She was being melodramatic. But it was as though she’d lost something the previous evening, as though she’d lost Tad. Not that she’d ever had him, in any real sense of the word, and so her feelings about the situation were overwrought.
And Amy had more pressing situations to worry about, because this morning Billie had decided to exert her celebrity status over the extended group of cookery students. So, instead of feeling pointless, Amy should be concentrating on being on point, keeping Billie under some semblance of control.
Amy wondered if all celebrities behaved like spoilt children, or whether that trait was reserved for Billie in particular. This morning, she was showing off, using Malcolm as a prop, moving him around the room to check he could take photos at appropriate moments, from appropriate angles.
When it became clear that the newest guests might be in the way, Billie asked all three – Tad’s girlfriend, Clare, along with the couple she’d arrived with – to move to workstations further back in the room. Billie attempted to charm them by telling them that would put them into shot. She did her best to butter them up, telling them it was a great idea because she thought they were all hugely photogenic. Malcolm then ruined the bonhomie she’d created by explaining for legal reasons they’d be blurred anyway by the way he intended to frame the shots, so their anonymity would be preserved.
Clare’s friend, Maggie, the one with resplendent grey curls and a broad smile, looked thoroughly irritated, her sunny disposition rapidly clouding over. Her grin faltered, and she frowned as she glanced at her husband.
Meanwhile, Ron was rumbling, suggesting he and Laura would have been more than happy to have been in shot for some of Billie’s photographs, blurry or not, if they’d only been asked.
Hugh, located at the workstation nearest the door and perched on his tall stool, watched proceedings with folded arms, his gaze following Billie as she attempted to reorganise the entire room.
‘Well, I’m not moving,’ he said. ‘And I don’t think Kathleen should have to, either.’
‘Too right,’ Kathleen added. ‘I’ve spent far too much of my life being pushed around. I’m settled where I am, thank you very much, and if you don’t like it, you can stick your camera up your backside.’
Billie’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing as she stared at Kathleen. For a split second, Amy thought Billie might lose it, might throw one of her tantrums in front of this roomful of people. Kathleen bristled in return, her shoulders ramrod as she, in turn, glared at Billie.
‘Nobody needs to move,’ Tad said, his voice tight even though he was managing to maintain a calm expression. ‘I’ve already set out equipment and provisions at those workstations; there’s no need for anyone to move anything.’
Amy was surprised Tad wasn’t giving Clare preferential treatment, but there was already enough diva behaviour going on in the room. Tad finally managed to get the lesson started.
‘We need to begin at the end today,’ he said. ‘We’re making an Italian classic, tiramisu, for dessert, and it needs a couple of hours to chill in the fridge, so we’re going to lead with that.’
The room settled to Tad’s instructions, and soon the air was filled with the aroma of cooling coffee, and the noise of determined whisking as everyone set about combining the cream, mascarpone, marsala and golden caster sugar in ceramic bowls. As Amy whisked, she wondered if Tad had made people use hand whisks rather than the electric ones to focus everyone on the task in hand – or maybe to wear them all out so there would be no further dissent.
Malcolm clicked with his camera and fussed over Billie while everyone else did their best to ignore them. Tad helped Hugh with his whisking, then offered to assist Kathleen, who pushed him away from her whisk with a determined smile. Her grin turned to embarrassment when Tad suggested they could use some of the savoiardi ladyfinger biscuits they’d made on their first lesson in the construction of each tiramisu, as she admitted she’d eaten all of hers.
With a flourish, Tad opened a tin, brimming with more of the biscuits.
‘Luckily, I’ve made plenty for everyone,’ he said, winking at Kathleen.
With the tiramisu made, and resting in the fridges alongside bowls of batter they’d made to use later to coat ricotta-stuffed courgette flowers, it was time for a coffee break. As Amy poured a cup for Hugh and handed it to him, she was surprised to see Tad making a beeline for her.
‘I wanted to ask before now – I haven’t had a chance – how are you feeling?’ he said.
Amy frowned.About what?she nearly said. About the fact that she’d created an unrealistic narrative in her head, about him, which he’d blown out of the water the previous evening? About the fact that nothing in her life made sense any longer, and that managing Billie seemed to take a similar level of skill she imagined you had to have to deal with toddlers. Or cats. Maybe toddlers on cats.
‘How’s the bruise?’ he said, giving Amy the clarity she needed. She reached for her ribs, where the ache was consistent, but manageable.
‘Oh, it’s fine. No big deal.’
‘You left dinner early last night. I was concerned…’ he said.
Amy’s eyebrows arched. ‘I’m surprised you noticed,’ she said.
He looked confused. ‘I should have checked in with you. But I haven’t seen Clare in ages, and?—’
Before Amy had a chance to reply, a commotion behind her had her turning to see Clare shoving her coffee on the closest surface as she headed for the doorway to the reception area.
‘Oh my God. How…?’ Clare was speaking as she walked, then ran the remaining steps, flinging herself into the arms of a man being directed into the room by Casa del Cibo’s front-of-house, Gianna.
‘What are you doing here?’ Clare’s voice had climbed a couple of octaves, and as she hugged the guy with a fervour Amy imagined would have Tad prickling with irritation, the two were joined by Clare’s other friends, the quartet making a tight group as they all exchanged information.
Amy waited for the tableau to be explained, glancing around to see others with expressions she imagined mirrored her own. These people had not long arrived, and they were already causing as much of a stir as Billie had managed.
‘Nowthat’sa good-looking man.’ Billie had materialised at Amy’s elbow.
