90g self-raising flour
1 tablespoon cornflour
½ teaspoon baking powder
1 pinch salt
2 large eggs (separated), room temperature
50g granulated sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla essence
2–3 tablespoons icing sugar for decoration
Preheat the oven to 190°C.
Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper
In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cornflour, baking powder and salt. Set aside.
In a food mixer, beat the egg yolks, sugar and vanilla extract until light. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until stiff.
By hand, fold the egg whites into the yolk mixture in three batches, making sure each addition is completely added before adding more. Continue until all the whites are added and the mixture is completely combined.
Fold the dry ingredients into the egg mixture in similar fashion. Then place the batter into a pastry bag with medium or large tip and squeeze sticks of mixture onto the parchment, about 2–2½cm long.
Sprinkle each biscuit with a pinch of granulated sugar and bake for approximately 10–12 minutes or until golden. Let the biscuits cool, then dust with icing sugar before serving with your zabaglione.
Kathleen favours making twelve large biscuits with her batter, but Tad said she could stretch the mixture to make fifteen, if she wants them to be more delicate. She ate three of this batch with her pudding and they were bloody delicious. Kathleen thinks they’ll go particularly well with a cup of strong tea. Apparently, they keep well in a tin, too.
7
The second full day at Casa del Cibo dawned with Billie promising Amy she would be putting her total concentration into the morning’s cooking lesson. With one condition. Amy and Malcolm were to make sure she didn’t get stuck with Ron Penhallington or Pentagon or Pentagram or whatever the heck his name really was. Ever again. And if she had to sit next to him at another meal, Billie told them she would be on the first flight out of Verona.
Now was clearly not the moment for Amy to tell Billie that to her surprise the rooms on the second floor, while being somewhat smaller than the suites on the first floor, each had a private balcony and a view across rooftops to the lake itself. There was no need to poke a stick into the wasps’ nest, or to tell her how fantastic it had been to sit on the balcony for a few moments of blissful peace first thing, admiring the view. Anyway, what Billie’s room lacked in terms of a view it made up for in its palatial dimensions and its elegant antique furnishings.
In return for Amy’s promise to keep Ron at bay, Billie promised to pay full attention during today’s lesson. The plan was to make an Italian chopped salad for everyone to share as a starter,Saltimbocca alla Romanaas their main course, and ricotta filo tarts with figs, rum and toasted coconut for dessert. All three dishes would offer plenty of opportunity to catch great photos of Billie wielding a knife, meat mallet or a rolling pin. A smudge of flour on her cheek, or with a cheeky glass of rum in her hand. That was if she focused for long enough.
Amy had spent the previous afternoon making notes. Originally employed as Billie’s PA, she knew this aspect of the job expanded far beyond the remit of organising Billie’s diary and fielding her phone calls. But she also appreciated going above and beyond went with the territory of working for Billie.
She had to admit she was endlessly grateful that Billie employed an agency to deal with the socials and the press releases. That aspect was in itself a full-time job and instead of feeling resentful at being the person tasked with taking notes of what Billie was up to, rather than expecting Billie to do it for herself, she actually enjoyed being involved in the nuts and bolts of what Billie was about – the travel foodie books, and now this latest challenge: capturing Billie as she enjoyed herself at the cookery school.
At some point, Amy would need to ask Tad for copies of the recipes for everything they would be making during the week. But somehow, having had no hint of concern about asking Tad for anything when they first arrived, Amy was now feeling pangs of anxiety at the thought of asking him for anything.
She was determined not to allow the way her stomach continued to twist every time she saw Tad to dictate how well she would perform her job. There was no reason that initial, and intense, spark of attraction had to play any part in the rest of this week, or her irritation at the way he’d felt the need to comment on her hair to Billie. Her stomach would just have to simmer down.
After a lesson in which Billie seemed genuinely pleased with what she’d cooked, they headed through to the dining room for lunch, Billie ensuring she had Malcolm on one side of her as she called Tad to take the seat to her other side. No doubt insulating herself from the thriller writer, as Amy looked around for an empty seat.
Or perhaps the draw of sitting next to Tad had a part to play, too. It wasn’t a challenge to notice how Billie monopolised Tad’s attention as the meal progressed.
‘You enjoy working for a celeb, do you?’
The elderly man seated next to her had a surprisingly rich, melodic voice. Amy lowered her fork as she decided how to reply. She turned in his direction, his gaze sharp and focused as he studied her. All traces of the doddery old man Amy had initially perceived were gone.
‘It’s given me more opportunities for travel than most jobs,’ she said, carefully.
He nodded. ‘Smart answer. And I’ll bet you do get to jet all around the world. I’m Hugh. And you’re Amy, I believe.’
