Читать книгу The Secret Ingredient - Нина Харрингтон - Страница 9

THREE

‘Not at the moment, thank you. No. I think I’ll pass.’

Rob picked up one of the business cards that Lottie had fanned out next to the condiments and the deep frown creased his forehead as he read the address out loud.

‘Lottie Rosemount’s Cake Shop and Tea Rooms? That’s where Dee Flynn works.’

Lottie could practically see the cogs of Rob’s mind work as his gaze ratcheted up one notch at a time from the business card past the platter of savoury canapés and finally to her face. Where it settled for one millisecond as the inevitable hit home.

‘Please tell me that you’re not Lottie Rosemount.’ He finally groaned.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat for a second before she smiled it away with a quick flick of the head.

Busted! Playtime had officially just ended and it was back to work.

‘Sorry. Can’t do that. Life is so unfair sometimes. Don’t you think? Welcome to my world, Mr Beresford.’

Shame. She had enjoyed being taken seriously as an art expert for a few minutes. Now it was back to being plain old Lottie the cake maker. It was always curious to see how people’s expectations changed when she announced that she baked for a living, but she had not expected to see that stunned look on Rob’s face. He was in the same business, after all.

Her body still tingled at the touch of his hand at the small of her back. One thin layer of silk was all that had separated his clever long fingers from her naked skin.

Time to jump in and take control while he was still at the glaring-in-disbelief stage. ‘I did tell you that my name was Charlotte and people call me so many nicknames that it’s fun to have a change now and then. Just for the variety.’

‘Lottie Rosemount.’ Rob nodded slowly up and down, then gave a low whistle. ‘I don’t believe it. So you like playing games with people? Lottie. Or do you have another nickname you prefer to use on social occasions?’

Games. Hell, no. He was not accusing her of playing tricks on him.

‘Oh, no. Lottie works fine. As for playing games? On the contrary. It goes against my principles.’

His reply was a choked cough and he gestured towards the bench, which was already occupied by other patrons.

‘But it was okay to string me along just now and pretend that you were an art critic. Did you even like that painting you were staring at or just doing it to impress me?’

She heard the annoyance in his voice and was shamefully delighted.

‘I don’t recall saying that I was a critic. And as for trying to impress you? Well, someone has a very high opinion of themselves. For the record I have always adored contemporary art and I love these pieces. Especially that painting. If that is okay with you? Or are you one of those people who think that the catering staff should stay in their place? Out of sight. So that they are not able to embarrass the management.’

His back stiffened and instantly Rob seemed to grow about five inches taller.

‘No. I am not one of those people, Lottie. Far from it, actually.’

The words whirled around inside her head at the confused signals. He was acting as if she had insulted him. Well, that was rich.

‘Good. Because I do love that painting and was pleased to have the chance to see it. So, seeing as we share a common interest, I think it only fair that I share my other passion with you before the masses of starving media arrive.’

‘You have more than one passion? Please, carry on. I would hate for you to feel that you cannot act on your principles. Heaven forfend.’

Ignoring the sarcasm was not something Lottie found easy, but she got through it by focusing on opening up a new batch of bakery boxes.

The next thing Rob knew he was holding a dessert plate with a piece of cake on it. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

‘Lemon sponge?’

‘I do hope that you enjoy it. The gallery gave me strict instructions that Adele Forrester had specifically requested two desserts. Individual dark chocolate tarts and lemon drizzle cakes. A special order from a fine artist. Now that, Mr Beresford, I could not fake. Dig in.’

His lips closed around the forkful of cake and her gaze locked on to those lips.

She had never seen such sensual lips on any man before and, oh, boy, they looked good enough to eat. The tip of his tongue flicked out tantalisingly and wiped away a smear of lemon sauce.

A flash of raw and unadulterated attraction hit her hard. Unexpected and entirely inappropriate. Strange how it felt seriously good.

Do that again. Please.

Lottie didn’t realise that she had stopped breathing until a very loud ringtone smashed through her foodie trance and she instantly whipped the other cakes onto the platters and arranged them artistically on the buffet table so that the guests could help themselves.

