Нина Харрингтон – Recipe For Disaster (страница 9)

Then Alex reached down and pulled something out of her other bag. ‘This was meant for later, but after that little announcement a celebration is called for.’

It was a round cake-like object. Covered in thick dark chocolate icing and white chocolate curls.

Bunty sat up, leant towards it, and sniffed. ‘Is that coconut?’ she asked, smiling at Alex, then Fran, who was grinning away.

‘Al made it herself. This morning! But it’s okay, I watched her like a hawk. It’s got all of the right stuff in it. I made the curls,’ Fran said, picking up a bread knife.

Bunty’s face relaxed into a broad grin as she looked, open-mouthed, at her best friend. ‘You baked? For me? I am impressed, young lady. And you are forgiven.’

Alex frowned at her in mock exasperation. ‘You only turn thirty once in your life and I didn’t have time yesterday with organising the party. And don’t sound so surprised. I am a trained chemist, you know. I can follow a recipe.’

‘As long as it doesn’t taste like hand cream. Oh.’ Bunty licked her lips around the forkful Fran had speared on her plate. ‘Not bad. Not bad at all. In fact…’ she tasted a big piece, eyes closed ‘…this is an historic moment. Miss Alexandra McGee has cooked something so delicious that it tastes better than my own recipe. Congratulations.’

Bunty raised her glass of juice and clinked it against the other two.

‘To the new version of Bunty Brannigan,’ Alex said with a smile. ‘I’ve a feeling that there are going to be a lot of changes around here by the time your next birthday comes around.’

By the time Fabio got to the breakfast room in the hotel that Saturday morning, a faint January sun was shining in from the garden courtyard, the other guests were wandering out to do touristy things and Jerry had already loaded up their table with pastries, toast and everything that went with it. Fabio dropped his laptop bag onto the tablecloth and pulled up his chair as their waiter served coffee and took his order for bacon and scrambled eggs.

‘Well, how did it go last night? Any progress?’ Fabio asked, leaning across to try and distract Jerry from his broadsheet newspaper.

‘Do you want the good news or the less bad news? Okay. I took the time to do a little background check on the lovely Miss Brannigan after we got back last night,’ Jerry answered between chewing.

He quickly glanced around the now empty dining room before going on. ‘And what do you know? It turns out that her grandmother, Fiore Caruso, was not too happy when her only daughter Talia married an Irish grocer and started a new life here in London as Mrs Talia Brannigan. Bunty’s mother did not inherit a thing when her mother died. Now isn’t that interesting?’

Fabio stopped with his Danish pastry halfway to his mouth. ‘Her own mother cut her off? I should have known this wasn’t a simple delivery job.’

‘Looks that way. Come on, pal, you saw the set-up last night.’ Jerry folded up his paper, reached across and grabbed more toast. ‘The lovely Miss Brannigan runs a one-woman deli in a small shopping area in London. She might be Paolo Caruso’s niece but unless she is very good at hiding her hidden wealth the Caruso clan sent her mother out into the wilderness with only the clothes on her back. A simple tale of a warm and sharing Italian family life.’

‘Careful! The Caruso business paid for my university education. What’s the less bad news?’ Fabio asked.

‘Bernadette Brannigan has every reason in the world to tell her Caruso family precisely what they can do with their unwanted birthday delivery and tell them in great anatomically correct detail. If I were hot-headed and Irish I might even be tempted to have a sacrificial burning ceremony. And in the meantime, I suggest that we take the weekend off. What do you say?’

‘Ah,’ Fabio said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’m beginning to understand. You have a date tonight, don’t you? Yet another poor innocent girl has fallen prey to your charms. Am I right?’ Suddenly he slid forwards and rested his elbows on the tablecloth. ‘Well, forget it, partner. We are going back to the deli this morning to impress on the lovely lady that my job is to make sure that she has ripped open that package and read whatever the client wanted her to see and, the sooner she does that, then the sooner we can both get back to our lives.’

