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She remained bent over the station for a moment, struggling to control her breath and not knowing whether she should be furious that he had aroused her and left her unfulfilled or grateful that he had taken the time to excite her so she could enjoy the thrill of wanting him for the remainder of the evening.
She swallowed, shook her head and realised she was smiling.
Dutifully, Trudy served the meal.
The steak was infused with a divine aroma. The whiskey gave it suggestions of smokiness and sophistication that sat well with the steak’s rich flavour. The vegetables were slightly seasoned and proved a perfect accompaniment to the meal. Bill complimented her on the steak’s marinade while they discussed various aspects of business.
He’d been away in the city recording a couple of the projects that Harvey had negotiated. He told her of some of the celebrities he’d met and she marvelled at his easy use of the famous names. She’d been taking care of the restaurant and managing her own online business, so the conversation never lulled. She told him about a change in vegetable suppliers to someone who was cheaper and offering a better quality product. She also pitched a handful of ideas she had for changes to the Boui-Boui menu which Bill promised to consider.
By the time they’d finished the meal she felt that one of her appetites had been sated and she was ready to have an evening in Bill’s company where they simply revelled in the pleasures of being together. It crossed her mind that she hadn’t yet mentioned Donny’s abusive text message or Harvey’s forceful invitation to become one of his clients. And, even though she knew both of those topics needed addressing before Bill had to return to the city, there was something more important that she knew they needed to discuss.
‘This muffin,’ she said, pushing the dessert in front of him. ‘Can you tell me what’s missing?’
Chapter 4 (#ulink_7eba8066-12c3-58da-bd0e-6198fed12378)
It was early enough to be still dark. The suggestion of dawn was nothing more than a smudge of diluted night on the horizon. Trudy ran through the morning, savouring the pleasure of getting her muscles working and enjoying the endorphin rush that came from the start of her daily exercise regime. She was dressed from cap to trainers in baby-pink exercise gear. There was a small pink bag on her hip containing two bottles of isotonic drinks and a vacuum-sealed muffin. The bag bounced lightly against her hip with each determined step of her run. She liked the weight. It was comforting and the slap of the bag reminded her of the punishing pleasure she had enjoyed with Bill through the previous night.
Deliberately, she shook that memory from her thoughts.
If she exercised when she was feeling horny she usually began to feel lightheaded after the first fifteen minutes. She supposed it was because the blood was trying to rush to too many different places at the same time. Given all the things she needed to deal with this Monday, there was no time for being lightheaded or passing out whilst exercising. She conceded that, if she got her chores finished early this morning, there might be time to feel horny. But that was something she would explore with Bill when she returned to his cottage. Until she was back in his arms, Trudy wouldn’t let herself dwell on that prospect.
Most mornings she listened to a playlist of rock songs and power ballads while she was running. Each track had been specifically chosen because the music had a powerful beat that helped her maintain a steady rhythm as she ran, or because the lyrics were encouraging and inspirational and appropriate for exercising. During the years that she had been studying, the heavy thump of a bass beat and the familiar thrill of Whitesnake, Aerosmith or Bon Jovi had been tried and tested ways to start the day with a much-needed rush of optimism, rhythm and adrenalin.
But this morning she was happy to run in silence.
Her night with Bill had been sufficiently wonderful to give her all the optimism, rhythm and adrenalin she needed. Rather than rely on old but familiar songs she was happy to listen to the first faltering sounds of morning birdsong and the slap of her pink trainers on the night-slick pavements.
She headed away from Boui-Boui towards the city. Running past the old market, only just beginning to open its doors to cleaning staff and the most diligent market stallholders, she headed onwards, past the familiar sights of closed high-street shops and the first of the slowly awakening stores.
A newsagent was pushing an A-frame board outside his shop. The board showed a newspaper headline: Master Baker Judge: It’s Not Fair – Exclusive!
Trudy made a mental note to buy a copy of the newspaper on her return journey. She knew it would be just as easy to get the whole story from Charlotte and Daryl when saw them at Sweet Temptation. Likely they would both have facts that weren’t contained in the newspaper. But she enjoyed the TV show as much as either of her friends and she was curious to know which judge was now embroiled in a scandal.
But she had no intention of buying the newspaper just yet. Holding a newspaper would make her morning run difficult and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil the pleasure of her routine.
Trudy loved running at this time of the day.
When almost everyone else in the world appeared to be asleep, Trudy felt as though she was getting closer to achieving her goals because she wasn’t lazing in bed and sleeping the day away.
She didn’t go as far as the woodland where she used to run. That was a difficult enough route in itself. After jogging across the city centre Trudy didn’t trust herself to manage the treacherous footing of a woodland trail. It would be too easy to slip, fall or stumble and she could see no point in subjecting herself to such unnecessary risks.
After five miles of running she came to a halt at the boulevard outside the university. She had studied at the university for three years, developing her knowledge of food and earning a prestigious first-class honours degree. The imposing exterior, a façade of glossy concrete and polished glass, no longer looked as daunting as it once had. Now, rather than being an intimidating building where she had been struggling to learn the secrets of her chosen profession, the university was simply a convenient midway point for her morning run.
