When Only Cupcakes Will Do (14 page)

‘Did you say your family are cooks too? Your sister?' he interrupted and she flashed him a puzzled look.

‘Yes, she's a beta tester for a celebrity chef – Ella Carter. Every recipe has to be triple-tested before it makes its debut in one of Ella's glossy, high-end cookery manuals. Jess loves it and she can fit the job around Lewis and Jack. But she's also an accomplished chef in her own right. You should taste her black cherry and almond cheesecake.'

‘And were your parents in the trade? Was your father a chef? Or your mother, perhaps?'

Lucie wondered if she should divulge her background to Ed. After all, despite the extensive adverse publicity she had endured, which thankfully had now abated, no one had stumbled on the connection between her and her famous mother. Perhaps not surprisingly when she remembered that the height of her mother's celebrity had been over twenty-five years ago and that not many avid Margot Bradshaw fans from those days would be social media gurus. Despite her initial assessment of him in Paris, and her subsequent run-in with him at Francesca's, she liked Ed. Well, it was a woman's prerogative to change her mind, wasn't it? Still, she would probably never see him again, so why mention her mother's celebrity?

And then something Jess always told her when she was worried about being judged next to her famous parent nudged into her brain. You can't form a solid, worthwhile relationship on a foundation of untruths. Anyway, hadn't Ed grown up in Sicily and only lived in the UK for a year? He would have no idea who Margot Bradshaw was.

‘Yes, my mother is a fabulous cook.'

She took a mouthful of her wine, pleased to see no trace of recognition on Ed's golden-hued expression. Over the rim of her glass, she raked her eyes over his features and was surprised to experience a sharp frisson of electricity jolt through her veins and sparkle out to her fingertips. Her heart quickened and deep in her lower abdomen she felt a burgeoning of sexual desire which shocked her. Ed Cartolli was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but she had successfully resisted his charms in Paris. What was different now? No way was she looking for a new relationship – not that Ed was in any way suggesting such a thing – and as Jess had said, meeting up with Ed was the perfect way to get back to socialising with new people. Risk-free, she'd said – there was no way she would be attracted to her old rival, was there?

But there was no denying the out-of-control kaleidoscope of emotions Ed had stirred within her just by being in close proximity. Her skin prickled in anticipation of his hand brushing her arm. She was finding it hard to concentrate on exactly where their conversation was going. And he smelled delicious too, not to mention the curls of mahogany hairs rippling the full length of his tanned forearms. Where else would she find those curls?

She loved the way he curled his tongue around her name when he spoke. Wasn't French supposed to be the language of love, not Italian? Love? What was she thinking! Heat radiated over her chest and flashed up her body into her hairline. This was crazy! She wasn't attracted to Ed Cartolli!

Yet when she thought back to the time she had first met Alex, she couldn't recall experiencing such a tumult of emotions. When she'd been with him she had felt calm, protected, comfortable, and that was what she had loved about him. After witnessing her parents', and then her sister's, marriage disintegrate
she'd been relieved to find someone so composed and in control of his emotions. With Alex she felt safe and she'd liked that.

She chanced a quick peek through her eyelashes at Ed and could almost feel the red-hot danger signals radiating from his pores. A sizzle of energy ran down her spine and she almost laughed out loud. To cover her confusion she launched into a potted family bio.

‘Mum has always been passionate about food, did a bit of teaching on the subject' – she left out the words ‘to the whole viewing nation' – ‘in the late eighties, early nineties. It's from Mum, and Gran, that Jess and I inherited our infatuation with cooking.'

‘Do your parents live in London too?'

‘No, actually, like yours they live in different countries. They split when Jess and I were young. Dad lives in Athens with a new partner and Mum emigrated to Andalucía just before Christmas. She loves the sun and the year-round availability of fresh produce, not to mention the freely available local wine and olive oil, and it seems she's taken the local ex-pat cookery club by storm,' she laughed.

‘Fancy another bottle?'

‘Yes, please.'

