Chapter 25
Amy gripped her mobile as she descended the stairs for breakfast. Kelly Straker was all over social media, his gushing declarations for new girlfriend, Ramona, photos of the two together comprising every other tweet and thread and post Amy had scrolled through.
It was everywhere. There was no way Billie wouldn’t have seen it. No way she wouldn’t already know.
As she crossed the first-floor landing, Malcolm’s door cracked open, and he stepped out.
‘Oh, morning,’ he said, glancing at her phone. ‘You’ve seen it all, then?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Do you suppose he even had the decency to contact Billie, to let her know?’ he said. ‘I know things were rocky between them, but this is a bit brutal, isn’t it?’
Amy nodded.
Malcolm drew in a sharp breath. ‘Although, let’s face it – live by the sword, die by the sword and all that – it’s not like she takes any prisoners, is it?’
Amy knew he was right, but that wasn’t going to make the realisation any easier to swallow for Billie. She glanced at Billie’s bedroom door. ‘Is she still in there?’
‘No idea,’ Malcolm said, heading for the stairs. ‘I’ll see you down there.’
As Malcolm disappeared down the stairs, Amy knocked softly on Billie’s door. When there was no response, she headed for the stairs. Was she running away from having to deal solo with Billie in meltdown mode? Absolutely, she was.
As it turned out, Billie was already in the dining room, looking remarkably calm and together.
If Amy hadn’t seen the news, she wouldn’t have thought anything of the way Billie looked – she was ready for the camera, as always, with immaculate make-up and an outfit chosen to show off her figure to its best effect.
Except there was a stillness to Billie that was unusual.
A quietness. Usually, she was all big movements, attention-grabbing laughs.
Even when her mood was low, she remained loud and vibrant.
This morning, she looked hollowed out. Cradling a cup of black coffee, she was doing her best to ignore Malcolm as he poured himself a cup and flapped at the breakfast menu card.
Amy slipped into the chair beside her. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked.
‘You’ve seen it, then?’ Billie said.
‘I’ve seen it,’ Amy replied. ‘Did you know?’
‘Know what? That the love of my life no longer loves me? That people think I’m such a hard bitch they can say what they like about me, and I won’t feel it?
Did you see the one comparing me and her?
Apparently, she’s two dress sizes smaller than me.
And ten years younger. She’s far more beautiful, they said – went as far as to say it was inevitable that Kelly would leave me eventually.
What did I expect – that a global star would settle for a provincial food critic like me?
Those bastards…’ She spat out the last word with vitriol.
Amy frowned. ‘I don’t think I saw that one.’
She had seen that post, and it wasn’t the worst by a long chalk, but she wasn’t about to say so.
‘There’s no loyalty in the press, or on the socials. After everything I’ve done – everything I do is aimed at entertaining people, and now they’re turning on me like I’m some fat, ancient has-been they can throw under the nearest bus.’
Billie kept her voice low, her gaze darting around the room. Amy couldn’t work out if she was relieved the rest of the guests were focusing on their food rather than her or was annoyed by their apparent lack of interest.
‘Ah well, you know what they say – today’s newspaper makes for tomorrow’s fish and chip wrappings. It’ll all be forgotten in no time,’ Malcolm said, which Amy felt was a spectacularly unhelpful comment.
Billie rounded on him, her voice low, her anger quick and hissy as she said, ‘Rather like you, then, Malcolm – and when did anybody last wrap fish and chips in newspaper? You are showing your age, aren’t you?’
‘I was trying to help put things into perspective.’
‘Well don’t. How about you help by shutting up?
People talk about our relationship as though it was some kind of a soap opera for public entertainment.
Everyone thinks we don’t notice the constant comparisons and commentary.
That they have the right to discuss us like they do the football results.
And no, before you ask, I didn’t know anything about him and the child of Dracula.
Have you seen her? She’s so thin and pale you can almost see through her… ’
Billie rattled her cup onto its saucer and huffed a huge sigh. She shot a dagger of a gaze at Malcolm, before gripping Amy’s arm.
‘At least I have you to rely on, Amelia. The sooner this trip is over, the better. I’ve decided this place is my kryptonite – ever since I set foot here my life has done nothing but disintegrate.’
Amy swallowed. She wanted to scream at Billie, to tell her everything she’d said about people’s feelings cut both ways and the position she had placed Amy in was intolerable.
