When she headed towards the kitchen, he jumped up and offered to fix her a brew and some toast. ‘I bought that soft cheese you like. The one with the garlic and herbs.’ He picked up a serrated knife so sharp it gleamed. Aria winced and reminded herself never to use it as he cleanly sliced though a loaf of the rosemary sourdough she was enjoying.
‘Great, load me up with savoury goodness. Before we start work on the dinner, should we quickly go through your plans for the development? I think it’s important I understand your vision so I can add to the conversation.’ When his knife stopped in mid-air, she rushed in. ‘It’s OK, I won’t start sniping at you again about being a millionaire property-owning prick. I genuinely want to find out more.’
He paused as though trying to decide if this was true. Then he finished slicing and slotted the bread onto the grill.
‘Why don’t you have a toaster?’ she asked. ‘And why is every single dish in this house white?’
‘Standard show home fare. A few designer, high-end brands to make it look polished and aspirational.’
‘Have you ever been tempted to raid those?’ She pointed to several tall jars on the countertop, filled with different types of pasta.
‘I hate plastic linguini,’ he replied. ‘I find it gets stuck in your teeth.’
‘Fake pasta in a fake house inhabited by two people in a fake relationship…’ she laughed. ‘That’s quite some single-pot dish. Did you buy the salami? It’s not in the fridge.’
‘Oops, maybe it’s still in the car,’ he replied, popping the toast onto two plates and reaching into the fridge for butter and cream cheese while she put out some food for Tiger. ‘Come and grab a chair,’ he said, laying the food out on the kitchen island. ‘We can look at the plans.’ He opened his weighty laptop and called up some documents. ‘There’s a lot of detail that makes them a bit dense. But they all follow the same principles,’ he explained. ‘I’m a big fan of Japanesearchitecture and used a designer who originally hailed from Kyoto. I asked for a serene, minimal look. The idea is to emphasise the natural beauty of the lake by drawing the eye over to the windows. We have used natural materials wherever possible to build this house and created clean lines throughout with the built-in storage.’
‘Hence all the hidden handles?’ Aria glanced back at the kitchen cupboards as Tiger finished his food and whined to eat hers.
‘Exactly. And the disguised fridge. No clutter on the counters, if you don’t count the pasta jars and salt cellar. Light wood flooring. Indirect warm lighting. Shoji-style doors on the bedroom closets. The idea is you don’t look at the space, you feel it, while concentrating on the beauty of nature outside.’
She met his eyes and found them anxious for her reaction.
‘That all sounds lovely,’ she said, wanting to respect the idea of gentle living.
‘If it was my holiday or permanent home, I’d fill it with low furniture, like the big coffee table over there. I wouldn’t have a dining table at all. We’d eat sitting on the floor.’
‘And there are plans for forty houses and a restaurant?’ Aria asked.
He nodded, pulling up the exterior plans. ‘I know it sounds a lot, but I’d like the development to have a community feel and the natural materials will hopefully make the houses blend in over time.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to a space in front of the proposed marina building, while she looked for her hut on the blueprint.
He closed the plans down and clicked away, leaving an invitation for Justin and Lu-Lu’s wedding on the screen. She pointed at it in surprise, unable to believe they had used the same font she and Justin had talked about. ‘Why have they invited you?’
‘I wondered that too. Probably to show off their monstrous wealth.’
‘Wait till you see their turrets,’ she said, picking up her phone and opening her inbox. ‘Damn, I got one too.’
‘Probably to rub your nose in it?’ Nic replied, with sympathy in his voice.
She changed the subject. ‘Right-y-ho. I need to get on if this dinner party is going to be a success.’ She walked to a kitchen cupboard, grabbed one of the ceramic white bowls and put a few drops of fabric conditioner in boiling water to make the house smell nice. Nic might like his expensive cologne, but her dad always did this to get rid of lingering odours. As Nic disappeared into the body of the house, she prepared the celeriac for the mash, before gathering up the ingredients to ice the champagne cake she’d made yesterday. Her first pass at the Italian meringue buttercream caused the sugar water to crystalise, making the mixture look grainy and unappealing. When she attempted to fix it by adding butter, the ingredients swamped the mixer like thick soup. It reminded her of the mess on everyone’s shoes at the swim and she wondered if everyone who’d got sick had now recovered. Dumping the gloop into the bin, she began again, aware she needed to start preparing the rest of the food. She was sure the beef bourguignon would taste delicious, but a good mealdidn’t rest on its meaty laurels. By the time she’d whipped the new batch of buttercream to the required texture, she’d wasted most of her butter and eggs. And while she’d expected crumbs to stick to the knife, to her dismay chunks of the rich cake seemed to be attracted to her spatula like a magnet. The thin layer of icing she put on as a test became thicker as the cake disintegrated under it. The more she shaped it, the more terrible it looked. Nic breezed back in as she threw down the palette knife in disgust.
‘Does this look like something Tiger might have done against a tree? The last batch looked like vomit, and this isn’t much better. I should have made basic buttercream and not tried to be fancy.’
He pulled a face at the sight of the cake. ‘I wouldn’t like to comment. Have you seen the two bottles of St Emilion I put on the dryer last night? I want to uncork them and let them breathe.’
She shook her head. ‘You said the stuff in the garage was for the beef bourguignon.’
Nic pushed a hand through his hair, confused. ‘When did I say that? I put the stuff I picked up for a fiver next to the cooker.’
Aria shook her head. ‘You definitely told me the bollocks booze was in there, so I used it to prep the food.’
‘I said thedog’s-bollocks wine was in the garage.’ His words emerged slowly, like he was trying to get his head around the implications of the statement. ‘Meaning the very expensive wine. Like a hundred pounds a bottle.’
‘Oh my God,’ they chorused in unison, heading for the slow cooker. She lifted the lid and he stared down into thepot. When he looked up again his eyes were as dark and intense as the recipe filling her nostrils. He gazed long enough to send a shiver down her spine. And then he barked out a laugh so loud it made Tiger jump.
‘Goodness, Aria. This deal is costing me. I don’t know if my limited wine rack can take the hit. Did you put Chanel No. 5 in that bowl while you were at it?’
