Chapter 16
Amy leant against the rough contours of the wall as she basked in the afternoon sun.
After that lunch of deliciously fresh fish, followed by an indulgent hug from a portion of tiramisu, she would have been happy to find a reclining chair somewhere and allow her eyelids to drop.
But they were waiting for Billie – as per – to get some photos of her ‘wandering around Riva, doing the touristy thing’.
‘The chase is back on, then,’ Malcolm said as he fiddled around with lenses for his camera.
‘Chase? What chase?’ Amy said, adjusting her sunglasses as she did her best to quash a grin that kept trying to gain control of her cheek muscles.
The revelation that Tad and Clare were not the item she’d assumed had sent Amy’s thoughts into overdrive.
She’d been fooled along with everyone else, and – not that it mattered to anyone else in the same way – it was difficult to explain how the revelation was making her feel.
Something had made Tad kiss her, then push her away.
Maybe it was all still to play for, or perhaps she was making a castle out of nothing more than a pile of sand. Again.
‘You haven’t noticed?’ Malcolm glanced in her direction, then frowned. ‘No, maybe I’m reading too much into it. Wouldn’t be the first time…’
‘Wouldn’t be the first time for what?’ Billie crashed into the conversation, swirls of strong perfume reaching almost as far as the filmy voile of the blood-red scarf she wafted around as she completed a twirl in front of them.
Her lipstick perfectly matched the red of the scarf, the colour strikingly vibrant against the foil of her tight-fitting black dress and deep curls of her short, mahogany hair.
A wide, patent belt completed the outfit, in the same bright colour as the scarf.
She looked magnificent. Every inch the celebrity about town.
Not waiting for anyone to answer her question, she posed another. ‘What do you think?’
‘You could have dressed up a bit, made some kind of an effort,’ Malcolm said, eyebrows hitching alongside the corner of his mouth as he waited for Billie’s response.
‘Sometimes, Malc…’ Billie shook her head, her grin embedded and turning into a broad smile as she slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Always the court jester.’
‘You need a kingdom to have one of those, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking,’ Billie said, glancing between the two of them.
‘Dangerous,’ Malcolm said.
Billie ignored his comment. ‘After this article is done, I’ve had an amazing idea for what could be next. We can build on the momentum of this trip, the honing of my cooking skills – because I’m thinking of opening my own restaurant.’
Amy stared at Billie, aware Malcolm had also stopped whatever he had been doing with his camera.
‘You want to become a professional chef after a week at a cookery school?’ Malcolm’s question precisely echoed Amy’s thoughts.
Billie tutted. ‘Of course not – I mean, fair enough, I probably do already know more about food and cooking than most people. But I don’t intend to do the actual cooking.
That would be ridiculous. I do think it would be the natural next step, though, don’t you?
Full circle, back to where it all began.
Providing excellent cuisine for other people to enjoy, rather than going out to try and find it. ’
‘I suppose that makes sense,’ Amy said.
‘I knew you’d appreciate the idea, Amelia.
And you never know, I might be able to coax Tad to come and be my first executive chef.
I haven’t given up the idea of TV, either – because Tad is such a natural in front of a room full of students, I think he’d be excellent in front of the camera, too.
He’s far better-looking than you intimated at the start of the week, too.
So, how about melding the two things together – having a real-time TV cookery show where the chefs are in an actual restaurant kitchen, to give the audience a real feel of what it’s like.
There are loads of TV dramas set in kitchens, and loads of cookery shows, but nothing much combining the two. Ta-da! Brilliant, don’t you think?’
Malcolm glanced at Amy. ‘Told you, the chase is on,’ he said, under his breath.
‘The chase?’ Billie said. ‘No, that’s no good as a name.
That’s already a quiz show. How about Billie’s Real-Time Restaurant?
We could have cameras in the dining room, too.
Not on everyone – just the people who want to be on TV.
I’ve always said, there’s so much of life happening in restaurant dining rooms every day – why not capitalise on some of it?
And real-life drama is so in right now.’