Saved by the bell.

Rob put down his plate and casually fished the mobile phone out of his pocket, checked the caller identity. And flicked the phone closed with a crisp clip.

‘Interesting cake. But I have to go and meet another lovely lady. I’ll be seeing you around.’ He smiled at Lottie, then gave her an outrageously over-the-top wink. ‘You can bet on it.’

* * *

See you around?

Of course Rob was going to see her around.

His half-brother, Sean Beresford, was totally in love with her best friend and business partner, Dee, and unless she had totally misread the signs, there would be engagement parties and wedding planning before the end of the year. And right there next to Sean would be his best pal, Rob.

She was going to have to put up with Rob for Dee’s sake. But really? Trying to flirt with her in an art gallery? Sheesh. And why did he have to be so...so...him?

So who was this lovely lady anyway? Some A-list celebrity? Or that supermodel Dee had told her he was seeing?

Lottie casually turned her head so that she could see Rob’s back.

He was making a beeline for the tall, elegant, very slender older woman who was walking on air through the doors leading into the gallery. One hand was high in the air, the other waving from side to side from the wrist in flamboyant over-the-top gestures.

The moment she saw Rob she gave a quick squeal, flung her arms forward and gave him such a warm and sweet hug that Lottie knew that they cared about one another. He seemed perfectly happy to hook her arm over his and escort her into the room, lighting their way with the kind of beaming smile that should be licensed to power companies.

But it was only when she stepped closer under the exhibition spotlights that Lottie realised she was looking at Adele Forrester. She recognised the characteristic high cheekbones and profile from the posters and exhibition catalogues that her friend Ian had created.

And it totally floored her.

Adele was lovely, happy, laughing and enjoying herself.

Well, that was one more illusion shattered! So much for the tortured artist who had painted that wonderful landscape of the woman on the shore looking for a last chance. She had clearly found her mojo because right at that moment Adele Forrester was the star of the show, Rob Beresford was her escort and they were both having a great time.

Rob Beresford and Adele Forrester.

This evening was certainly turning out to be full of surprises. Little wonder that he was a walking expert on the artist’s work when they were clearly such great pals. Not lovers. She could see that. No. There was none of that awkward first touch. They seemed closer. Almost like best friends or family.

Curious. She had not expected that. Perhaps she should call Dee and find out if Sean had mentioned anything about how Rob knew an artist like Adele Forrester.

Instantly the gallery owner and several of the guests surged forwards to shake Adele’s hand, smiling and laughing and crowding in to get attention from the star of the show.

Lottie tried to peer over their heads but it was no good. Adele was swamped.

And right on time the first batch of art-student waiting staff emerged from the kitchen carrying platters of hot canapés straight from the oven.

It was show time!

* * *

He had known that this was going to happen.

Worse. It was entirely his own fault.

He should never have left his mum alone at the hotel with the champagne that the gallery had sent around and several packs of cold medicine.

He had taken his eyes off the ball and indulged in a little free time with a lovely blonde who had turned out to be the opposite of what he’d expected.

And now his lovely mother was as high as a kite.

Flying over everyone’s heads but coming down to earth just long enough to make polite and quite sensible conversation with the very people who had the power to make her life miserable if she imploded.

He had let her down.

There was no other way of describing it. The most important exhibition of her career and Adele Forrester had just described her signature style to the art critic of the largest broadsheet newspaper in London as Californian rain.

The real problem was that she adored chatting about her art so much. This was her world and she was amazing. Truly. Grabbing her arm and dragging her away would not only be creepy, but annoying.

That wouldn’t work. So he had switched to plan B. The oldest technique in the world. Distraction and diversion.

Now. How many lovely lady art critics could he charm just long enough for them not to notice that the artist they had come to chat to was totally sozzled? Time to find out.

* * *

‘Lemon drizzle cake! Oh, how did you know that was my absolute favourite? You are a complete genius and I don’t even know your name. How embarrassing. My son never makes me lemon drizzle, no matter how often I plead with him.’

