CHAPTER SEVEN
I stood beside Annette at the door of the private dining room ready to greet our guests.
In addition to the Ambassador, his wife, and daughter, the mayor of Sabal and two businessmen in the area, partners in a real estate company, were due to attend.
A couple who resided in nearby Marco Island had also been invited, along with the two extra mystery guests who’d been added at the last minute.
“I like these smaller groups,” said Annette. “It’s easier to get to know them. Sorry I won’t be able to stay tonight, but the wedding party is a demanding one, and I can’t leave Lorraine handling the dinner alone. Not with that mother-of-the-bride.”
“I understand,” I said. “It’s how the business goes. We all have to pitch in whenever we can.”
“Rhonda is helping to prepare the food?” Annette asked.
“Yes, it’s going to be delicious. She and our new sous-chef are doing it together using old family recipes.”
Annette chuckled. “My mouth is watering.”
We looked up as the mayor of Sabal, Helena Naylor, arrived. Of medium height, with blond hair pulled back into a bun, she was an attractive woman with sparkling blue eyes that shone with intelligence and a sense of humor.
A friend to both Annette and me, she gave us each a hug. “I’m pleased to be here. It will be a chance for me to encourage Italian visitors to our area.”
“Other business contacts have been invited,” I said. “People I don’t really know.”
We turned as two men arrived dressed in matching dark summer suits. Their crisp white shirts and red ties seemed appropriate for the evening.
“Ah, you must be the Luna brothers, Gil and Leon,” said Annette smiling at them.
Silently blessing her for giving me their names, I stepped forward. “Welcome to The Beach House Hotel. I haven’t had need for a real estate agent, but I understand you’re active in the community.”
Gil, the older-looking man, said, “Sabal is a place where everyone wants to be. It provides us a reliable business.”
Leon, his younger brother, handed us a business card with the information for Destiny Real Estate on it. “We’d like to be able to work with you on providing your guests with our information.”
Smiling, I took the card and simply said, “Thank you.” We didn’t get involved in making recommendations for businesses like theirs.
The men went inside and over to the bar where Helena stood talking to the bartender, an older man we often used for events like this.
A couple arrived and announced they were Marco and Bridget Morena.
“Welcome to The Beach House Hotel,” I said. “It’s lovely to see you.”
“Thank you,” said Bridget. “We recently moved here, and I’ve heard so much about The Beach House Hotel that I’m very glad to be included.”
I started to speak when I noticed Brock Goodwin and another man walking toward us.
Annette saw the shock in my face and quickly intervened to help usher Bridget and Marco inside.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Brock quietly.
I studied his companion whom I recognized from photos taken when he was much younger.
He carried himself with an air of self-importance.
What had once been dark brown hair was obviously dyed a lighter shade and did nothing to enhance his florid face, which spoke of overindulgence.
There was a sleaziness to him I found revolting when he winked at me.
“I’d like to introduce you to Jonny Arno,” Brock said. “My business partner.”
Jonny shrugged. “Business partner, Brock. That’s a bit of a stretch.”
Blushing, Brock continued. “We’re here tonight for the dinner to be held in Ambassador Ferrara’s honor. I told his staff that as President of the Neighborhood Association, I should be included along with the most important chef in the area.”
Annette reappeared, saving me from saying something ugly to him.
“ ’Evening, Brock,” she said in a cool voice.
“I’d like you to meet Jonny Arno, the new, best chef in the area. Or he soon will be,” said Brock, clapping Jonny on the back. “This is Ann Sanders, one of the owners, and Annette Bernhard, a staff member.”
A fleeting smile crossed Jonny’s fleshy face and then he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you both.”
“Won’t you come this way,” said Annette. “The Ambassador and his family will soon join us.”
The three of them went inside and I stood a moment quietly seething. Brock Goodwin was a master at interjecting himself into our business. Damn it!
“Are you alright?” Annette asked, rejoining me.
“No, I’m not. But I’ll do my best not to show it,” I said.
“Brock Goodwin is understandably upsetting,” said Annette. “Here are the Ambassador and his wife now.”
Enrico and Caterina walked toward us looking regal. Enrico was in a navy suit and wore the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic on the chest of his suitcoat. Caterina looked fabulous in a long, golden dress whose simple lines spoke of high quality.
“Welcome to your special dinner,” I said. “Your guests await you.” I looked around. “Is Philippa going to be joining you this evening?”
“Yes,” said Catarina firmly. “She’s dressing now.”
“Please follow me,” I said.
When we walked into the dining room, the seven people there turned and began to applaud.
With a delighted smile, Enrico bobbed his head and held out a hand to his wife.
The two of them stood there a moment and then walked over to the group standing by the bar.
I went outside hoping to catch sight of Philippa.
A few minutes later, Philippa hurried across the lobby over to me.
“Sorry I’m late. My mother’s furious, but I was with my friend and forgot the time. How do I look?”
“Stunning,” I said honestly. “That dress is perfect.”
Philippa was wearing a sleeveless red dress that fell to her calves and showed her lovely curves.
Her blond hair was swept up in a clump behind her head and showed off the diamonds she wore in her ears.
The afternoon sun had already kissed her smooth cheeks with color, accentuating her sparkling brown eyes.
Philippa rubbed her lips together to smooth the red gloss she’d applied and straightened. “Okay. I’m ready.”
I opened the door, and Philippa swept inside attracting the attention of the others. When I noticed a leer cross Brock’s face, I chastened myself for not warning Philippa about Brock’s behavior.
He stepped forward to greet her, but she walked right by him without giving him any attention. The look of disappointment on Brock’s face was laughable as Philippa continued over to her father.
