Читать книгу Recipe For Disaster - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 10

Things to do:

Make enough wild mushroom ravioli and sauce for the special offer over the next few days;

Luca’s offer. Twelve months. Sixty/forty to me. What else do I want? Start a list so I am ready when he calls, but don’t be pushed into reading that contract paperwork — make him wait for once. This is the new Bunty – hear her roar!

Be civil to the Rossi lawyer – he was only doing his job;

Pretend to enjoy being thirty. Yay. Sob;

Remember — denial is good.

Bunty rolled her heavy pestle against the fragrant lightly toasted green fennel seeds inside the mortar, pushing down with all of the strength she could muster, crushing the seeds and releasing their wonderful aroma.

It helped if she imagined it was Luca’s leering face at the bottom of the mortar.

This was all his fault!

Her brain had been spinning most of the night, working through the options, over and over again, weighing up the pros and cons and, the more she thought about it, the more obvious the answer had become.

She had to accept Luca’s offer. She didn’t have any choice.

And not just for the extra publicity and cash. This was her chance to show the Caruso family that she was just as capable of running her own successful business as they were.

Working as Luca’s partner would be exactly the boost that she needed to make her dream come true and prove her uncle wrong at the same time!

Twelve months. That was all she needed. One year. Just long enough to get her catering business up and running, train the staff and build the orders so that she was ready to go when she found the perfect location for the second deli.

To do that she was almost willing to put up with being in close proximity to the Caruso family – as long as they did not try and interfere with her work.

But there was something else that kept whirling around inside her head every time she punched her feather pillow to try and find a comfy spot.

Luca had come running to her to ask for help.

Surely that had to give her some bargaining power?

Bunty stomped extra hard on what was left of the seeds. Now all she had to do was pluck up enough courage to insist on it the next time she saw Luca.

He had tried to jump the gun by sending that contract paperwork with Fabio Rossi last night. Forcing her to make a decision. Well, that could wait. In fact it was going to have to wait; a very long time if she had her way.

This was her decision. This time she was going to be the one setting the terms of the contract. And she was going to make him wait.

Her hands stilled and a giggle bubbled up from inside her chest and emerged as a short cough.

It was finally going to happen!

She was actually taking that first step closer to her dream. After all these years of planning and talking and more planning she could almost see the labels on her food going out to restaurants and pubs and bistros all over London from not one but two delis.

And maybe, just maybe, she might be able to afford a third deli. And then another until she had her own chain of Brannigans delis across the city. One day.

Now that…that was worth celebrating.

With a quick shake of her head, Bunty tipped the coarse fennel powder into the large metal tray already packed with sliced mushrooms, chopped parsley, garlic and shallots and spooned the herby warm olive oil over the part-roast vegetables. She had just popped the tray into the oven when the comforting sound of warm laughter echoed out from the deli.

Alex and Fran had stopped to chat to Maria, who was working the counter, before they strolled through into the kitchen.

‘Morning, lovely ladies.’ Bunty smiled. ‘Be with you in a minute.’

‘Happy Saturday, sweetie. So,’ Alex said as Bunty wiped down the chopping boards. ‘You are looking remarkably perky for a thirty-year-old lady who partied late into the night. So. Are you going to tell us what happened with Fa-a-abio last night? Elena has already been around the street telling everybody that you’ve got a hot new squeeze. Come on, we’re dying to know what happened when you two stepped outside for your romantic interlude.’

‘Happy morning after your birthday from me too,’ Fran said as she slid past Alex. ‘I only saw Fabio for a few minutes yesterday but he looked nice. And this is lovely — I love the flowers!’

Bunty had set the staff dining table next to the patio doors leading to her walled garden with colourful china in Mediterranean blue and yellow, on a pristine white linen tablecloth embroidered with flowers and yellow swallowtail butterflies. A huge crystal vase stuffed with a display of expensive flower-shop lilies, orchids and roses towered over the jams and marmalades, butter and fresh juice.

Alex sat down heavily at the table, and then gestured towards the impressive display already present. ‘Those, my darling sister, are what are known in the trade as “apology and get me out of trouble” flowers. They cost a fortune, look good on the day, but they don’t smell of anything and they don’t mean anything. Florists all over the world are taking millions from blokes who are seriously desperate and don’t know what to do about it. Am I right?’

Bunty nodded. ‘Fabio Rossi. The hotel ordered them. What’s in the bag?’

‘Yesterday’s brioche from Strasbourg, which needs toasting, and a bag of fresh Danish, from two doors away, which doesn’t. And you don’t get away that easily. Come on. Explain. A hunky Italian gate-crashed your party and you let him get away with it. This is not normal Bunty behaviour.’

Bunty grabbed the bag from Alex and emptied the pastries onto a plate.

‘Actually you may well be right,’ Bunty replied with a smug grin. ‘Because the new improved version of Bernadette Brannigan has decided to make some changes in her life and it all kicks off today.’

Fran looked at Alex and then back to Bunty. ‘Changes?’

Bunty nodded very slowly. ‘Changes. Big changes.’ Then she shot a glance at Alex. ‘Starting with my least favourite cousin. You know that Fabio came here to deliver a package from the lawyers in Italy last night? Well, I think that it’s the new contract that Luca wants me to sign. And I have decided not to even look at it.’

She winked at Alex, who was sitting with her mouth dropped open, and then refilled their glasses. ‘Luca is trying to make me jump through hoops again and muscle in and take over, which means one thing. He is desperate for my help. And guess what? I am not playing that game anymore. That contract is going to stay right where it is. Sealed up. Waiting until I decide to open it and not a minute before. Luca is going to have to agree to all of the extra conditions that I have come up with or he can take the paperwork home with him back to Milan unsigned.’

