Chapter 4 #2
Her voice vied for Tad’s attention at the same moment as his first waft of her expensive perfume. Billie Forsythe-Rogers was rattling the door handle, her expression of frustration clear even in the subdued lighting.
‘Can I help?’ he asked, flicking on the ceiling chandeliers to bring more light to the situation.
‘Can you open the door?’ Billie’s frustration gave way to a far more gracious expression, her gaze raking him in as she began to smile. ‘Let me guess. Tad, right?’
He glanced down at himself, still in his evening uniform of black chef jacket and checked trousers, realising he hadn’t even changed out of his kitchen clogs.
The pen behind his ear chose that moment to dislodge itself, and he caught it as it headed south.
Not the cool, professional introduction he’d wanted for his first meeting with this woman.
He attempted to claw his way back. ‘Yes. I’m Tad Campbell.
Your chef for your stay at Casa del Cibo.
And of course you’re Billie Forsythe-Rogers.
We’ve been so looking forward to your visit. ’
‘Ha. Everybody says that. Most come to regret it.’ Her gaze swept across him again.
‘What are you going to do to make this one a success?’ Her lips curled into a lazy smile.
Lips carefully coated in a bright pink lipstick, matching the rest of her faultless make-up.
The colour a great choice against the deep tones of her short, tousled mahogany hair.
She looked ready to hit the town, rather than feeling ill, as Amy had claimed.
As though she’d read his mind, Billie’s smile broadened.
‘I’m so sorry I was such a wet blanket earlier.
Travel never agrees with me and I was feeling particularly shite when we got here.
Do you forgive me? I’m all better, now, I promise.
Tell you what, how about you show me to the nearest decent bar, and I’ll stand you a beer, or a whisky, or whatever, to apologise properly. What do you say?’
Tad decided that now was not the moment to mention he didn’t drink, or ideally, he would want to shower and change before he went anywhere.
The very last thing he was going to say was that, in fact, what he really wanted to do was to get some sleep.
Instead, he smiled with enough velocity to match her grin and said, ‘Let me grab some keys and my phone, then I’m all yours. ’
‘That sounds promising,’ she said, her amused expression showing no sign of waning as he turned and fled.
In the safety of the kitchen, Tad ripped at the poppers on his chef’s jacket, hanging it on the back of the door as he swapped clogs for trainers and slipped on a fresh T-shirt.
Nothing he could do about the rest of his outfit, but a quick pit-check and a squirt of deodorant ensured at least he smelt decent, even if his trousers screamed ‘off-duty chef’.
Perhaps she wouldn’t mind too much, and this could be the perfect opportunity to chat to Billie on an informal level, get to know the person rather than the persona, maybe find a way to make sure this week went well – or even get into her line of sight for future opportunities.
With his wallet and phone deployed to pockets, Tad returned to the front doors and jangled his set of keys as he located the correct one and they headed out into the cool night air.
A five-minute walk brought them down to the water’s edge, where a tiny wine bar remained open, the strings of fairy lights wafting in the onshore breeze, creating irregular shadows as they moved against the trellises of bougainvillea and trailing ivy.
The gentle tinkle of laughter mixing with the sounds of lapping water had Tad smiling.
This whole place was something special. He glanced at Billie, wondering if she’d noticed it too.
‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘Bit of a trek from the hotel, but lovely nonetheless.’
‘Do you want to sit inside or out?’
‘Oh, definitely out, don’t you think?’
Tad nodded and headed for a free table as close to the lake as he could get. A waiter appeared soundlessly, and Billie ordered a Garibaldi – Campari and orange juice – grinning as she did so.
‘What would you like?’ she said, and Tad asked for a lemon soda. Billie wrinkled her nose as the waiter left as soundlessly as he’d arrived. ‘Lemon soda? You know how to live. Not.’
‘I’ve got an early start.’
‘I always sleep better after a few. Are you sure I can’t tempt you to something more relaxing?’
‘No, honestly. They make their own version here, with fresh lemons. It’s very good.’