Enrico wrapped an arm around Philippa and gazed at her with a father’s pride.
A waitress wearing a black skirt and white blouse passed by with a tray of canapés that looked delicious. Our guests thought so too as they quickly helped themselves to some.
Annette came up to me. “I’ll leave you now. The staff is here and ready.”
“Thank you. I’ll see to the rest. Good luck with the rehearsal dinner.”
I stood quietly to the side making sure no glasses were left empty, and food was being properly offered.
I noticed Enrico and Jonny Arno having a conversation and wondered what they might be talking about. Brock joined them, and Enrico soon left the group.
Helena and Catarina were in conversation. Philippa stood by looking bored. When she noticed Brock headed her way, she turned toward her mother and joined in.
After being given the signal from the kitchen, I spoke up. “Please, everyone, be seated for dinner. You will find place cards with your name on it at the table.” I’d made sure that Brock was not seated next to either Philippa or her mother.
Guests took their seats, and while they studied the event’s menu, two waitresses poured water, either still or sparkling as each guest wished.
A knock on the door was followed by Bernie’s appearance.
“Hello, everyone. As General Manager of The Beach House Hotel, it is my pleasure to welcome you to a very special evening in honor of Ambassador Ferrara and his lovely family. Enjoy a touch of Italy prepared especially for you.”
Bernie and I shook hands, and then he left.
At another signal, I opened the door, and a waiter rolled in a cart carrying the first course of individual plates of antipasti. Each one I inspected held a small selection of cheeses, olives, salami, peppers, and other pressed meats artfully arranged.
When the antipasti were set down in front of our guests, their looks of anticipation meant we’d done an excellent job.
“Buon Appetito!” I said, raising my water glass from the sideboard in a salute.
“Grazie mille! This looks fabulous,” said Enrico, lifting his glass of red wine.
I was happy we were off to a pleasing start, notwithstanding a look of concern on Jonny Arno’s face.
The next course was penne Bolognese. I spoke quietly to Enrico as it was being served, “This is made especially for you, as requested, and is from old family recipes. Enjoy.”
I watched as Enrico took his first bite, closed his eyes, and let out an audible sigh of pleasure. “Delizioso.”
Jonny Arno squirmed in his chair.
More wine was poured as each guest took their time savoring the meal.
By the time the next course arrived, conversation was flowing easily between the diners.
“Another family specialty to remind you of home,” I told Enrico. “Veal marsala just as you requested.”
After all the veal dishes were served, Enrico lifted his fork. “My favorite.” He took a bite of the tender veal topped with a wine, garlic, and mushroom sauce and lifted his napkin to one eye. “Like Mama’s.”
Catarina smiled at him from across the table. “Si. Like your mother’s dish.”
When Tiramisu was served with coffee and tea, the quiet in the room attested to its deliciousness.
Enrico signaled for me to come closer. “I want to thank the chef for this fabulous meal.”
“Actually, three people and other staff made this meal possible.”
“Bring them out, please. I want to thank them personally.”
“I’ll let them know,” I said, and left the room to go to the kitchen.
“How’s it going?” Rhonda asked wearing an apron and standing by a stove.
“Very, very well. I think Enrico even cried over the veal marsala. Now he wants to thank the three chefs who created the meal.”
“Okay,” said Rhonda. “Chet, Jean-Luc, and me?”
“Yes, but I must warn you that Jonny Arno and Brock Goodwin were the two last-minute guests added to the dinner party.”
“You’ve got to be shittin’ me,” said Rhonda. “Just what we need.”
“Let’s pretend they aren’t there. Just get the other two and come with me. We’ll make this awkward situation become to our benefit.”
Rhonda took off her apron and went to find Chet and Jean-Luc.
Tossing dirty aprons aside, Chet and Jean-Luc followed Rhonda and me to the private dining room.
As we entered the room, everyone clapped.
“Eccellente,” shouted Enrico. “I don’t know how you did it, but this meal tasted exactly how my mother and grandmother used to make it.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s thanks to my business partner, Rhonda Grayson, our chef, Jean-Luc Rodin, and our new sous chef, Chet Waring.”
“It was a pleasure to present this meal to you, Mr. Ambassador,” said Rhonda.
While people clapped and commented, I noticed a look of shock cross Philippa’s face as she gazed at Chet. Then it quickly disappeared. I turned to Chet. His cheeks were pink, and he looked as surprised as Philippa, unaware that Jonny Arno was glaring at him.
Then, with a last little bow, Rhonda, Chet, and Jean-Luc left.
I turned at the sound of Jonny Arno getting to his feet. “I’m here to announce the opening of my new restaurant, Osteria Arno, and to formally ask for Ambassador Ferrara’s support.”
The room grew quiet. What had been a sweet, family affair shifted to a scene of uneasiness as the Ambassador gave Jonny a stern look. “This isn’t the time for business.”
I quickly tried to recover. “Thank you and everyone else for coming tonight to celebrate Ambassador Ferrara and his family. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Everyone got to their feet, essentially ending the event.
Obviously unhappy, Jonny approached me. “We could’ve started off being friends.”
“There’s no reason not to be friends,” I said, ignoring his threatening tone.
“I intend to be the best, have the most successful restaurant in the area,” said Jonny, giving me a challenging look. “And I don’t need a certain sous chef to make that happen,”
Forcing myself not to overreact, I said, “Everyone loves delicious food.”
Brock joined us. “You and Rhonda are in for a few surprises. Right, Jonny?”
Jonny studied me with narrowed eyes and nodded, sending a shiver down my spine.