The incongruity of what was happening suddenly slapped her in the face. If Steph or Hollie had told her, as she'd sat sobbing at their coffee table at the beginning of March, that in six weeks' time she would be relaxing in her sister's local pub, sharing a bottle of chilled Pinot Grigio with Edmundo Cartolli, she would have been straight on the phone booking an appointment with the local psychologist. But here he was taking a genuine interest in her life, weaving an irresistible spell on the waft of his designer cologne.

Who would have thought they'd connect on such an intimate level? Not her! But she could sit all night and chat to him about any cuisine she chose to discuss and he'd be able to produce an anecdote or personal insight, or even a recipe suggestion. They seemed to swap the conversational baton with considerable ease. The longer they stayed talking, the more she realised that the extent of his knowledge of food and its preparation, gleaned not just from academic study but from practical application, far exceeded her own. However, try as she might to dig under the fascinating, charismatic façade Ed projected, his life before his arrival in England was a closed subject.

‘So will you go back to Sicily?' She tried again to draw him on his personal life, but perhaps it was wise not to venture into the thorny sphere of past relationships. ‘Will you return to one of your family's restaurants? Why did you say you left last year?'

‘I didn't.' Ed tossed back the dregs of his glass. ‘It's late. I'll walk you home.'

‘Oh, it's okay. It's stumbling distance, as Jess would say.'

She could do with the walk to cool her rampant hormones down. She smiled but she had the strangest sensation that she was being dismissed. The conversation had flowed seamlessly all evening; no awkward silences, no gaps to be filled by reckless faux pas. Only when she threatened to meander into his private life did Ed clam up. She had decided she liked him, despite their rocky start, and she hoped he liked her too, but he was standing in front of her, zipping up his leather jacket and waiting impatiently for her to finish the last inch of her wine. Clearly he hadn't been enjoying her company as much as she'd thought.

She got to her feet a little unsteadily before stumbling forward into the table. Ed reached out his hand to catch her arm and she noticed with a stab of surprise that three of the fingers on his right hand were missing. She whipped her eyes up to his, opening her mouth to say something, but the look of warning on his face stopped her from verbalising her shock.

He spun on his Italian leather loafers and stomped towards the door. ‘Goodnight, then.' And he was gone, striding towards his silver Alfa Romeo and roaring away into the night.

Chapter Fifteen

‘So, you had a date with the sexy Signor Cartolli? I can't believe it!'

‘It wasn't a date, Hollie. It was a drink at the local pub.'

‘Are you going to see him again?'

‘Hollie, didn't you hear what I said? It wasn't a date. I doubt I will hear from him unless he decides to review my questionable cookery skills again – and I sincerely hope he doesn't. I'm enjoying the challenge of running my little Travelling Cupcake Company. He was just at a loose end while visiting his sister and needed someone to keep him company at the pub.'

‘But you said you talked for ages, that you have loads in common. He sounds like ideal dating material to me.' Hollie tossed the sides of her freshly highlighted magenta locks behind her ears and held out her fingers. ‘One: he adores food, and so do you. Two: he's clearly got issues in his past, and so do you. Three: his family live in Richmond, and so do yours. All he needs is a famous parent and you're staring down the aisle of the local church.'

‘Hollie!'

‘Just saying.'

‘Anyway, he doesn't have a famous parent, so that's your theory up the creek! Most of his family live in Sicily. He doesn't live in Richmond either. He lives in North London. His sister lives in Richmond and Paolo, his brother-in-law, is home now so I doubt he'll be visiting his sister again until she has her baby.'

‘London is one big village, Lucie, or hadn't you noticed? I know you're loving this mobile cupcake thing, traipsing around leafy suburbia in a cute little ice-cream van, but you can't seriously be thinking of doing that permanently? Aren't you just biding your time until you can stage you triumphant return as a supplier of all things confectionery to the likes of Fortnum & Mason and Harrods – remember, your dream since you left Le Cordon Bleu? The reason you gave up your social life to train in that luxurious Paris hotel, sweated your heart out in that taverna in Crete and took the job with Gino? Anyway, me and Steph miss you.'

