Tad drew in a sharp breath. He’d always considered he’d been the one to rescue Clare. And although someone else’s happiness wasn’t a competition, he couldn’t help being stung by the comment.
‘Anyway, I have something I want to ask Clare, something important – and I hoped you could put together a hamper of snacks for us. I thought I’d take her to Tenno; apparently there’s a brilliant view of the lake from the vineyards, so the venue and the wine are sorted – all I need is the food.’
Tad bit his lip as he tried not to ask James if he’d been so unobservant as not to notice Clare hadn’t been drinking alcohol since she’d been at Casa del Cibo, and that Tad would hazard a guess she hadn’t been drinking it for a while before that, either. He pressed his lips together to stop himself from spilling the reason, to prevent himself from asking James why he thought it might be that Clare was finding it so difficult to tell him that she was carrying his baby.
Clare had sworn Tad to secrecy, but that kind of news shouldn’t be a secret, should it? The joy Clare should be experiencing was already overshadowed by the loss of her baby girl and husband – wasn’t that enough of a burden to carry, without her new partner making Clare feel unsure about telling him?
He bristled again, fighting the desire to tell James there was more at stake here than a stupid picnic in a vineyard. That the man should be taking every available moment to spend with Clare, rather than leaving her to sightsee with his brother and sister-in-law, while he continued to take work phone calls. That James was a complete idiot if he couldn’t see what he had and failed to value Clare accordingly.
‘It doesn’t have to be anything too fancy, a few bits and bobs – whatever you think Clare would like. You know what she enjoys eating, don’t you?’
‘Aye, I do.’ Tad took a breath. ‘I suppose I could make some stromboli.’
‘What’s that?’ James said.
‘It’s a bit like a toasted sandwich, or a filled loaf where everything is cooked into the bread. I could make one with some Parma ham and cheeses – maybe mozzarella and fontina, she likes the subtlety of mozzarella and fontina goes well with it, brings a buttery, nutty flavour to the bread. You eat it cold, slice the bread as you would a normal loaf but end up with a ready-formed sandwich.’
‘Sounds great – Clare never strays very far away from cheese,’ James said, a comment that had Tad thawing. He remembered the first time he’d seen Clare smile was to do with cheese, and somehow the fact James had made the connection made Tad’s shoulders drop an inch or two.
‘How about a flask of coffee and some lemon biscotti to dip as a nod to a dessert…’
‘Clare would love that,’ James said.
‘I’d love what?’ Clare wandered into the kitchen, tailed by James’s brother and sister-in-law, her focus on James. ‘I wondered where you’d got to. How did your call go?’
‘Oh, you know…’ James rolled his eyes.
‘Is Clive being as gutless as usual?’ James’s brother, Luke, asked.
‘You guessed it,’ James said, shaking his head. ‘I have made a decision, though. I’m going to ask Miriam to step up and take the lead in cases rather than Clive. She’s hungry enough for it. Clive won’t like my choice, but with a bit of luck it might prompt him to look elsewhere for a different law practice, solve all my problems in one go. Then,’ he said, swivelling back to Clare, ‘I’ll finally be able to cut back my hours and we can spend as much time as we want sightseeing together. Go wherever you want.’
Tad wondered if anyone else saw the way Clare bit at the edge of her lip. It was clear she still hadn’t told him.
A timer bleeping from one of the ovens had Tad excusing himself from the conversation and he pulled out a tray of confit cherry tomatoes, prodding at a couple of them to make sure they were as soft as they looked. Satisfied, he slid the tray onto the counter to cool.
‘We’ll let you get on, Tad,’ James said. ‘If you’re sure about what I asked, I would be so grateful,’ he added.
Clare looked mystified, her gaze trained on Tad. In that moment he felt as though he held far too many secrets, and he wondered if she could see it in his expression as Clare turned away, asking James what was going on.
The word ‘surprise’ floated back through the open door as the group left, and Tad tried again to focus on his food. He wondered fleetingly who would be getting the larger surprise, out of Clare and James, when she finally did summon up the courage to tell him.
* * *
Hugh took a seat beside Kathleen at the dinner table, lodging his untouched flute of prosecco onto the table in front of him. The last catered night of a stay at Casa del Cibo never felt like something he wanted to celebrate, instead the thought of returning to his cold, empty, lonely home in the UK caused him a definite downturn in mood.
‘You again?’ Kathleen said.
‘I’ve taken your advice,’ he said, after he’d lifted the water jug, heavier than expected, and poured for them both. Even though his hand shook, most of the water ended up in the glasses, which Hugh took as a win.
Kathleen side-eyed him. ‘And what advice would that be?’
‘To let people do things their own way,’ he said. ‘I haven’t interfered with anyone’s plans for days now – haven’t you noticed?’
‘Well, congrats,’ Kathleen huffed.
‘I still think there’s no harm in it,’ he said.
A slight shrug of her shoulders was as far as she was willing to go in agreement, but Hugh took it, setting down his water glass as the starter arrived – a confit tomato tart with baby salad leaves and a balsamic dressing. It smelt absolutely divine and demanded attention – the entire room fell silent, chatter replaced by the chink of cutlery against crockery.