And more to the point in Amy’s overactive imagination, Tad and she would get to spend a lot of time together, if they were both working for Billie.
It had the potential to be a very promising scenario.
However fanciful the idea might be – however likely it was that Billie would wake up the following day with a completely different set of brilliant new ideas that might or might not encompass Tad’s future – for now, the idea of Billie investing in a restaurant for Tad to run sounded a good enough one to see Amy cruising through the remainder of the afternoon.
Once the photography session was completed to both Billie and Malcolm’s exacting standards, the three of them cruised the streets of Riva, cones of ice cream in their hands and the warmth of the afternoon sun tightening the skin on Amy’s cheeks.
In fact, by the time they returned to Casa del Cibo, Amy realised she’d caught more than a lick of heat from the sun’s rays.
Something about the angle of the sun had caught her unawares and, as she showered before dinner, the heat she could feel came in equal measure from the shower nozzle and her own skin.
A message to Billie to ask if she had any after-sun lotion came back with a negative reply, followed up by a series of boiling-hot-face emojis and one at the end laughing hysterically.
‘Thanks for nothing,’ Amy muttered as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Perhaps nobody would notice. She’d bought a little pot of face cream when she’d traipsed to the shops on arrival, thinking it would be useful even if the rest of her luggage did eventually turn up, so she rubbed some of that over her cheekbones, adding a dab to her forehead too, where the texture of her skin was already beginning to feel dry.
It was at moments like this when Amy wished she wore more make-up – although logic dictated that she still wouldn’t have any, because it would have been in her suitcase.
But practicalities notwithstanding, she wished she could cover up the burgeoning rosy glow with some kind of concealer.
As it was, all she’d had with her in her hand luggage was a stick of mascara, an eye pencil and a moisturising lip balm made with honey, which had made her lips sting when she’d first used it and had taken a while to decide she liked.
With as much maintenance in place as she had the means for, and out of time to do anything else – like write up any notes from the day – Amy headed down for dinner.
The dress Billie had let her borrow was extremely well cut.
It skimmed her in all the right places – well, it was designer – and it made Amy feel a million dollars, but this evening it felt as though the million dollars were on fire.
‘Did you take a blowtorch to your face?’ Billie asked, as she exited her room, then began to laugh.
Amy frowned. Maybe she should stay in her room this evening – the last thing she needed was everyone staring at her.
‘Ignore her,’ Malcolm said, galloping to her rescue on his imaginary white steed. ‘You look perfectly fine. Your face looks as ordinary as usual.’
‘Oh, thanks,’ she said. ‘I think.’
‘Meant as a compliment,’ Malcolm said as he headed for the stairs. ‘Although I’m not renowned for them. Ask the ex.’
Billie hooted with laughter, pushing past Amy and heading downstairs. She was clearly in excellent spirits, and Amy wasn’t about to bring the mood down. Too often Billie did that all by herself, so Amy would have to hope the sun’s effects were at their worst and do her best to enjoy dinner.
* * *
With Matteo back in the kitchen, Tad had been able to take dinner preparations at a gentler pace for this evening.
Matteo was in fine spirits, with his grandmother recovering well from a serious asthma attack that had seen her hospitalised.
With his sous-chef back and on point, Tad had breezed through the evening’s cooking.
So much so that he hoped to be able to eat with the guests this evening without guilt.
He wanted to try to make amends with Amy and also spend time with Clare.
He frowned, pausing as he stirred at a sauce.
He knew he needed to make more of an effort with Clare’s new man.
Tad prided himself on being open to meeting people, of resisting the temptation to jump to conclusions about them on initial impressions.
He allowed people the time they needed to reveal their real selves.
At least, that was what he thought he did.
Except he didn’t feel that way about James Gardner.
In fact, the more he thought about that man, calling Clare weird pet names and cutting across her when she was trying to speak, the more Tad found his shoulders tightening, his jaw clenching.
As Tad clattered his whisk in a display of irritation, shoving the saucepan off the heat and onto a warming plate, he rubbed his hands on a cloth and turned to Matteo, indicating he was going outside for some fresh air.