Chapter 19
At breakfast, Amy tried – and failed – to look anywhere other than at Tad. It seemed as though he was doing the same, his gaze darting to her, then away, as he reassessed the plates he held in his hands and delivered them to the correct tables.
He beelined back to her table, all smiles for Billie and Malcolm as he asked them what they wanted to eat.
Amy held her breath as Tad rested one hand on the top rail of Malcolm’s chair, and the other on hers, his thumb gently rubbing at the skin between her shoulder blades.
Casual and no doubt unnoticed by the rest of the room, certainly by the rest of her table, his every movement sent electricity shooting through her body.
‘Have you got a loaf of decent bread, Tad? I want to keep it simple with some bread and jam today,’ Billie was saying, her lipstick this morning a candied orange, to accompany her fitted orange silk shirt.
‘Yes, that sounds good to me, too,’ Malcolm said, fingers drumming against his belly.
‘I have some pane al farro from a local bakery. It’s made with spelt and a sourdough base. Does that appeal?’ Tad said.
Amy almost choked on her coffee as she twisted around to be able to see his face. ‘Sourdough, Taddeo?’
He grinned, then allowed an expression of astonishment to claim his features. ‘Even I appreciate sourdough in this particular bread. Plus, the ancient grain in it gives it a chewy, nutty flavour…’
‘Chewy and nutty – sounds perfect for you, Billie,’ Malcolm said, grinning at his own joke. ‘Not to mention the ancient quality of the grains…’
‘Wait a minute – why are you calling him Taddeo?’ Billie said, annoyance fleeting its way across her features as she stared at Amy, then Tad in turn.
‘It’s really delicious with jam – maybe raspberry, or strawberry?’ Tad said, ignoring the question.
‘Tad is short for Taddeo,’ Amy said, unable to help herself, enjoying her special knowledge. ‘As it turns out, Taddeo is half Italian. Far more to work with than you thought, Billie.’
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Billie said, her tone overdramatic. ‘Have I slipped into an alternative universe or something? How come I’m only now finding this out?’
‘Or I have some lemon jam if you prefer?’ Tad said.
Billie’s laser gaze cut into Amy, her voice taking on an enforced calm as she said, ‘Lemon sounds perfect, please, Taddeo.’
‘I’m on it,’ Tad said.
Before she could think better of it, Amy scraped back her chair. ‘I’ll come and help you.’
She followed Tad into the kitchen. With the room empty of other staff, all thoughts of bread and jam were forgotten as Tad gathered her up in his arms and they kissed in the alcove in front of the cold storage room.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, the gentle morning stubble he hadn’t had time to shave off an added sensation against her skin.
She laughed. ‘It’s been about twenty minutes.’
‘Felt like hours.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Cheesy, but I’ll take it.’
‘What are you doing later today? Can you get away from Billie after lunch? We could go and get ice cream, or something.’
‘I’m not sure. We’ve got a boat trip booked up, seeing some of the lakeside castles from the water. It might be tricky.’
Tad inclined his upper body away from her, one hand threading its way softly around her face and into her hair as his gaze deepened and his smile became difficult to misinterpret.
‘I’ll try,’ she said.
‘I’d love to spend more time with you,’ he said.
‘Me too.’
Amy did her best to ignore the thought that every second they could find to spend together would need to count, because she only had a couple of days left in Italy. Instead, she tried to concentrate on the way his fingers feathered through the soft lines of her plait.
‘Have I told you how awesome your hair is? It’s like a sheet of gold.’
Amy frowned, an action Tad misinterpreted, as he withdrew his hand.
‘No, don’t stop,’ she said, smiling as he rethreaded his fingers and kissed at her neck.
But a thought niggled at Amy, another Billie anomaly.
Because Amy remembered clearly how insistent Billie was about Tad’s preference for short hair.
She’d thought it a strange thing to focus on at the time, but now it seemed as though that hadn’t been the whole truth either – in fact, if the way Tad had complimented her said anything about hair, it was the opposite.
Why had Billie made such a point of it?
Amy allowed the thought to fall away, concentrating on the far more enjoyable way Tad was pressing himself against her as they kissed again.
