Footsteps had Billie rounding the corner of the kitchen, gaze searching and then fixing on the two of them, still in an embrace nobody could misinterpret. Her eyes widened, then she said, ‘Well, well, well. What have we here?’
Amy took a step back as Tad loosened his hug and cleared his throat.
‘I was coming to say I’d changed my mind on the jam, that I’d prefer strawberry, but it looks as though the chef has other things on his mind. Other priorities, perhaps.’
Billie shot the pair of them a brilliant smile, so intense that Amy felt it like the previous day’s sunburn.
‘Strawberry jam is no problem. I think we’ve got one made with locally grown fruit.’
He stepped away from Amy, fingers brushing across hers as he focused his attention on Billie’s request.
‘Sounds wonderful, Taddeo. Thank you.’
Billie’s words sounded enthusiastic, chirpy almost, but her gaze – fixed on Amy and unwavering – gave different vibes. Like a hawk watching its prey, Billie was making Amy feel like she’d done something wrong, even though she couldn’t work out what. After all, Billie was always going on about how Amy should make the most of the opportunities she was presented with. It was Billie who laughed at Amy for being so uninterested in casual relationships, kept telling her she was wasting her best years. It was Billie who proudly – and loudly, especially after a few drinks – explained how much she’d learnt through her wild and free twenties.
‘I’ll get some bread sliced and through to your tablesubito,’ Tad was saying, as he sorted through jars on a shelf. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I send through a variety of the local jams, and you can critique them for me?’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Billie said, eyes never leaving Amy, even as Matteo re-entered the room with more breakfast orders. ‘I’ll head back to the dining room. Amelia? Why don’t you come, too. Leave the professionals to it.’
‘Oh – quick question before you go,’ Tad said, a couple of jars in his hands as he turned his attention to Billie. ‘Any chance I can borrow Amy this afternoon? Only, I was wondering if I might take her out for ice cream.’
Billie’s eyes narrowed as a thoughtful – or was it an irritated – expression crossed her features.
‘It’s just that we’ve… I’d love to be able to… You’re not here for much longer and…’ Tad tailed off, three attempts at saying what he wanted all drying on his tongue. Amy wondered if he felt the intensity of her stare, too, or whether he genuinely wasn’t sure what it was he was trying to say.
‘I think that sounds like a fantastic idea, Tad.’ Billie’s gaze was still on Amy. ‘You take all the time you need. After all, these opportunities don’t come along every day, do they?’
Back in the dining room, Malcolm glanced between the two of them.
‘Everything OK?’ he said.
‘Absolutely fine, Malc.’ Billie turned the brightness in her smile back up to full throttle. ‘You’ll never guess what…’
‘What?’
‘I think our Amelia has found herself an admirer. It was as though I was her mother in there, with Tad asking my permission for him to take her out for ice cream this afternoon. Sweet, don’t you think?’
Malcolm grinned. ‘Ames, you kept that quiet. Sneaky.’
‘Well, not really… I?—’
Billie held up a flat palm. ‘Spare us the deets, Amelia. Nobody needs to hear the ins and outs of it all.’
Malcolm stifled a laugh. ‘We can do the boat trip together, can’t we, Billie? Amy doesn’t need to come. It’s no problem as far as I can see.’
‘You’ve been desperate to get me to yourself, haven’t you?’ Billie said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ Amy said.
‘What have I been saying to you for so long? Go, “eat ice cream” with Tad,’ Billie mimed inverted commas around the words. ‘Live a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ Amy said, her smile gaining increased traction as Tad brought a basket of sliced bread and an array of jams to the table.
As Tad grinned at her, then swirled away from their table to deal with other guests, Malcolm wiggled his eyebrows, then nudged Amy with his elbow. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Billie snorted. ‘It’s been so long since you’ve done anything like that, Malc, I’m surprised you can even remember what goes where.’
* * *