She stretched against one of the boulevard’s trees, enjoying the sensation of her muscles being tested to their limits. She didn’t bother looking up when she heard the slap of trainers on tarmac that warned her she was in the company of an approaching jogger.
‘You made good time, hon.’
Charlotte looked resplendent in a scarlet Nike jogging suit. Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of her run. Her dark locks were tied back in a tight ponytail. She pulled earbuds from her ears and fumbled with an iPod to switch off her morning tracks. Trudy caught a snatch of the music in the silence and thought it sounded vaguely classical.
She stiffened, remembering that Donny had always enjoyed classical music.
Her upper lip curled into a sneer. Her hands tightened into fists.
Now that they no longer associated with Donny, and the rift had been so acrimonious, Trudy didn’t like to think that any of his preferences had stayed with either of them.
Without mentioning the music, Trudy passed Charlotte one of the isotonic drinks. They shared a silent moment, swallowing cool refreshment and regaining their composure. It occurred to Trudy that she needed to talk about Donny with someone and she figured her best friend was probably the most appropriate person. Charlotte had shared the house with her and Donny. She knew he could be unpleasant and scheming. Charlotte’s advice, Trudy thought, would be invaluable.
‘I got a text from Donny.’
She pulled her mobile from the pink bag on her hip and showed it to Charlotte. She expected her hand to shake as she held the phone but it no longer seemed like such a big deal.
I’ll make you pay, bitch.
Charlotte’s lips thinned to a pencil line. The V of concentration that sometimes appeared on her brow was now deep and obvious. Her lips shaped the words as she read the message for a second and then a third time.
‘Have you shown this to the police?’
Trudy shook her head. She hadn’t even considered it. ‘I’m sure they don’t have the time for this sort of nonsense. It’s nothing serious, is it? It’s just Donny being a dick.’
They were used to Donny being a dick. When the three of them had shared a house Donny’s ridiculous sexploits had kept them entertained by their outrageousness. There had been a catalogue of women wandering through the house, a different one each weeknight and sometimes pairs of them on weekends. There had been one occasion when Charlotte and Trudy came back from a late evening in the library and found Donny passionately entering one young woman doggie-style whilst another naked woman filmed him.
Donny had laughed the incident off without apology.
‘It’s just Donny being a dick,’ Trudy said again. ‘It’s definitely not worth troubling the police.’
‘What does Bill think you should do?’ Charlotte asked.
Trudy glanced towards the university campus. Dawn was now upon them. The night had been bleached from the sky and the heavens looked so clear she suspected it would be a glorious day.
She had been on the university campus when she first saw Bill. He had been a visiting lecturer and his words had left her convinced that she wanted to make a career dealing with foods and flavours.
‘I haven’t mentioned Donny’s text to Bill yet.’
Charlotte rolled her eyes. ‘I thought you and Bill didn’t have secrets?’
‘It’s not a secret. It’s just not something I’ve told him yet.’
‘Do you want me to have a word with Donny?’
‘You’re still in touch with him?’
It was Charlotte’s turn to glance at the university campus while she swallowed the remnants of her isotonic drink. She looked as though she was scanning the windows to try and find the location of their old classroom.
‘If you want me to have a word with him,’ she said eventually, ‘I’ll tell him to stop being such a dick.’
‘Do you think that will do any good?’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘I don’t think Donny has ever been swayed by a reasoned argument. But that’s not the point. If you want me to –’
‘No.’ Trudy shook her head. ‘I’ll deal with Donny. He sent the text message to me so I should be the one who deals with him.’ She paused to grin at her friend and added, ‘Besides, you’ve got enough going on in your life with this new and secret love.’
‘He’s hardly new. And it’s not a secret.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I’m not telling you. Not yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s none of your damned business.’
Her cheeks had been flushed with the efforts of exercise before. Now they were crimson with embarrassment. She was looking in every direction except at Trudy, as though on the verge of being shamed by the revelation.
Trudy remembered seeing her friend suffer the same embarrassment when she had been found to be involved in an ill-advised threesome with Donny and one of Donny’s regular fuck buddies, Gemma Hadfield. Not wanting to make her friend endure the humiliation of an unnecessary revelation, Trudy shook her head and placed a reassuring hand on Charlotte’s arm.
‘You’re right. It’s none of my damned business.’
Charlotte seemed to shrink with relief.
‘I’ll tell you about him soon,’ she promised.
Trudy shook her head. ‘If you want to keep your new love a secret I won’t press again. I promise.’
Charlotte sniffed. ‘He’s not exactly a new love,’ she muttered. Then she shook her head and smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thanks for being understanding about this. And, if you want me to contact Donny and tell him to stop the stupid threats …’
A worrying thought crossed Trudy’s mind.