Footsteps had Billie rounding the corner of the kitchen, gaze searching and then fixing on the two of them, still in an embrace nobody could misinterpret. Her eyes widened, then she said, ‘Well, well, well. What have we here?’
Amy took a step back as Tad loosened his hug and cleared his throat.
‘I was coming to say I’d changed my mind on the jam, that I’d prefer strawberry, but it looks as though the chef has other things on his mind. Other priorities, perhaps.’
Billie shot the pair of them a brilliant smile, so intense that Amy felt it like the previous day’s sunburn.
‘Strawberry jam is no problem. I think we’ve got one made with locally grown fruit.’
He stepped away from Amy, fingers brushing across hers as he focused his attention on Billie’s request.
‘Sounds wonderful, Taddeo. Thank you.’
Billie’s words sounded enthusiastic, chirpy almost, but her gaze – fixed on Amy and unwavering – gave different vibes.
Like a hawk watching its prey, Billie was making Amy feel like she’d done something wrong, even though she couldn’t work out what.
After all, Billie was always going on about how Amy should make the most of the opportunities she was presented with.
It was Billie who laughed at Amy for being so uninterested in casual relationships, kept telling her she was wasting her best years.
It was Billie who proudly – and loudly, especially after a few drinks – explained how much she’d learnt through her wild and free twenties.
‘I’ll get some bread sliced and through to your table subito,’ Tad was saying, as he sorted through jars on a shelf. ‘Tell you what, why don’t I send through a variety of the local jams, and you can critique them for me?’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Billie said, eyes never leaving Amy, even as Matteo re-entered the room with more breakfast orders. ‘I’ll head back to the dining room. Amelia? Why don’t you come, too. Leave the professionals to it.’
‘Oh – quick question before you go,’ Tad said, a couple of jars in his hands as he turned his attention to Billie. ‘Any chance I can borrow Amy this afternoon? Only, I was wondering if I might take her out for ice cream.’
Billie’s eyes narrowed as a thoughtful – or was it an irritated – expression crossed her features.
‘It’s just that we’ve… I’d love to be able to… You’re not here for much longer and…’ Tad tailed off, three attempts at saying what he wanted all drying on his tongue. Amy wondered if he felt the intensity of her stare, too, or whether he genuinely wasn’t sure what it was he was trying to say.
‘I think that sounds like a fantastic idea, Tad.’ Billie’s gaze was still on Amy. ‘You take all the time you need. After all, these opportunities don’t come along every day, do they?’
Back in the dining room, Malcolm glanced between the two of them.
‘Everything OK?’ he said.
‘Absolutely fine, Malc.’ Billie turned the brightness in her smile back up to full throttle. ‘You’ll never guess what…’
‘What?’
‘I think our Amelia has found herself an admirer. It was as though I was her mother in there, with Tad asking my permission for him to take her out for ice cream this afternoon. Sweet, don’t you think?’
Malcolm grinned. ‘Ames, you kept that quiet. Sneaky.’
‘Well, not really… I—’
Billie held up a flat palm. ‘Spare us the deets, Amelia. Nobody needs to hear the ins and outs of it all.’
Malcolm stifled a laugh. ‘We can do the boat trip together, can’t we, Billie? Amy doesn’t need to come. It’s no problem as far as I can see.’
‘You’ve been desperate to get me to yourself, haven’t you?’ Billie said, fluttering her eyelashes at him.
‘Well, if you’re sure?’ Amy said.
‘What have I been saying to you for so long? Go, “eat ice cream” with Tad,’ Billie mimed inverted commas around the words. ‘Live a bit.’
‘Thanks,’ Amy said, her smile gaining increased traction as Tad brought a basket of sliced bread and an array of jams to the table.
As Tad grinned at her, then swirled away from their table to deal with other guests, Malcolm wiggled his eyebrows, then nudged Amy with his elbow. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’
Billie snorted. ‘It’s been so long since you’ve done anything like that, Malc, I’m surprised you can even remember what goes where.’
* * *
That morning’s cookery lesson crawled past like a steam-powered road-roller with a bad attitude.
Nobody else was in the least bit perturbed by the slow progress of the clock, and Amy supposed she shouldn’t be so concerned, either – because it was time spent with Tad, even if what she really wanted was time alone with him.
