Chapter 24
If Tad checked his phone once, he checked it a thousand times. The volume was right up. It definitely wasn’t set to silent, and yet Amy didn’t call. Nor did she answer when he folded under the pressure of not hearing from her and dialled her number.
He busied himself helping Matteo sort out the kitchen, settling for sending Amy a couple of texts, asking her to let him know she was all right.
‘Go and find her,’ Matteo said.
‘Am I being that obvious?’ Tad said, sighing when Matteo nodded.
‘I see through you like you are a single sheet of filo pastry,’ Matteo said. ‘Go. I finish all this, no problem.’
Tad wasn’t sure where to begin to look, heading towards the lake for want of a better place to start.
There was no sign of Amy in the bar they’d visited together, so he began to work his way along the hostelries, eyes peeled for a flash of a blonde waterfall, or indeed for Billie’s distinctive frame. Maybe even a gaggle of fans around her.
I’m by the lake – where are you? I’m trying to find you…
He typed the text, then his finger hovered uncertainly over the send button. Maybe Amy and Billie needed time to talk through whatever had upset the applecart, and he should stay out of it.
And yet, this was Amy’s penultimate evening in Riva. If they didn’t spend time together this evening, exploring the possibilities for the two of them? Their opportunities were running out.
Eventually he caught sight of the two women in what was probably the closest bar to the cookery school.
Why he hadn’t looked in there first, Tad had no idea, except that he supposed he associated Amy with the bar right by the water, where they’d made their connection into something much more than thought.
Trying to act nonchalantly, rather than like a search and rescue team finally coming across the casualty, he wandered into the building as though it had always been his intention to pop in for a drink.
‘Oh, hi,’ he said, ‘Didn’t realise you two were in here. Can I get you anything to drink?’
Billie had a wine bottle in front of her, almost as empty as her glass. Amy didn’t seem to be drinking anything, her expression difficult to read as she looked his way.
‘Another bottle of whatever local crap this is,’ Billie said, her tone clipped and sharp.
He felt dismissed, searched Amy’s expression for support, or explanation – or anything, in fact.
‘Nothing for me,’ Amy said, her voice flat.
‘Right.’ He made to head for the bar, then turned back. ‘Is everything OK? Only, you left dinner rather abruptly. Was there anything wrong with the meal?’
He aimed the question at Billie, who folded her arms as she stared at him. Amy went very still, as though even the slightest movement might create a problem. What the hell was going on?
‘The meal was fine. Typical chef, though, only concerned with his food,’ Billie said, aiming her comment at Amy.
‘It was a bit more than fine,’ Amy said, quietly. ‘It was a lovely meal, Tad.’
Something was wrong. She was having trouble meeting his eye, looking anywhere but at him. And there wasn’t much Tad wanted more than to have Amy’s gaze on him.
‘Why don’t you come to the bar with me, Amy – make sure I get the right bottle?’
When Amy gave a slight shake of her head and didn’t move, he did as he had been bidden, returning to the table with a bottle of a local Bardolino red and some fresh glasses.
‘Planning on drinking tonight, then, are you?’ Billie said to him, eyebrows arched.
‘No. I won’t, thanks – but don’t let me stop you ladies.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Billie said, sloshing more wine into her original glass. ‘You won’t.’
Only an idiot wouldn’t be able to feel the iciness of Billie’s responses, although Tad had no idea what he’d done wrong. Frowning, he offered to pour a glass for Amy, but she shook her head.
‘Is everything OK, Amy?’
Tad stared at her, willing her to explain why she was treating him like a stranger. She said nothing, then pinched her lower lip between her teeth. It was Billie who spoke.
‘Thank you for the wine, but I wonder if you wouldn’t mind leaving us – we were in the middle of discussing a strategy for taking my brand forwards.
I think it’s only fair to tell you that I have changed my mind about working in partnership with any chef in particular – in case you were wondering.
Amelia informed me she might have let that idea slip in a careless moment.
Apologies if you were under the wrong impression about anything. ’
‘No – of course. I understand.’ The words came out of his mouth, but Tad didn’t understand.
Far from it. Stung by the off-hand dismissal, and with Amy all but ignoring him, he left the bar.
His frown deepened as he tried to decide where to go.
He didn’t want to head back to Casa del Cibo, his mood darkening as he stomped across Riva’s cobblestones.
In frustration, he typed a text and sent it to Amy before he could think better of it.
What the hell is going on? What have I done wrong?
Tad pounded the streets of a place he was – he realised – growing to love. He didn’t know what else to do, and the familiarity of the place allowed his mind time to shuffle his disrupted thoughts into some kind of order. Allowed him to work out a strategy.
