head. ‘Although I confess that I didn’t expect to meet Adele here this morning when I turned up to work on the charity cookbook Lottie is pulling together. Do you have an interest in food photography, Rob?’
‘Me? Not at all. I leave that to the experts. I simply prepare the food and the stylists and photographers get to work on the recipe books.’
He quickly scanned the room, taking in the high ceilings and natural light from the skylight and tall windows. ‘Has this always been a photographer’s studio?’
‘Not as far as I know. Lottie refurbished the loft as soon as she bought the place. It is quite something. And I need to get back to it or the cake will dry out. Later.’
A quick tour of the loft revealed that Lottie’s taste in books ranged from classic French cuisine to high finance and shared the space with a fine collection of spiders’ webs and dust.
At the far end, away from the windows, was a screened-off area, and Rob could not resist peeking behind the découpage screen.
A double bed with a Victorian carved wooden headboard was flat against the wall. Dressed with white bedcovers trimmed in lilac satin and a soft-looking duvet.
Feather. He could tell from the way it was made.
Hmm, interesting. He wouldn’t be trying that bed out. Way too girly.
But who slept in a bed that size?
He was just about to investigate when there was a sharp cough from behind his back. ‘Found anything interesting back there,’ Lottie asked and he knew without bothering to look that she had her hands on her hips, ‘Mr Nosy Parker?’
‘My natural, insatiable curiosity cannot be contained, Goldilocks.’
‘Goldilocks? What do you mean?’
Rob peeked at her over one shoulder and smiled. ‘Thought so. I have discovered your secret hideaway. Not a bad spot. Not bad at all.’
‘Actually, it’s lovely. I don’t mind sleeping in the studio for six months during the summer. It’s not such a bad place to wake up in the morning.’
‘And the rest of the time?’
Lottie strolled over to the screen and gestured to the terrace where Adele was just finishing off her breakfast.
‘When I was in business my first Christmas bonus paid for an apartment in the city with a view over the Thames. At the moment I am renting it out to one of my former colleagues while she is working on a project in central London and wanted a home rather than a serviced apartment.’
Lottie dropped her hand. ‘You know the statistics about how many restaurants and cafés never make it to their first birthday? Well, I am just coming up to eight months and—’ she tapped on the wooden frame on the screen ‘—so far, so good. But who knows? Things change. People change.’
Then she paused. ‘What gave me away?’
Then he gestured with his head towards the garment bags and clothing hanging on two garment rails behind the decorated screen. ‘Designer clothing is not really Dee’s style.’
‘I could have put my clothes in storage but I prefer to have them handy. A girl has to be ready for all eventualities.’
‘Is this what you are wearing on Saturday evening?’ Rob picked up the skirt of a stunning slinky mocha-coloured satin slip with a lace trim and lifted his eyebrows before releasing it. ‘Because I am not sure the Beresford Richmond is ready for this kind of allure. Va va boom.’
‘Please don’t touch the frillies. And my gown is going to be a surprise, so do stop looking.’
‘Fair enough. What time shall I pick you up?’
‘That’s okay. I’m meeting you there.’
‘Why, Miss Rosemount, surely you are not frightened of tongues wagging if we walk in together, are you?’
‘Not at all. But I am going to get there early to help set things up. That’s all.’
‘Is that it? Or do you have a rule about not dating chefs?’
‘Dating? Of course not. I don’t have any problem with chefs. Far from it. I have spent three years working my backside off becoming one.’ Her gaze locked on to his chest but slowly, slowly, lifted to his face. ‘Just arrogant chefs with egos to match the size of their name on the menu.’
Lottie gave a small shoulder-shrug. ‘Any girl who dates a chef who likes to have his name in the gossip columns knows what she is taking on and I am not just talking about the long hours and bad tempers.’
‘Harsh. You could say that about any type of successful person, the kind that has earned that reputation through sweat and puts the work in for that success. Publicity is not a bad thing. Not when restaurants are closing every week. The press love me just as long as I give them something to write about. It’s part of the job.’
‘Ah. Well, there you have it. You can glory in the glare of publicity for the charity and we lesser mortals shall scurry around in the background making sure that everything is working. Win-win. I can hardly wait. It promises to be a very interesting evening.’