But how could she say any of it without igniting Billie’s blue touch paper?
For want of knowing what to do for the best, Amy hated her own weakness as she said nothing.
* * *
Tad was scraping leftover jam from a small bowl when Clare popped her head around the door.
‘Hey there,’ she said, her smile soft and warm.
Tad abandoned the bowl to the soapy water and wiped his hands as Clare crossed the space between them. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes. I wanted to say I’m going to skip today’s lesson – James is taking me to visit Limone del Garda. I said we could go this afternoon, but apparently it looks stunning in the morning light. He’s got the whole day planned.’
Tad stopped himself from mentioning the picnic for which James had asked him to prepare food. He assumed it remained a surprise.
‘That’s no problem – have a great time.’
‘Lots of beautiful old orangeries and vineyards to see,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I don’t care so long as I’m spending time with James. The others still intend on taking the lesson, I believe.’
‘OK. Thanks for letting me know.’
Clare frowned. ‘Are you all right? You seem a bit quiet this morning.’
Tad shrugged.
‘How are things with the gorgeous Amy? It was impossible to miss the two of you sat together at dinner last night.’ Clare grinned.
‘I remember when it was first like that with James, that brilliant bit when you’re so aware of every movement, every touch.
I never thought I’d feel it again – and now it’s your turn. I’m so pleased for—’
‘You’ve got it wrong, Clare.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was nothing. A moment in time, that’s all. Nothing’s going to come of it.’
‘A one-night stand?’ Clare looked confused.
‘Don’t sound so shocked. You’re not that much of an innocent,’ he said.
‘I must have read her completely wrong, then.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ There was no way to stop the disappointment from ricocheting through the words.
‘Are you sure?’
‘She said as much.’
Clare came to his side, as she shook her head and hugged him. ‘I’m so sorry, Tad. I thought she was really into you…’
He sighed. ‘So did I. Anyway, I’m sorry I haven’t had more time to spend with you this trip – I was so focused on Amy, on her and the whole Billie Forsythe-Rogers circus – I kind of lost sight of what matters.
Which I’ve decided is this place. I love it here.
And – in case you were wondering – it’s you too, Clare. Making sure you’re happy with James.’
‘I am. I truly am. I just need to find a way to…’
‘To tell him about the baby?’
As Clare pulled away she looked past him, to the doorway she’d entered through, her face dropping as Tad turned to see James. He hadn’t been there a moment before, his forward momentum into the room ceasing as Tad’s words faded, and James’s gaze fell on Clare.
‘Baby?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Clare said, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘I’m pregnant, James.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ The words echoed around the space.
‘I was trying to find the right time to tell you, but…’
Matteo bustled into the room behind James, carrying a pile of freshly laundered tea towels and confused to find the kitchen workspace clogged by clients and tension.
‘The teaching room is ready,’ he said to Tad, remaining oblivious to the unfolding drama.
‘Show me,’ Tad said, brushing past Clare with a quick squeeze of her arm before he propelled Matteo out of the space and left Clare and James to it.
* * *
A while later, Tad brought his brightest smile with him into the teaching kitchen, for the final lesson of the week.
He hadn’t seen Clare and James leaving, tried to ignore the niggle at the back of his mind, his initial and ongoing cold reaction to James.
Clare wasn’t Tad’s responsibility, she was a grown adult, and yet they had propped one another up through so much pain and so many dark times that it felt as though if James bailed it would rip him apart too.
The remainder of the class was assembled, Casa del Cibo aprons tied, hands washed. They knew the drill by now. And today they were starting with the dessert – lemon tart. Bowls of fresh lemons stood ready at each cooking station, alongside zesting tools and ceramic juicers.
As Tad scanned the room, he hoped the choices he’d made for their final lesson – beef carpaccio to start, cacio e pepe for main, lemon tart for dessert – hopefully these would at least ensure Casa del Cibo got a decent write-up in Billie Forsythe-Rogers’ newspaper article.
They had been chosen specifically because she’d said she wanted them.
If he could at least claw back some kind of positive outcome to the week for the cookery school, he would have to be at peace with that.
Amy still wasn’t looking at him. Billie looked as though the bottom had fallen out of her can of peaches.
Malcolm was lounging at the edge of the room, camera around his neck but lacking his usual energy.
He looked disconnected from the rest of them.