He needed to get through the next twenty-four hours with Billie without messing anything else up, needed to do his best to calm whatever had caused her change in demeanour – Casa del Cibo still needed a good write-up to ensure plenty of future bookings.
If possible, he wanted to spend some quality time with Clare, to properly check she was as happy as she kept telling him she was.
And – on the top of the pile – he wanted to find out why Amy had gone cold on him.
His phone trilled with a text, his fingers scrabbling at the screen when he realised it was from Amy.
Sorry. Couldn’t talk at the table. She’s gone back to Casa now – can we meet?
Tad’s thumbs fumbled as he hurried to type a reply.
Five minutes later he saw her approaching the bar down by the water – the place they’d visited only twenty-four hours previously.
It could have been a lifetime ago as he studied her expression.
The day before, her face had been open, her eyes bright.
Nervous but excited – as he had been. Now she looked dull, as though someone had changed out her emotional light bulb for something with insufficient lumens to light her up.
‘Can I get you a drink here?’ he said.
Again, she shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
She edged onto a tall stool, but there was no mistaking the distinct lack of energy between them, especially when he took hold of her hand, and she gently pulled it away.
‘I think I might have made a mistake, Tad.’
‘A mistake? With what?’
She drew in a deep breath, finally looking him in the eye. ‘With us.’
* * *
Amy didn’t sleep well. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see Tad, the expression on her face when she told him she wasn’t looking for complication, didn’t want the pressure. She’d used his own words from earlier in the day, had weaponised them.
When she suggested it would be best if they left it as a moment of recklessness, he’d looked as though she’d slapped him across the face – which, she supposed, was exactly what she’d done with her words.
But Amy knew Billie was more than capable of carrying out her threat – would thoroughly enjoy eviscerating Tad and the whole set-up at Casa del Cibo if it suited her.
Malcolm’s resignation couldn’t have been worse-timed, as far as it related to Amy.
This week had crystallised her realisation that the life she was living wasn’t one she wanted any longer, but now Malcolm had jumped ship, Billie would do anything in her power to hang on to Amy.
If she didn’t do as Billie wanted, it would place Tad – and the cookery school – in the line of fire. And to knowingly lay his career and the future of Casa del Cibo on the line because Amy fancied him? She couldn’t do that to him.
It wasn’t as though they had anything serious going on. Was it?
The way she stared into the dark recesses of her bedroom ceiling all night told a different story. It might only have been a few days, logic might tell her it was crazy, but logic could get knotted.
Amy sighed. It didn’t matter how she really felt about him.
It would be better if he never knew, and she simply made a clean break from him.
At least that way he would never fall foul of Billie’s vicious side, her dangerous ability to destroy careers was something she never wanted Tad to feel first-hand.
And yet…
Amy wasn’t a schemer, but at four in the morning she found herself wanting to tell him everything.
After the way Billie had behaved in that bar, as though Amy was her property, she knew it was time to get out.
But she needed to do it in a way that would mean Tad and Casa del Cibo wouldn’t get caught in the backdraught.
Could she tell Tad what she was planning? Maybe head back to Casa del Cibo at the end of the summer on an actual holiday, one where she and Tad could start again? Would he even want that? Especially after what she’d said to him?
Fumbling for her phone on the bedside table, Amy gave up on sleep and instead scrolled through the socials.
It wasn’t long before she wished she hadn’t.
Almost every other post featured a photo of Kelly Straker, with his arms slung around a young actress in a way it was impossible to misinterpret.
‘Straker sighted with Ramona Pine – finally goes public on his messy split with Billie F-R’ screamed one headline, another played Billie at her own game: ‘When the heat’s too much, Kelly gets out of the Billie Forsythe-Rogers kitchen – for good this time’.
A more measured headline allowed for anyone who wasn’t already up to speed with the tumultuous nature of Billie and Kelly’s relationship: ‘Kelly Straker opens up about new girlfriend, tells how it feels to finally leave behind controversial food critic, Billie Forsythe-Rogers’.
Ouch. Billie was going to hate that one.
Amy pulled in a long breath, wondering if Billie had any idea Kelly was planning to do something as public as this.
Casa del Cibo wasn’t on fire yet, so she guessed not.
Amy pressed her fingers against closed eyes, rubbing until a kaleidoscope of colours erupted on the inside of her eyelids.
As if there wasn’t already enough to deal with.
Rolling onto her side, she abandoned her phone to the folds of her duvet and scrunched herself into a ball.
Billie would be out for blood in the morning – possibly for the rest of her life.
And, regardless of what Amy wanted her own future to look like, first she had to survive the rest of the day, which was busy dawning beyond her curtains.