‘You keep telling yourself that. It might be even better with some vodka in it,’ Billie said. Her smile slid away as she studied him. ‘Hang on, have I put my foot in it?’
He shook his head. Did he want to open his first proper conversation with Billie Forsythe-Rogers with a discussion on the reasons why he no longer drank alcohol?
How the loss of his long-term girlfriend, Honor, four years previously to an illness too late in its diagnosis had sent Tad as close to the edge as he’d ever been, aided in his downward spiral by copious amounts of single malt?
‘No, it’s no bother. I tend to stay away from temptation while I’m working. After all, I’m teaching the one and only Billie Forsythe-Rogers this week, aren’t I? Better to keep my wits about me.’
He smiled, hoping his comment would be sufficient to push the conversation away from himself; stop him having to think about the many, many nights he’d spent blacked out due to drink.
She nodded, accepting a tall glass from the waiter. ‘I guess I should be doing the same.’ She leant forwards, conspiratorially. ‘Can I be honest with you, Tad?’
‘Aye, of course you can,’ he said, taking a sip.
‘This is kind of a big week for me, too. A change of direction. And I haven’t exactly covered myself in glory since we arrived.
Apologies for missing dinner. Did I blame my behaviour on the travelling?
’ She pulled in a breath as he nodded in agreement.
‘So, that wasn’t completely truthful. I took a rather difficult phone call; it threw me off my stride a bit.
Not an excuse, but it is the real reason. ’
Billie reached a hand towards his, fingertips cold from the condensation of her tall glass brushing at his.
‘I can’t believe I’m asking this of a chef – I’m sure you’re aware of my reputation; how fierce I can be.
I bet you can’t wait to get your own back for all those chefs I’ve slated and criticise my meagre abilities in the kitchen.
But I wonder, as the tables are turned and it’s going to be me opening myself up for ridicule, could you find it in your heart to be kind to me? ’
Tad smiled. Billie Forsythe-Rogers was asking for his support. And they hadn’t even had a single lesson yet. If he managed to strike up a decent rapport with Billie right from the start, the sky could be the limit for his career opportunities.
‘I’m sure there won’t be any need for that,’ he said. ‘I’m betting you’re far more capable than you’re making out.’
‘Well, there’s no doubt about that, but I thought we were talking about cooking?’ Billie winked at him.
Tad stumbled over his words, as he mumbled something about ensuring everything she cooked look great for the camera, giving her what he hoped resembled a confident grin.
‘Anyone ever tell you you’ve got an amazing smile?’ Billie said.
Was she really flirting with him? Tad knew she was involved with Kelly Straker – it would be difficult not to know about the tempestuous nature of their relationship with it hitting online news providers every now and again – but Tad supposed that if Billie wanted to indulge in some harmless banter, he wasn’t about to make it difficult for her.
‘You’re the first,’ he said, widening his grin.
‘Seriously?’
‘First celebrity, anyway…’
Billie hooted with laughter. ‘Amelia said she thought you were rather insipid, but I think she’s wrong about that. I think you have hidden depths.’
‘Amelia?’
‘I expect she introduced herself as Amy. She was rather disappointed you’re Scottish. She’s always going on about how she prefers hot-blooded Mediterranean men. Sorry.’ Billie grimaced.
‘Oh.’ Tad lifted his glass, hiding his reaction to Amy’s comments by taking a long sip, recalibrating as the sharp tang of lemon hit his taste buds.
‘I, on the other hand, don’t care where you’re from if you can teach me how to make a perfect cacio e pepe.’ Billie settled back in her seat, Campari in hand, gaze taking in the moon’s reflection on the rippling water.
Tad smiled, but the sting of Amy’s comments meant it had lost some of its shine. He covered his disappointment by talking about something safe and familiar. Food.
‘Cacio e pepe. I love that dish. It seems so simple – spaghetti, cheese and pepper. What could go wrong? But there’s so much more to getting it right than people might think. Great choice. I’ll add it to the list.’