‘I knew you’d appreciate the idea, Amelia. And you never know, I might be able to coax Tad to come and be my first executive chef. I haven’t given up the idea of TV, either – because Tad is such a natural in front of a room full of students, I think he’d be excellent in front of the camera, too. He’s far better-looking than you intimated at the start of the week, too. So, how about melding the two things together – having a real-time TV cookery show where the chefs are in an actual restaurant kitchen, to give the audience a real feel of what it’s like. There are loads of TV dramas set in kitchens, and loads of cookery shows, but nothing much combining the two. Ta-da! Brilliant, don’t you think?’
Malcolm glanced at Amy. ‘Told you, the chase is on,’ he said, under his breath.
‘The chase?’ Billie said. ‘No, that’s no good as a name. That’s already a quiz show. How about Billie’s Real-Time Restaurant? We could have cameras in the dining room, too. Not on everyone – just the people who want to be on TV. I’ve always said, there’s so much of life happening in restaurant dining rooms every day – why not capitalise on some of it? And real-life drama is soinright now.’
And more to the point in Amy’s overactive imagination, Tad and she would get to spend a lot of time together, if they were both working for Billie. It had the potential to be a very promising scenario. However fanciful the idea might be – however likely it was that Billie would wake up the following day with a completely different set of brilliant new ideas that might or might not encompass Tad’s future – for now, the idea of Billie investing in a restaurant for Tad to run sounded a good enough one to see Amy cruising through the remainder of the afternoon.
Once the photography session was completed to both Billie and Malcolm’s exacting standards, the three of them cruised the streets of Riva, cones of ice cream in their hands and the warmth of the afternoon sun tightening the skin on Amy’s cheeks.
In fact, by the time they returned to Casa del Cibo, Amy realised she’d caught more than a lick of heat from the sun’s rays. Something about the angle of the sun had caught her unawares and, as she showered before dinner, the heat she could feel came in equal measure from the shower nozzle and her own skin. A message to Billie to ask if she had any after-sun lotion came back with a negative reply, followed up by a series of boiling-hot-face emojis and one at the end laughing hysterically.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ Amy muttered as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Perhaps nobody would notice. She’d bought a little pot of face cream when she’d traipsed to the shops on arrival, thinking it would be useful even if the rest of her luggage did eventually turn up, so she rubbed some of that over her cheekbones, adding a dab to her forehead too, where the texture of her skin was already beginning to feel dry.
It was at moments like this when Amy wished she wore more make-up – although logic dictated that she still wouldn’t have any, because it would have been in her suitcase. But practicalities notwithstanding, she wished she could cover up the burgeoning rosy glow with some kind of concealer. As it was, all she’d had with her in her hand luggage was a stick of mascara, an eye pencil and a moisturising lip balm made with honey, which had made her lips sting when she’d first used it and had taken a while to decide she liked.
With as much maintenance in place as she had the means for, and out of time to do anything else – like write up any notes from the day – Amy headed down for dinner. The dress Billie had let her borrow was extremely well cut. It skimmed her in all the right places – well, it was designer – and it made Amy feel a million dollars, but this evening it felt as though the million dollars were on fire.
‘Did you take a blowtorch to your face?’ Billie asked, as she exited her room, then began to laugh.
Amy frowned. Maybe she should stay in her room this evening – the last thing she needed was everyone staring at her.
‘Ignore her,’ Malcolm said, galloping to her rescue on his imaginary white steed. ‘You look perfectly fine. Your face looks as ordinary as usual.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said. ‘I think.’
‘Meant as a compliment,’ Malcolm said as he headed for the stairs. ‘Although I’m not renowned for them. Ask the ex.’
Billie hooted with laughter, pushing past Amy and heading downstairs. She was clearly in excellent spirits, and Amy wasn’t about to bring the mood down. Too often Billie did that all by herself, so Amy would have to hope the sun’s effects were at their worst and do her best to enjoy dinner.
* * *
With Matteo back in the kitchen, Tad had been able to take dinner preparations at a gentler pace for this evening.
Matteo was in fine spirits, with his grandmother recovering well from a serious asthma attack that had seen her hospitalised. With his sous-chef back and on point, Tad had breezed through the evening’s cooking. So much so that he hoped to be able to eat with the guests this evening without guilt. He wanted to try to make amends with Amy and also spend time with Clare.
He frowned, pausing as he stirred at a sauce. He knew he needed to make more of an effort with Clare’s new man. Tad prided himself on being open to meeting people, of resisting the temptation to jump to conclusions about them on initial impressions. He allowed people the time they needed to reveal their real selves. At least, that was what he thought he did. Except he didn’t feel that way about James Gardner. In fact, the more he thought about that man, calling Clare weird pet names and cutting across her when she was trying to speak, the more Tad found his shoulders tightening, his jaw clenching.
As Tad clattered his whisk in a display of irritation, shoving the saucepan off the heat and onto a warming plate, he rubbed his hands on a cloth and turned to Matteo, indicating he was going outside for some fresh air.
Striding up and down a patch of worn grass, Tad tried to convince himself he was being irrational. But was he? Whenever he’d imagined the kind of person Clare would find, he’d never imagined someone like James Gardner. He was too tall, too austere, too corporate. Even his name sounded uptight. Tad had imagined Clare falling for someone more like her first husband, someone who laughed a lot, loved her implicitly and never, ever stopped her from speaking.
Tad should feel happy for Clare, but instead he felt a lurch of something else, a burgeoning realisation that things were changing, people were moving on. That he might lose the bond he’d forged with Clare, that it might already have been severed – he just didn’t know it yet.
For now, though, it was time to plate up the starters. Gianna bustled into the kitchen – and as he headed in, she was fetching more bottles of champagne from the cold room.
‘I can’t keep their glasses full this evening. These new guests, they drink like the fishes,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘Perhaps we feed them soon, before they fall over?’
As Matteo brought the last of the starters through, Tad waited for the room to settle. Like the rolling of a dice, he allowed fate to dictate where he would end up finding a space.
It looked as though there was no chance of him being seated near Amy, with Malcolm already to one side of her, and Hugh on the other, struggling to pull out his chair. Tad strode across to help, taking the backrest of the chair and sliding it out for Hugh.
‘Oh, actually, do you know I might go and sit over there,’ Hugh said, waving an outstretched hand across the table at the gap beside Kathleen. ‘Don’t want the old bird left unattended, do we? Why don’t you sit here, Tad?’
Hugh rounded the table with far more athleticism than had been required to pull out a chair, leaving Tad with no option but to do as he was told. Not that he minded. Amy turned and stared at him as he slid into the chair, then smiled. She’d obviously caught the sun, her cheeks carrying more colour than usual. It accentuated her features, made her blue eyes sparkle more vividly and her hair seem even more golden against the black of the beautiful dress she wore. In short, she looked fantastic.
‘Do you mind me sitting here?’ he asked.
‘Of course not,’ Amy said.