Lottie grinned and loaded a plate with three squares of moist cake. ‘Lottie Rosemount. And I am told that your agent made a special request, Miss Forrester.’

‘Oh, one more reason why I love Sally so much. And please call me Adele.’

Lottie watched Adele dive into her bag and sneeze onto a lovely hand-embroidered hankie, which was now sodden. She squeezed her eyes together, then blinked a couple of times.

‘Can you believe it? I wait eight years for an exhibition and I have to come down with a horrible head cold. Almost through it, but my head! It feels as though it is totally full of cotton wool. Excuse me, darling. Time for another of these cold tablets I bought this morning. They really are the perfect pick-me-up.’

Adele popped one into her mouth and washed it down with a huge slug of pink champagne before smacking her lips. ‘Quite delicious.’

Lottie took a quick glance at the medicine box Adele had left on the table.

‘Er. Adele, those are one-a-day tablets. Are you sure it’s okay to take so many with alcohol?’

‘One a day? Really? Oh. Well, that must mean that they work faster. Excellent.’

Adele rested a beautifully manicured hand on Lottie’s arm and swayed slightly. ‘As long as they get me through the night, sweetie, I am prepared to take the risk. I have waited a long time for tonight. There is no way that I am going to miss a single moment.’

Then her eyebrows lifted and a huge sweet grin illuminated the room. ‘Ah. There’s my son. Better load my plate up with those delicious-looking bites before he catches up with me and reminds me that it is way past my bedtime.’

Then Adele flashed a completely over-the-top dramatic wink before blinking in rapid succession.

‘A girl can always use more pizza squares. Don’t you think? Ah. Rob. Perfect timing as always. Give your old mum a hand and hold my glass while I sample these pastries, will you, kiddo? They all look so good.’

Lottie inhaled a long slow breath, redolent with the aroma of the last of the mushroom-and-anchovy croustade slices Adele was tucking into with great relish, before slowly sliding her gaze up Adele’s arm into the face of Rob Beresford.

The man who had sat down on that bench and let her prattle on about the paintings without even giving one tiny hint about why he knew so much about Adele Forrester.

Because apparently this lovely woman with the amazing artistic talent...

Was his mother.

There were bad words to describe men like Rob. And kiddo was not one of them.

And he had been accusing her of playing games!

Oh, Adele. Where had it all gone wrong?

The snake waited until Adele was chatting to Ian before sliding closer to the serving area. ‘Charlie... No. I mean, Lottie. Good. You are still here.’

Rob glanced from side to side before asking in a low whisper, ‘I need a back way out of the gallery and I need it fast. Start talking.’

His fingers started tapping out a beat on the table and his whole body language screamed out impatience and frustration.

Lottie glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of giggling press ladies in regulation black who had their heads pressed together comparing their mobile-phone photos and shooting very unsubtle smoochy glances in his direction. Hair flicking and quick-fire reapplication of lip gloss seemed to be the order of the day.

‘So I see,’ Lottie replied with the same fixed, professional smile that she had used all evening, the one that made her jaw ache. ‘The owner has a very useful gallery plan. You will find it just over there. Behind the barman’s head.’

Lottie pointed to the large display on the wall next to the drinks table, which was slowly emptying as the remaining guests wandered out onto the terrace to enjoy the cool late-evening air before heading home.

‘What’s the matter, Rob? Need to make your escape before the girls pounce on you?’

The smile dropped from the handsome man’s face and he half turned and flashed her the withering, contemptuous look that had made him notorious in the hard-nosed cookery shows, but had no place at all in a fine-art exhibition.

It was nothing like as angry as the look he had given her when he had fired her but Lottie reared back and pretended to dodge to one side. ‘Oh, my. Are those daggers aimed at me? I do hope that the wind won’t change because you would not want your face to stick like that.’

Then she leant forwards a little and winked. ‘I worked in banking for many years. So the hard approach is wasted on me. Same goes for sighing loudly and frowning. Been there, done that. Not putting up with it a moment longer.’