Jerry hesitated, and then tried to look sympathetic. ‘Why am I getting the feeling that your usual charm crashed and burned in flames last night? All you have to do is tell your father that you have delivered the letter in accordance with his client’s instructions and we can move on. This was supposed to be a simple courier job. What happened?’

Fabio shrugged. ‘Lack of background. I turned up when her birthday party was already in full swing at a great Greek restaurant. I’ve sent flowers to apologise for interrupting her, so she’ll either thank me politely, or throw them back at me when we get there. So much for my sensitivity and charm.’

‘Much overrated in my opinion,’ Jerry said, shaking his head.

‘Research, research, research. This is exactly what happens when you don’t have a proper brief,’ Fabio replied, leaning closer towards Jerry to make sure that the waiter clearing the tables would not be able to overhear their conversation. ‘My grandfather looked after Fiore Caruso’s personal business and not even my father knows what’s in that letter. He is on standby to deliver separate sealed envelopes to Paolo Caruso and various other family members when he gets my call. But not until then.’

Fabio reached for the marmalade. ‘You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if Fiore Caruso set some bombshell up before she died. That could make life very interesting for the rest of the family.’

‘Um. Define interesting. But here is a piece of trivia for you. Did you know that Luca’s wife Sophie Caruso went to the same catholic school with Bunty, just down the road from the shop? The two of them were pretty close as teenagers.’ Jerry sniffed. ‘I wonder if there are photographs? Those girls in convent school uniforms? I would pay good money to see those.’

So would I, Fabio thought.

There was silence around the table for the few seconds it took for that precious visual to sink in, and for Fabio’s breakfast to arrive.

‘That’s not the point.’ He coughed. ‘We need to go straight back to work. And fast. One way or the other we need to have something to tell my father by the end of today. Got it, Jerry?’

‘Got it. Now, talk to me about that Greek restaurant you went to last night. I want to know everything.’

Chapter Five

‘So Rossi and Rossi are the Caruso company lawyers. Is that right?’ Bunty asked.

‘For over fifty years. Best in the business,’ Fabio replied with a small shoulder shrug and followed Bunty through the deli, which was already busy with customers, and into the kitchen.

‘No doubt.’ She flashed a half-smile at the handsome Italian who seemed to fill the space between the front door and the counter and block out the light.

Rossi. Of course.

She knew that she remembered that name from somewhere. Rossi and Rossi were the lawyers who wrote the contract that locked her and her mother into slave labour working for Luca for pennies when her father died. The Carusos only swam with the big sharks. And legal sharks did not come any bigger than Rossi and Rossi of Milan.

Shame. Fabio was even more gorgeous in daylight. Designer jeans that cupped his bottom beautifully and a simple white shirt. Carefully chosen to highlight his golden tan and the flash of gold in his wristwatch.

It was sinful to be that attractive and a lawyer.

But this flash hotshot Italian lawyer was not going to faze her. Oh, no.

She was the new Bunty now.

In control. Calm and organised. Open and honest.

‘Should I feel honoured that Rossi and Rossi sent a Rossi man to deliver my birthday card last night? Because I have to be honest and tell you that I am not feeling the love. Oh, and in case you were wondering, I had no idea that the Caruso side of my family would send me anything, hence my surprise when you gate-crashed my party last night.’

‘Understandable,’ he replied and crossed the floor in a couple of long-legged strides to come and stand next to Bunty. They stood in silence for a few seconds as she rearranged the contents of her bakery shelf, his hands plunged deep into his pockets of his slim-fit denims, his gaze locked onto the floor.

‘Actually I was surprised that none of the Caruso family was there in person to help you celebrate last night. Or did I miss them?’

She snorted through her nose. ‘At my party? That would be no. We are not exactly what you would call a close family. The only connection I have with my family in Italy is through some work I do for my cousin Luca. Have you heard of him? Yes? Luca came to chat with me yesterday about working with him on his next cook book but that was it. He seemed to think that his overwhelming personal charm and a much better deal would persuade me to give some of my time to a joint project.’

‘Did his plan work?’ Fabio asked, glancing in her direction.