Bunty grinned and picked up a pastry and tore into it in the stunned silence.

Then Alex reached down and pulled something out of her other bag. ‘This was meant for later, but after that little announcement a celebration is called for.’

It was a round cake-like object. Covered in thick dark chocolate icing and white chocolate curls.

Bunty sat up, leant towards it, and sniffed. ‘Is that coconut?’ she asked, smiling at Alex, then Fran, who was grinning away.

‘Al made it herself. This morning! But it’s okay, I watched her like a hawk. It’s got all of the right stuff in it. I made the curls,’ Fran said, picking up a bread knife.

Bunty’s face relaxed into a broad grin as she looked, open-mouthed, at her best friend. ‘You baked? For me? I am impressed, young lady. And you are forgiven.’

Alex frowned at her in mock exasperation. ‘You only turn thirty once in your life and I didn’t have time yesterday with organising the party. And don’t sound so surprised. I am a trained chemist, you know. I can follow a recipe.’

‘As long as it doesn’t taste like hand cream. Oh.’ Bunty licked her lips around the forkful Fran had speared on her plate. ‘Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact…’ she tasted a big piece, eyes closed ‘…this is an historic moment. Miss Alexandra McGee has cooked something so delicious that it tastes better than my own recipe. Congratulations.’

Bunty raised her glass of juice and clinked it against the other two.

‘To the new version of Bunty Brannigan,’ Alex said with a smile. ‘I’ve a feeling that there are going to be a lot of changes around here by the time your next birthday comes around.’

By the time Fabio got to the breakfast room in the hotel that Saturday morning, a faint January sun was shining in from the garden courtyard, the other guests were wandering out to do touristy things and Jerry had already loaded up their table with pastries, toast and everything that went with it. Fabio dropped his laptop bag onto the tablecloth and pulled up his chair as their waiter served coffee and took his order for bacon and scrambled eggs.

‘Well, how did it go last night? Any progress?’ Fabio asked, leaning across to try and distract Jerry from his broadsheet newspaper.

‘Do you want the good news or the less bad news? Okay. I took the time to do a little background check on the lovely Miss Brannigan after we got back last night,’ Jerry answered between chewing.

He quickly glanced around the now empty dining room before going on. ‘And what do you know? It turns out that her grandmother, Fiore Caruso, was not too happy when her only daughter Talia married an Irish grocer and started a new life here in London as Mrs Talia Brannigan. Bunty’s mother did not inherit a thing when her mother died. Now isn’t that interesting?’

Fabio stopped with his Danish pastry halfway to his mouth. ‘Her own mother cut her off? I should have known this wasn’t a simple delivery job.’

‘Looks that way. Come on, pal, you saw the set-up last night.’ Jerry folded up his paper, reached across and grabbed more toast. ‘The lovely Miss Brannigan runs a one-woman deli in a small shopping area in London. She might be Paolo Caruso’s niece but unless she is very good at hiding her hidden wealth the Caruso clan sent her mother out into the wilderness with only the clothes on her back. A simple tale of a warm and sharing Italian family life.’

‘Careful! The Caruso business paid for my university education. What’s the less bad news?’ Fabio asked.

‘Bernadette Brannigan has every reason in the world to tell her Caruso family precisely what they can do with their unwanted birthday delivery and tell them in great anatomically correct detail. If I were hot-headed and Irish I might even be tempted to have a sacrificial burning ceremony. And in the meantime, I suggest that we take the weekend off. What do you say?’

‘Ah,’ Fabio said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’m beginning to understand. You have a date tonight, don’t you? Yet another poor innocent girl has fallen prey to your charms. Am I right?’ Suddenly he slid forwards and rested his elbows on the tablecloth. ‘Well, forget it, partner. We are going back to the deli this morning to impress on the lovely lady that my job is to make sure that she has ripped open that package and read whatever the client wanted her to see and, the sooner she does that, then the sooner we can both get back to our lives.’

Jerry hesitated, and then tried to look sympathetic. ‘Why am I getting the feeling that your usual charm crashed and burned in flames last night? All you have to do is tell your father that you have delivered the letter in accordance with his client’s instructions and we can move on. This was supposed to be a simple courier job. What happened?’

Fabio shrugged. ‘Lack of background. I turned up when her birthday party was already in full swing at a great Greek restaurant. I’ve sent flowers to apologise for interrupting her, so she’ll either thank me politely, or throw them back at me when we get there. So much for my sensitivity and charm.’

‘Much overrated in my opinion,’ Jerry said, shaking his head.

‘Research, research, research. This is exactly what happens when you don’t have a proper brief,’ Fabio replied, leaning closer towards Jerry to make sure that the waiter clearing the tables would not be able to overhear their conversation. ‘My grandfather looked after Fiore Caruso’s personal business and not even my father knows what’s in that letter. He is on standby to deliver separate sealed envelopes to Paolo Caruso and various other family members when he gets my call. But not until then.’

Fabio reached for the marmalade. ‘You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Fiore Caruso set some bombshell up before she died. That could make life very interesting for the rest of the family.’

‘Um. Define interesting. But here is a piece of trivia for you. Did you know that Luca’s wife Sophie Caruso went to the same catholic school with Bunty, just down the road from the shop? The two of them were pretty close as teenagers.’ Jerry sniffed. ‘I wonder if there are photographs? Those girls in convent school uniforms? I would pay good money to see those.’

So would I, Fabio thought.

There was silence around the table for the few seconds it took for that precious visual to sink in, and for Fabio’s breakfast to arrive.

‘That’s not the point.’ He coughed. ‘We need to go straight back to work. And fast. One way or the other we need to have something to tell my father by the end of today. Got it, Jerry?’

‘Got it. Now, talk to me about that Greek restaurant you went to last night. I want to know everything.’