Rob’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her in what looked like real astonishment.

To her delight the hard line of his mouth lifted up into the tiniest of smiles. ‘Okay. Let’s try it your way,’ he replied in a low, hoarse voice that almost trembled with suppressed energy. ‘Excuse me, Miss Rosemount, but could you please direct me to the back way out of the gallery through the kitchens?’

Her hands got busy stacking her bakery platters into a wide plastic crate. ‘Of course, Mr Beresford. If you go through those two swing doors and walk about ten metres past the dishwasher there is a fire door to the main staircase to the building. It comes out at the loading bay at the back of the gallery.’

His reply was a quick ‘thanks’ as he strolled past her at jogging speed, one hand in his pocket as though he were boarding a yacht.

‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured to his back.

What was that all about?

Or rather who was that all about?

Lottie swung the final platter and table cover into the carry crate and looked up to scan the room.

He certainly did not want to see someone here this evening. But who? Most of the critics had left when the food ran out and Adele had been around the gallery at least ten times over the last two hours, explaining each and every piece to them before returning to the bar for a refill.

Perhaps he had seen a former girlfriend he did not want to be photographed with? Or maybe one of the rival chefs on the bake-off contest had turned up and was itching for extra publicity.

There must be someone. Then a flash of blue sparkle just in front of one of the largest paintings caught her attention, followed by a peal of very loud and very over-the-top female laughter.

And Lottie’s heart sank.

Because suddenly the reason for Rob Beresford’s desire to explore other exits from the gallery became startling clear.

It was Adele Forrester.

And she had just staggered into one of the major installations from a very famous artist. It was by pure chance that the gallery owner had caught it in time to prevent a major disaster. On their opening night.

Ouch.

The problem was that Adele was treating it as a huge joke. Her hands were waving in the air but as she stepped forwards it was only too obvious that she was way too unsteady on her feet to be standing up.

Oh, Adele! Cold tablets plus champagne were a bad combination.

Any minute now she was going to fall over and embarrass and humiliate herself, which was the very last thing she needed!

Yep. Back door.

In a second she whipped off her apron and dropped it into the crate.

‘Adele.’ Lottie smiled as she strolled as casually as she could manage up to the stunningly dressed woman who was clinging on to the slightly intoxicated and more-than-slightly terrified gallery owner.

Adele turned towards her a little too quickly and her legs gave a definite wobble but Lottie stepped forwards, hooked her arm around Adele’s, and took her weight before anyone had a chance to notice. ‘I feel so guilty. I promised to save you some of that lemon drizzle cake you loved so much and now there are only three pieces left.’ Then she grinned and snuggled closer as though they were the best of pals and intent on a girl huddle. ‘I have kept them hidden in the kitchen for you. If you are ready?’

With one final laugh in the direction of the very relieved gallery owner, Adele clung on to Lottie and chatted merrily about how much she loved London. And cake. And champagne. But somehow Lottie held Adele mostly upright as they very slowly and sedately crossed the gallery and with one push they were through the doors and into the kitchen.

One bar stool and a plastic cake box later, Lottie could finally catch her breath and rub some life back into her arm. Give it five minutes and they would be on their way.

The sound of heavy male footsteps taking the stairs two at a time echoed up and Lottie closed her eyes.

Rob burst into the kitchen, his gaze taking in the scene, eyes flashing, dark and powerful. Accusing and angry. Full of that same fire and mistrust as the last time that they had met.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, and he jerked his chin higher with every word.

‘Adele needs some air and lemon drizzle cake. I was helping her to get both. Okay?’

The Rob she had met three years ago had been obscenely confident of who he was. Master of the universe. Demanding and expecting everyone to worship his talent and magnificence. And that man was right here in the room all over again.

‘I can take it from here. She’s fine. Just fine.’

But as she nodded Lottie was incapable of dragging her gaze from those stunning eyes.

And the longer she looked, the more she recognised something so startling and surprising that it unnerved her.

Rob might appear to be the most confident and put-together and in-control man that she had ever met, but in those eyes she recognised anxiety and concern.