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At least she was lucky to get the bathroom to herself tonight, she thought with a grin. Nico wanted to be a football star, not a restaurateur. But whether he achieved his ambition or not the security of the trattoria would always be waiting for him. Just as the coffee-shop had lain inexorably in wait for herself.
Eleri sighed, got out of the bath, and pulled on jeans and thick yellow sweater. She dried her hair, anchored the front strands behind her ears, then thrust her throbbing feet into soft boots bought on a visit to her grandparents in the Veneto the previous spring. She stared into the mirror moodily. She was the odd one out in the family in more ways than one; the only one with the Welsh name Catrin had insisted on for her first child. Claudia had fair curling hair and blue eyes, like their father, but Eleri’s straight black hair and wide-set dark eyes came from her Welsh mother. It was a family joke that Eleri looked more Italian than any of the family—even Nico, whose mane of wild black hair and brilliant blue eyes played havoc with the girls in school.
When Eleri was clearing up after her solitary, peaceful supper the phone rang.
‘Cara,’ said her father. ‘Marco told me a man was asking for you in the restaurant earlier.’
‘Who, Pop?’
‘Like an idiot Marco forgot to ask—it is busy in there tonight.’
Eleri was curious as she put the phone down. Surely Toby hadn’t been misguided enough to come looking for her at the trattoria? She’d been forced to tell her parents why she’d resigned from Northwold, and her father had needed much spirited argument from his womenfolk to prevent him rushing up to London to confront the young man he’d never approved of for his daughter, however casual the relationship. Not that Mario approved of any man for his daughters. Fortunately Claudia had married a solid, dependable young man with a steady job in an accounting firm. But secretly Eleri knew very well she was Mario’s darling, partly because she was the one who argued with him most and stood up to him, but mainly because she was the image of her mother at the same age. And because of it he was harder on her than on his other children. A man would have to be something very special indeed before Mario Conti approved of him for his elder daughter.
Not, thought Eleri morosely, that her father had need to worry on that score at the moment, if ever. After confronting Toby in London she’d refused to speak to him on the phone, and after the first few days he’d given up. Nowadays she worked a six-day week, which ruled out weekends in London with Vicky. She did her best to put on a good face, but sometimes she felt claustrophobic, even caged, and missed James Kincaid far more than she missed Toby. The day James arrived at the Gloucestershire plant of Northwold Eleri had taken one look at him and known that she would stay with him all her working life if he wanted her to. But in a few short minutes of trading Toby Maynard had put an end to her time at Northwold, and changed her life for ever.
The coffee-shop was very busy next day. Saturday always brought more shoppers into town and a gratifyingly large number of them came into Conti’s for hot drinks to keep out the biting January cold. Just before midday, when Eleri was taking a few minutes in the little room at the back, glad of some coffee and a breather before the lunchtime rush resumed in earnest, one of her assistants popped round the door.
‘Sorry to interrupt—a customer’s asking for you.’
‘Who is it, Luisa?’ said Eleri, getting up. ‘Anything wrong with her meal?’
‘No.’ The girl grinned. ‘It’s a him, not a her, and he hasn’t had a meal yet. Gianni’s just making a sandwich for him. I thought you might prefer to serve it to this particular customer—table ten.’
The table was against the window in the far comer of the cafе, and seated at it, reading a newspaper, was James Kincaid. Eleri’s heart turned a somersault under her dark red sweater, but her hand was steady as she set a beautifully garnished sandwich in front of him. He put the paper down and jumped to his feet, smiling in a way which did nothing to slow her heartbeat.
‘Eleri—thank you. I hoped you’d spare me a minute. Won’t you join me?’
She smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid not. This is our busy time. Do sit down again.’
‘I can’t if you don’t.’
Eleri cast a swift glance towards the counter, where her two assistants were trying to hide their curiosity while they worked. For the moment the cafе was only half full, and it was obvious they could cope.
‘Mr Kincaid—’ she began, seating herself.
‘Now we’re on your territory couldn’t you make it James?’ He bit into the sandwich with appreciation. ‘Mmm, this is good. Where do you get the salmon?’
‘From the market. We buy all our produce there.’ She sat, composed, waiting for him to explain his presence. He looked very different in sweater and heavy tweed trousers, a waxed jacket slung over the back of his chair. The mere sight of him gave Eleri a sharp pang of longing for Northwold, her job—and James.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, knowing she sounded cold in her effort to hide her pleasure at the sight of him.