Amy had always enjoyed cooking, but somehow this morning she found herself wishing she wasn’t so proficient.
That she could call on Tad for help with stretching her pizza dough on the baking tray like Kathleen did, after the older woman had declared her base was similar to a religious experience. Holy – as in more holes than dough.
Amy found herself wishing her risotto rice might catch on the bottom of the pan like Billie’s seemed to be doing, each time accompanied by a cry for assistance and a girly giggle as Malcolm took yet more photos of her taking instruction from Tad.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t glance her way often enough, or make sure he passed by her workstation, brushing against her as he walked.
It wasn’t as though they didn’t share plenty of those ‘under the radar’ smiles, loaded with meaning only they understood.
But even so, it wasn’t enough. She wanted this part of the day to evaporate, so they could spend proper time together.
And by the time the group was spooning their mascarpone-ricotta mixtures into piping bags, and Clare managed to squish most of hers back out of the bag and all over the table, rather than into the cannoli – with Tad leaping to her side to help her sort out the mess – Amy had to admit she’d lost her appetite for any of the food they’d prepared.
Eventually the lesson, and then lunch, was finished and she waited for Tad outside, in the shade created by the overhanging first floor of Casa del Cibo.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down on the uneven cobbles of the street, and Amy had made sure to use some factor 50 this time.
She wasn’t going to get caught out twice by the intensity of the Mediterranean sun.
Other intensities, maybe, but not the sun.
She was fiddling with her sunglasses, untangling them from strands of hair, when he took the hotel steps two at a time and grinned.
‘Ready to go?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, shoving her glasses up into her hair and smiling as he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers as they stepped into the bright sunshine.
* * *
Malcolm’s Cannoli
150g plain flour
1 tablespoon golden caster sugar
Large pinch bicarbonate of soda
⒈／⒉ teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon cocoa powder (optional)
30g butter
1 egg, separated – ha, the irony. Malcolm wonders how you might divorce the egg…
50ml dry marsala, or white wine – either one is fine by Malcolm
50g dark chocolate, melted – yum
Handful of pistachio kernels, finely chopped – again, yum
Icing sugar, to dust – yet more yum
For the filling:
250g ricotta, drained and beaten until fluffy
100g mascarpone
2 tablespoons finely chopped candied peel – not his fave tbh, but Malc was surprised how good it tasted
2 tablespoons icing sugar
This is enough to make twelve cannoli, and apparently, to do it properly you’ll need cannoli moulds. Malcolm recognises he didn’t get hands-on with any of the actual cookery – no doubt his ex-wife would find no surprise there, but he did take some awesome photos.
If you are doing the making: tip the flour, sugar, bicarb, cinnamon and cocoa into a bowl with a pinch of salt.
Add butter and rub together until there are no lumps.
Mix the egg yolk and marsala, add to the flour mixture and mix/knead into a smooth dough.
Wrap and rest in the fridge. If you’re organised, you can make this the day before.
Fill a deep-fat fryer (or deep saucepan) a third of the way up with oil.
Malcolm lost track of the method a bit at this point, but there was a lot of rolling out of dough and measuring, then cutting out, discs of about 11cm diameter.
Quite frankly, he was pleased someone else was doing the graft.
Using the moulds, everyone had a go at cooking their cannoli.
Chaos ensued. Tad sorted everyone out. There was a coffee break.
When the cannoli were cold, everyone dipped the ends of each one into melted chocolate, then into the chopped pistachios and left them to cool and harden.
Then they beat the ricotta and mascarpone together, stirred in the candied peel and sugar, and spooned the mixture into piping bags.
The next bit was the best bit – with a wide nozzle, everyone had a go at piping the mixture into the cannoli.
It was bedlam again – and Clare (Tad’s friend not girlfriend – great hair…
OK, maybe Malc does like women with short hair) ended up squirting most of her mixture all over the counter.
If you’re doing the eating: go for it asap – otherwise they go all soggy.
Malcolm was more than willing to lend a hand in this department.
However, credit where credit is due – he has no idea how Tad manages to keep his cool dealing with so many variables at the same time.
Billie is enough of a variable all on her own, as far as Malcolm is concerned.
Billie + food preparation + other people + heated oil = a narrowly missed apocalypse, but a bloody tasty one…