‘Hollie, I adore running the Travelling Cupcake Company more than I ever thought I would. I only have myself and my customers to answer to so I can experiment to my heart's content – I've made every single one of those cocktail-inspired cupcakes we talked about. Wait until you taste the espresso-flavoured ones with Bailey's buttercream topped with roasted coffee beans! And I love doing the children's birthday parties; they're great fun. But I miss you too. Look, it's the bank holiday weekend. Why don't you both come down to Richmond. I'm sure Jess won't mind you couch-surfing for a couple of nights.'

‘Actually, I've got some news.'

‘What news?'

‘A few of us from the salon have arranged a trip to Champneys. It was just going to be the girls, but guess what? Elliott and Karl and Cam are tagging alone too. Oh, Lucie, I'm so excited. This could be the chance for me and Elliott to really connect on a personal level, outside work. What do you think?'

‘I think if Elliott doesn't notice what a kind, beautiful person he has right under his nose then he doesn't deserve you, Hols. Have a fabulous time. Oh, I wish I was coming with you. I don't think I've painted my nails since February, let alone had my hair styled. It doesn't matter as I have to wear it up every day, but just occasionally I crave the feeling of being pampered. I want all the details, every tiny piece of gossip when you get back, okay?'

‘Of course, but I bet you get a call from Ed asking you out on a proper date. Then we can swap juicy gossip.'

‘Hollie…'

‘I mean it, Lucie. Yes, he's gorgeous in a dark, brooding, dangerous kind of way – and almost as handsome as Elliott – but it's not that. I think the two of you could be a great match. Which restaurant did you say he trained in after you both left Le Cordon Bleu?'

‘A restaurant in Palermo in Sicily. He's not very forthcoming with personal information…'

Lucie was about to mention the shock she had felt when she'd seen Ed's hand but decided against it. It wasn't any of her business, especially as she knew he had no intention of contacting her and therefore she would never see him again. But questions continued to swirl around her head –
did the loss of his fingers have something to do with why he was now a food critic instead of a practising chef?
If so, how had it happened? A kitchen accident was the most likely explanation. It was a dangerous place, and commercial kitchen knives – as she was continually driving into her sous chefs – were exceptionally sharp – lethal weapons really.

‘Hey, thank God you're still here! I'm desperate for a drink.' Steph ordered a fresh bottle of Prosecco rosé from the bartender, who looked like he'd just stepped off his yacht.

‘Still slaving late at the coalface of matrimonial disharmony?' asked Lucie.

‘Got a three-week contested ancillary relief application starting tomorrow and the photocopier decided to go out on strike. I would join it on the picket line if I could. I'm exhausted. But Harry mentioned the possibility of putting me forward for a partnership last week so the struggle continues.' She watched the bartender pour her drink into an oversized wine glass, pressing on his wrist to ensure he filled it to the brim before taking a long draught. ‘Ah, did I need that.'

‘Oh, congratulations, Steph. No one deserves the recognition of a partnership more than you. And erm… while we're on the subject of partnerships, do you happen to know whether Alex got his?'

‘Actually, I bumped into him at court this morning. Well, bumped isn't quite the right word. I cornered him and interrogated him. But yes, he was confirmed as an equity partner at the board meeting at the end of April, as expected. He seemed very pleased with himself.'

‘Did he… did he ask after me?'

‘He did as a matter of fact. I told him you had moved on from your dull and boring life as a potential corporate spouse and were revelling in the freedom and excitement of being an entrepreneur.'

‘Steph…'

‘It's true. Name me one thing you and Alex did as a couple? Saturdays were always allocated to his crazy pursuit of all things Chelsea, then he would play golf with clients most Sundays. Bearing in mind he used to work late at the office most nights during the week, what did you have in common? He never showed any interest in your career whatsoever. I don't think you would ever have started the Travelling Cupcake Company if you were still with Alex. So, tell me about this date you went on with Ed Cartolli! I couldn't believe it when Hollie texted me.'

Lucie sighed. ‘It wasn't a date, it was just a drink.'

‘One thing can lead to another, and I can tell from your eyes that you fancy him.'