‘It took some detective work to find out where you were. This, I take it, was the job waiting for you whenever you said the word?’
Eleri nodded. ‘My parents were shocked by my resignation from Northwold, of course, but otherwise they were delighted to welcome the prodigal back to the fold.’
‘Which brings me to my reason for coming here,’ he said, leaning forward.
‘Excuse me, Eleri,’ interrupted a diffident voice. ‘The bakery’s on the phone.’
‘Right, Gianni.’ Eleri got up, smiling at James in rueful apology.
‘Excuse me.’
The phone call was lengthy, involving confirmation of extra supplies for the wedding party they were catering for next day. By the time Eleri was free every table in the cafе was full, and James Kincaid was on his feet, dressed ready for the street as he handed her the bill and money for his lunch.
‘I won’t hold you up any longer,’ he said as she gave him his change.
‘Sorry. We’re always busy on Saturdays.’
‘I called in last night, but you’d already gone.’ He paused. ‘Do you work in the evenings?’
She shook her head. ‘Only in emergencies—like tomorrow, when there’s a wedding party. Otherwise I work an eight-hour day, six days a week.’
‘No sinecure then—longer hours than Northwold,’ he commented, and raised an eyebrow. ‘Which brings me once more to the reason for my visit. I’d like a talk with you. It’s short notice, I know, but would you have dinner with me tonight?’
Eleri stared at him in astonishment, and only managed to control instant, rapturous consent by turning. away to deal with a customer waiting to pay for lunch. She made the transaction, exchanging a few pleasantries, glad of the respite to gather her wits together, very conscious of the tall man studying the family photographs on the wall in the little foyer between the coffee-shop and the restaurant. When she was free he turned back to her.
‘I suppose it was too much to hope for on a Saturday night.’
That wasn’t the point, she thought, knowing perfectly well she ought to refuse. She was doing her utmost to get over James Kincaid. A dinner date was hardly the way to go about it. ‘It’s very kind of you—’ she began.
‘Not in the least,’ he interrupted. ‘You’d be doing me a kindness if you would.’
Why? she wondered. Perhaps he was at a loose end because Camilla Tennent was skiing in Gstaad or sunning in the Bahamas or wherever. ‘I’m afraid—’
‘Don’t say no,’ he said swiftly. ‘Look on it as a business appointment.’
Aware that Luisa and Gianni were in a frenzy, trying to cope with the lunchtime rush, Eleri gave in. To James and herself. ‘Oh, very well—’ She broke off to smile at a customer. ‘Just one moment, sir, I’ll be with you directly.’
‘What time shall I pick you up?’ asked James, and handed her a banknote. ‘Give this to your staff.’
‘How kind, thank you. But don’t come for me. I’ll meet you somewhere.’
‘The Mitre about eight?’
‘Yes. Right. Now I really must go.’ She turned away and plunged back into the business of heating pizzas and pouring coffees, and anything else necessary to relieve the beleaguered young pair who worked so willingly for her.
‘You’re going out?’ said her mother in surprise when a very weary Eleri went home later that evening.
‘Yes. Not that I feel like it. I’m done in.’
‘They why go?’
‘Curiosity, I suppose.’
Catrin Conti eyed her daughter warily. ‘It’s not with that Toby, I hope.’
‘What would you do if I said yes?’
‘Worry my head off.’
Eleri relented, giving her mother a hug. ‘Don’t, it’s not Toby. Though you’ll never guess who. I can’t believe it myself. The person asking for me last night was James Kincaid.’
‘Your boss at Northwold?’ said her mother, astonished. ‘Never!’
‘He came to the coffee-shop lunchtime, but I was too busy to talk to him much, so he asked me out for a meal tonight. Said it was business.’ Eleri thrust her hands through her hair, then looked at her watch. ‘Heavens, it’s later than I thought—better get my skates on.’
‘Business, is it! Where’s he taking you?’
‘The Mitre.’
Catrin sniffed. ‘You’d eat better here.’
‘Very possibly. But not with the same privacy, Mamma mia,’ said her daughter mockingly. ‘Where’s Nico?’
‘Gone to the pictures with the usual gang.’ Catrin smiled. ‘He’s helping out with the wedding party tomorrow night, by the way, to earn extra pocket money.’
