Chapter Twenty-Five
Connor arrived early at the agreed meeting place – a two Michelin star restaurant not far from The Grange.
He wanted to gather his thoughts before Bonnie arrived, not rush in at the last minute looking – and feeling – unprepared.
There had been a time not that long ago when Connor would have enjoyed being fashionably late.
He knew how to make an entrance and how to entertain a crowd, and he got a buzz from doing so, but recently he’d preferred to adopt a more low-key profile.
He ordered a glass of Pinot Gris Reserve while he waited.
His addiction to attention had started as far back as his schooldays when he’d realised that being labelled as the class clown was preferable to being known as the boy whose mum died.
Against most subjects, his school report had included summaries that were variations on the theme of must try harder, but despite his lack of academic prowess, he had been popular with teachers and students alike, managing for the most part to stay on the entertaining side of disruptive.
After leaving with few qualifications, he discovered employment options were restricted.
Nevertheless, he found himself a job in the local supermarket, although his dad had been unimpressed.
After a few months moving and unpacking boxes in the stock room, he’d been trained up to work on the tills, and with his boyish good looks and friendly demeanour, Connor soon became popular with the regular customers despite operating the slowest till in the store.
He had often wondered what his life might have been like if the lads in the stock room hadn’t dared him to apply to go on The Challenge. Maybe he’d always been the sort of person that rose to a challenge? Maybe a new challenge was what he was missing now?
If Bonnie wanted to meet, it meant she had plans, and he needed to be prepared.
He wondered if this was an olive branch.
The arguments when they parted had been savage.
She had yelled at him, called him all sorts of names, told him his career was over.
His protests and explanations had been ignored.
Or could she be planning to say sorry? He’d certainly had some practice in doing that over the last few months, mostly with Rosie.
Where Bonnie’s harsh words had provoked anger and a desire to get out, Rosie’s admonishments had engendered a feeling of remorse, and a desire to do better.
She had helped him to see a different side of life; one that revolved around friendships and neighbourliness, not wealth and acquisition of material goods.
And while it wasn’t a sustainable long-term business, one by-product of his eBay sales had been a much warmer relationship with his brother.
Connor hadn’t told Rosie he was meeting Bonnie today. He couldn’t have explained why, only that Bonnie belonged in a different world. He would have to wait to find out whether it was one he wanted to rejoin.
As he expected, Bonnie made her usual grand entrance. Every restaurateur in the country knew who she was and there was a predictable amount of fawning and fussing as she was shown to her seat.
She still looked impossibly glamorous; her blonde hair fell neatly in delicate waves around her shoulders, her blue-grey eyes outlined by a perfect flick of eyeliner, and her lips that he used to think were so kissable wore her trademark cherry red lipstick.
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she sat down opposite him and ordered herself a glass of whatever wine Connor was drinking.
‘Actually, forget that, we’ll have a bottle please,’ she ordered as the waiter gave what could have been a bow, and scuttled away. She picked up Connor’s glass and sniffed the contents appreciatively. ‘You clearly haven’t lost your touch as a sommelier.’
‘Pinot Gris Reserve 2016. Does that please madam?’
‘It does. You always did know your wines.’
Connor had a dozen questions churning around in his head, but he needed to play the long game with Bonnie. ‘So, from what I hear, the pilot programme went well. When is the new series starting?’ he asked in a conversational tone.
‘It’s under discussion.’ Bonnie’s eyes had that vague, cloudy look, which meant she wasn’t giving him the whole story.
‘What does that mean?’
Bonnie graciously accepted a menu from the waiter. ‘Let’s eat first.’
Connor had no choice but to fall in with her plan, whatever that was.
She always did like having the driving seat all to herself, and she always decided where they were heading.
Right now, Connor wasn’t in the mood for games and would happily have ordered burger and chips if it meant they got to the point of the meeting quicker, but Bonnie seemed to enjoy spinning it out.
Thankfully, she abandoned the idea of a starter and just ordered bread and olives.
Over lunch she plied him with questions and seemed keen to hear about what he had been doing.
Other than his photos from DeLaneys and a few comments here and there across the social media spectrum, Connor had given little away about how he was spending his days, and Bonnie’s questions picked away at his evasive answers.
‘And are you working at the moment?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘You’re living in Haxford, I gather? Isn’t that a bit parochial for you?’
‘It’s fine, thanks.’
‘Where are you staying? Is it a house? A cosy flat share? A secret love nest?’
Connor smiled. Bonnie was an alpha female who didn’t take kindly to competition, but as he was the one booted out, he saw no reason to furnish her with any details.
‘I’ve been learning about gardens,’ he said, sidestepping her questions. ‘It’s quite therapeutic actually.’ In between Rosie’s visits, he had often gone out into the garden to marvel at the transformation she had wrought from that overgrown patch.
Rosie was going shopping this afternoon with her friend.
He was hoping to get back in time to speak to her and find out whether it had been a successful mission.
He was aware that she was worried about finding the right outfit for Henrietta’s party and didn’t want to show him up in front of his friends, but it didn’t matter to him.