Had Charlotte said that her current lover was ‘not exactly a new love’? She was clearly embarrassed to admit who he was and Trudy wondered if her friend had restarted her relationship with Donny. The idea left her cold and worried. The prospect of Charlotte and Donny getting back together again was unsettling. Donny had hurt Charlotte badly once before. Trudy didn’t want to see her friend suffer that misery a second time.
‘Will I see you at HQ this morning?’ Charlotte asked. It was the name they had decided on for their shared offices at the Sweet Temptation bakery. Daryl always called it ‘the fun factory’ but, for Charlotte and Trudy, it was invariably HQ.
‘I might be a little late,’ Trudy replied. ‘I’ve got to go to the market to track down a couple of spices and take care of some other business. I might also need to do a little research and development.’
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. ‘Some other business? Are you keeping secrets now?’
Trudy blushed and nodded. ‘Perhaps,’ she admitted.
‘Does the research and development involve this damn flavour you’re trying to identify?’
‘You can read me like a book, can’t you?’
They hugged with a promise to catch lunch together. Then Charlotte was heading back to her home at Eldorado and Trudy jogged back towards Bill’s house, through the city centre, and taking a detour via the old market.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_bacac432-8eb6-56a3-b8a5-9dc923161ddb)
She made her way to Finlay West’s premises at the rear of the old market. It was an ancient spice shop. The sign above the door said the company had been in business since 1870. Bill often joked that Finlay had been there on the day the shop first opened. Whenever he made the joke in Finlay’s earshot, Finlay said that Bill had been his first customer.
Inside the air was perfumed with the memory of a thousand exotic spices. The wall behind the counter was a collection of drawers and jars, each labelled in West’s fussily neat handwriting. Trudy knew that the stockroom was even more copiously stocked and she doubted there were many spices in existence that Finlay West couldn’t locate in seconds. She was certain that, when it came to identifying and understanding spices, there was nothing that Finlay West didn’t know.
‘Trudy McLaughlin,’ West sighed cheerfully. ‘You’re here early, aren’t you? Would you care for a drink?’
He was elderly and grey. His smile shone through the silver wisps of his beard as he beamed at her and called her by her name. His eyes, hidden behind wire-framed spectacles, sparkled with bright enthusiasm.
‘Are you making the drink?’ she asked. ‘Or will you be bullying Imogen into making this one?’
It wasn’t really bullying, she conceded. When Imogen was working with him West had an abrupt way of shouting, ‘Shop girl – make yourself useful for once and put the kettle on.’ Trudy supposed it was part of the banter the pair shared throughout the working day. But she still didn’t like the idea that Imogen might resent being treated as some sort of lackey, expected to provide beverages for the benefit of West’s customers. She supposed, if she was being honest with herself, she didn’t like the idea of Imogen having any further reason to resent her.
‘Imogen doesn’t start for another hour,’ West said, checking his watch. He shrugged and added, ‘If you’d said yes to the offer of a coffee, I was going to send you over the road to buy two cappuccinos from that new shop.’
Trudy shook her head and laughed softly. ‘I’ll buy the coffee,’ she said, ‘if you’ll do me a favour with this.’
She took the muffin from the pink bag on her hip and placed it on the counter in front of him.
West regarded it with suspicion. He made no move to approach the muffin. He thrust his hands into his pants pockets and frowned down at the counter. It was like watching a police detective studying the scene of a crime.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s a muffin.’
He glanced up from the muffin and considered her with a disapproving frown. ‘You’ve been hanging around with Hart too long. Sarcasm is never a becoming feature on a young lady. Please tell me what I’m looking at here.’
‘It’s a coffee and pumpkin-pie-spice muffin,’ she explained. ‘I think it’s lacking something. I want you to tell me what you think it needs.’
‘Pumpkin-pie spice and coffee?’
He lifted the muffin gingerly and sniffed the risen crust. In the morning light of the spice shop the sponge looked like dark gold. She could see the sprinkling of golden sugar crystals on the top and watched them sparkle brightly.
‘Pumpkin-pie spice and coffee is an adventurous combination, isn’t it?’
Trudy said nothing. She didn’t want to influence his opinion. She simply arched an eyebrow, turned and went over to the coffee shop.
She returned ten minutes later with two cappuccinos.
It pleased her to see that West had consumed half the muffin but she couldn’t bring herself to smile. He was shaking his head and she understood that something was wrong with the flavour. Something was clearly troubling him.
‘Where did you get the pumpkin-pie spice?’
‘Get it? I made it.’
‘That’s good. We can probably correct the error from there.’
If anyone else had told her she’d made an error in the kitchen, Trudy would have indignantly bristled and asked what qualified them to make such a bold statement. But no one knew spices better than Finlay West. If he said she’d made a mistake, Trudy was prepared to consider what he had to say and likely bow to his experience.
‘Are you telling me the error’s in the pumpkin-pie spice?’
She tore a piece of the muffin away and sniffed doubtfully. It had all the component parts she expected to encounter. It was fiery and sweet from half of the ingredients with a suggestion of something medicinal and bitter from the cloves.
‘What do you think is missing?’