‘New football boots, I suppose.’ Eleri laughed and went upstairs for a bath, more excited than she cared to admit, even to herself, about the forthcoming evening with James Kincaid.
She took enormous care with her hair and face, then went downstairs to find her father still at home.
‘Pops, my car sounds a bit funny. I think I’d better take a taxi.’
Her father’s eagle eye took in her wool tunic and long, clinging skirt, the soft kid boots and heavy gold earrings.
‘Lady in black—bellissima,’ he said, eyes narrowed. ‘All this for the man who fired you from Northwold?’
Ouch, thought Eleri. ‘He didn’t fire me. I resigned. I’m curious to know what he wants, that’s all. He said it was business.’
‘A man takes out a woman who looks like you, he does not think only of business,’ declared her father wryly. ‘Not if he has blood in his veins.’
‘Don’t judge all men by yourself, Pa!’ she said.
He laughed, and kissed her. ‘I’ll ask Luigi to look at the car in the morning.’
‘Come on, Mario,’ said Catrin. ‘We’re needed in the restaurant. Enjoy yourself, Eleri!’ She kissed her daughter’s smooth olive cheek. ‘You look gorgeous, love.’
Eleri waved them off, knowing she looked her best. The tiredness of the day had vanished after her leisurely bath. She’d left her hair loose to skim her shoulders, added a touch more emphasis to her eyes than usual and, best tonic of all, she was spending the evening with James Kincaid. She grinned at her reflection in the hall mirror. ‘You’ll do, Conti. Ring for a taxi.’
When Eleri arrived at the Mitre James was waiting for her in the courtyard, and had paid off her driver before she had time to ask the fare.
‘Eleri, hello,’ he said, smiling, as they went inside the inn. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘I said I would.’
‘I thought you might have had second thoughts.’
‘If I had I’d have rung to let you know,’ she assured him.
James managed to secure a small table in a corner of the crowded bar for a lengthy perusal of the menu over the drinks he ordered.
‘I’m told the restaurant here is rather good, but with you it’s a bit like taking coals to Newcastle. I hope it comes up to your standards,’ he said, raising an eyebrow at her.
‘As long as it’s not pasta in any shape or form I don’t mind,’ she assured him, smiling. ‘No one does pasta dishes like our chefs. Though my father’s the master,’ she added, ‘when he’s in the mood to cook.’
‘Does your mother cook, too?’
‘Brilliantly. But only at home. She cooks dinner about four times a week, and the other nights we fend for ourselves, or they send something over from the restaurant. Nico eats like a horse.’
‘Nico?’
Eleri smiled, her eyes soft. ‘He’s fifteen, clever, and pretty gorgeous, actually.’
‘And his big sister obviously dotes on him!’
She flushed. ‘I suppose I do. Nico dreams of playing soccer for Inter Milan—though he might just deign to sign for a top English club if begged, of course.’
‘Big of him!’ James grinned. ‘Though I can sympathise. I always wanted to play international rugby—wear the white shirt for England and all that.’
‘Then you’re the enemy! I cheer for the Welsh.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Really? Italy I could understand, but why Wales?’
‘Because my mother’s Welsh. Hence my name,’ she explained.
His eyes gleamed ruefully. ‘Is Eleri Welsh? I thought it was something obscurely Italian. I went on calling you Miss Conti at first because I wasn’t sure I was pronouncing it properly.’
‘I remember. You addressed all the other girls by their surnames, too!’
‘I had to,’ he confessed, ‘once I started it with you.’
Eleri chuckled. ‘How funny. We all thought you were too high and mighty to descend to first names with the hired help.’
‘Did you think that?’ he said, startled.
‘Of course I did.’
‘Your name was to blame.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I heard Bruce and the others using it, but I always thought they were wrong. It doesn’t sound the way it’s spelt.’
‘To rhyme with fairy—or contrary, according to my father. We lock horns sometimes.’
‘Would it be rude to ask why?’
‘Not in the least. My protective Italian father likes to keep his girls close under his eye. But my mother supported my determination to go to college, because she did. And because my father would do anything in the world for her he agreed.’ Eleri smiled into his intent face. ‘But surely you didn’t ask me here tonight to hear my life story?’
‘It’s fascinating. The combination of Celt and Latin sounds explosive!’