Rosie could wear her jeans and an old sweater and he’d still want to go with her.
Finally, after Connor’s patience had been stretched almost to bursting point, Bonnie put down her knife and fork and looked at him intently.
‘Well, let’s get down to business then, because we’ve got a lot to discuss.’
‘Have we?’
Bonnie smiled properly this time. ‘Oh yes. Because while I was in discussions about Bonnie’s Brigade, I was approached by a US television network. Apparently they want to make a new series of Bonnie Appetito. In fact, they’re keen to press ahead very quickly.’
Connor stared at her in amazement. ‘And this series would be back at The Grange?’
‘That’s the best bit of all,’ said Bonnie as she slapped her hand against the table. ‘We’re going to Los Angeles! The whole series will be made out there. They’ll put us up in an apartment for the duration, all expenses paid of course—’
‘But why? When we – I mean you,’ Connor hurriedly corrected himself, ‘have a perfectly good kitchen set here.’
‘Because the alternative would be to fly everyone over here. It’s much cheaper for us to go to them.’
‘But why not franchise it? Or use a British team?’
‘They want to make their own version to appeal to US audiences. We’ll need to think about food trends etc, but keeping the style of the show traditionally British.
That means having us.’ She pointed at both of them.
‘Just think, this will be a whole new audience for the show, with the bonus that Americans don’t make six shows per series, it’ll be more like twenty-six.
And then there’s talk of a jointly funded tour to promote the series – blog posts, live cooking demos, that sort of thing. ’
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Connor asked carefully. ‘As I recall, the last thing you said to me was you’d never work with me again. In fact, you telephoned specially to impart that piece of information. So how would it work filming half a year’s worth of programmes together?’
Bonnie looked at him as though he was mad. ‘You don’t have to like someone in order to work with them!’ She laughed. ‘If that was a prerequisite, half the shows on television would have to be canned.’
Connor couldn’t believe how easily she had airbrushed out the last six months.
He had gone from being live-in lover and co-presenter to persona non grata within the space of twenty-four hours and now, because it suited her, he was allowed to come crawling back onto the team.
It was what he’d been waiting for, but how the hell would it work in practice?
Bonnie butted into his thoughts. ‘Don’t you want to go to LA?’
‘How long do I have to make up my mind?’
‘A week. Because if you turn this down, firstly you are a moron, and secondly, I’ll have to look for a replacement.’
Connor stared back at her. Well, he got that message loud and clear. Take the job or be replaced. Bonnie always had been a ruthless operator when she sensed a business opportunity, but up until last September, they had always operated on the same side.
Bonnie pulled an A4 envelope out of a leather case and passed it across the table. ‘Contract details. Plus the monetary offer. I think that might help persuade you.’
Connor took it without looking at the contents. ‘I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to Rosie.’
‘Who’s Rosie?’
Connor hesitated for a brief second. He would like to see how she reacted to a bit of competition. ‘She’s my girlfriend. I think she’d like the opportunity to be involved in something different, but I need to talk to her first. I can’t expect her to just chuck in her job without advance notice.’
Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh no, there won’t be any hangers on. The series works because we are supposed to be a couple. This isn’t a threesome cooking programme.’
Connor clenched his fists under the table. ‘Well, obviously she wouldn’t be on the show, but she’ll still be living with me and I’ll pay for any—’
‘No! I said no hangers on and that’s exactly what I meant. Take it or leave it.’
‘Why are you being so bloody difficult about this?’
Several other diners were now looking in their direction. ‘Will you keep your voice down,’ hissed Bonnie.
Connor pinched his lips together in order to contain the quiet rage simmering inside him. He couldn’t see for the life of him how Rosie coming would make the slightest difference to a TV show that she wasn’t even involved in, but he knew from experience it was pointless to argue.
He didn’t bother offering to pay towards the cost of the meal, since Bonnie would be putting it all on expenses anyway.
As it was raining outside, they said their goodbyes inside, and he was forced to admit she was a good actress.
She hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks and said she looked forward to hearing from him soon.
Anyone watching the display of affection (which was basically the whole room) would never have realised there was anything odd about their parting; only the two participants themselves knew it was all totally fake, and only Connor seemed remotely bothered about that.
He didn’t even look at the envelope Bonnie had given him until he was back in the flat and had sat down with a cup of tea.
He would have preferred something stronger but he’d drunk enough for one day, and besides, he needed to be able to think clearly.
As he scanned the pages his attention skidded to a halt halfway down page four.
What the hell? There was a heck of a lot of zeros in that number!
Having rubbed his eyes, he looked again.
That surely had to be wrong? If he was being paid that much, god only knows what Bonnie would be getting.
No wonder she was desperate for him to come on board!
He already knew he had nothing to bargain with.
She had threatened to replace him, so clearly he was expendable.
Connor paced the room as he tried to think rationally.
If he said no to this deal, would he regret throwing away a small fortune and a job offer that could lead to goodness knows what opportunities in the future?
And if he said yes, could he stand working (and living) with Bonnie for the next few months?
And more importantly, how could he do that without letting Rosie down?